Twenty-One Nights in Paris: Chapter 24

No matter how much Sacha wished he could hold it off, morning crept over Paris. It was still dark outside, but the muted sounds of the church bells made their way through the windowpanes and into his bedroom.

His eyes were scratchy. He’d struggled to close them all night. At some point, he’d settled her in his bed, taken a shower and perched next to her, but he’d awoken regularly from his doze, checking for her even breathing.

He turned his head on the pillow, terrified of disturbing her, of breaking the spell that he imagined was keeping her safe from everything that haunted her. But, while he was rigid and stiff from a long night, she was soft and peaceful beside him. How she slept at all, he didn’t know.

He ached from more than lack of sleep. Every word she’d said last night was still reverberating in his blood – as well as a few she hadn’t said. He saw the past two weekends in a new light. He understood why the tentative steps outside of her familiar environment had meant so much to her. But he was angrier than ever with her grandmother. The incident itself was shocking, but she’d forced Ren to recover alone, withdrawing the emotional support Ren needed because of her own cowardice. He hoped it was only cowardice.

… It struck him as far too long. He hoped his suspicions were wrong. It would break her heart all over again. One more reason he could only give her more trouble and not the happy ending she longed for. If only he could stop thinking of their relationship as an epic, unfulfilled romance, like the old stories from the Middle East, full of yearning and adversity.

He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could and dressed for work. The desire to stay was strong, but he understood it would be for his own benefit. She was more than capable of looking after herself. But he couldn’t leave until he’d hurried across the road for fresh croissants and poured a coffee into an insulated mug.

He hesitated with a pencil over a piece of notepaper. What could he write? The only words that came were ones he write down.

It would have to do.

When he emerged from the door of the building for the second time, he was greeted by three photographers waiting on the pavement, lenses at the ready. After a moment of mutual surprise, a flash blazed in his eyes, and he cowered behind his arm.

‘Is she in there?’

‘Are you her new boyfriend?’

‘Allez vous faire foutre!’ he said through gritted teeth and pushed past them. With an uneasy glance at the window of his apartment, he headed for the métro. He tried to tell himself they couldn’t know who he was or which apartment Ren was in, but it was difficult to restrain his anger. He would have to warn her when she woke up.

Ren met the new day marvelling at the lightness in her entire body after the upset of the evening before and the hours and hours of sleep – lightness, and a pleasant ache of memory that was triggered every time she found some small sign of Sacha’s recent presence: a stack of books on his bedside table; a recipe on the fridge; and the delicious breakfast he’d taken the time to prepare for her before he left.

She suspected he had not felt as cosy and well-rested when he’d left for work early that morning. What she remembered from the evening before were only the brief periods of lighter sleep, where she’d groped for him and he’d been there. She vaguely remembered his damp hair after he’d showered and a soft cotton T-shirt covering his chest.

She took a seat at the tiny table by the window in the kitchen niche and tucked into her fresh croissant with two hunks of cheese. A slip of paper was tucked under the insulated cup and she snapped it up eagerly.

It was only a few words, but somehow enough. She brushed her thumb over the ‘S’, enjoying the familiarity in the shortening of his name.

Her phone rang and she stood to fetch it out of her handbag, grimacing when she saw it was a UK number. Her heart sank when she connected the call and it was exactly who she’d feared it would be.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb your time off,’ Ziggy began, ‘but I’m afraid the situation has changed. Our media team is working to counteract the story, but I’ll need you to work me on this.’

‘What story?’

‘There’s no need to read the ridiculous headlines yourself, but… let’s just say your boyfriend is one of the most wanted men in Paris right now.’

Ren’s stomach flipped, thinking of Sacha’s admission that he’d committed a crime when he was a teenager. It couldn’t be what Ziggy meant, but she was suddenly afraid of what would happen to him if her life invaded his. ‘Do they know who he is?’

‘Not yet, but they know where he lives, and I can imagine they’ll scour that flea market this weekend. I don’t know what you were thinking going . I’ve contacted the police to ask them to move the photographers on, but you need to stay put until it’s safe.’ Ren gave the window a startled glance. ‘The mystery is unfortunately feeding speculation. Livia has been working much too hard to reassure all the investors that the merger will still go ahead and given all of the medication she’s on… well, you need to play your part, now.’

Knowing that Ziggy was using guilt as a tool didn’t stop Ren from feeling it. ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Mr Mourad needs to come to the chalet this weekend. No fanfare, no announcements, just showing our investors that everything is normal and that your relationship status no longer influences the future of the company.’

‘That’s a message I can get behind,’ she mumbled.

‘But… please clean him up.’

Ren bit her lip to stay silent. The uncoupling of her personal life from the company only went so far. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Your best it will need to be,’ Ziggy continued in that warning tone that gave Ren goosebumps. ‘We need the investors on side. These kinds of headlines aren’t good for business.’

Ren ended the call as quickly as she could and dialled Sacha before she could second-guess herself. He had every right to refuse her and part of her wanted to protect him from what would surely be an unpleasant weekend. She’d always loved to ski, but it was the veiled posturing, the negotiations disguised as friendly chats that she’d never coped with.

Sacha didn’t pick up the call and her stomach twisted with worry. Had the photographers bothered him this morning? She was tempted to look at the headlines, but experience had taught her that was disastrous for her already fragile confidence.

What she really wanted was to believe his words from the night before. Was she stronger than she thought?

The phone rang once more, and Sacha’s name flashed up. She connected the call with a sigh of relief.

‘Are you okay? Did the reporters bother you?’ she asked.

‘No, I wanted to ask you the same. Did you leave already? I wanted to warn you, but it’s my first break—’

‘Ziggy warned me. I’m still… here.’

‘Good,’ he said. There was a long pause where she tried not to read too much into his emphatic tone. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Kind of… better, actually, except for the encampment of paparazzi. I’m sorry for crashing into your life. You really didn’t need this.’

‘The reporters didn’t know who I was.’

‘Actually… they did. Not who you are, exactly, but between Instagram and Charlie, they’ve been tipped off about… us.’ The silence was ominous, but she ploughed on. ‘Z-ziggy thinks the mystery is feeding the media interest and she wants to… bring you out into the open. I know you probably can’t take the time away from your family the weekend before Christmas and I don’t want to ask you because I can’t ever seem to give you anything in return and you know what you’re in for now, so I can’t imagine you’d—’

‘What do you need me to do?’ Something in his tone reminded her of that simple ‘S’ on his note.

‘Will you come to Val d’Isère with me this weekend? To ski? With my grandmother and Ziggy, and Charlie and a whole lot of stuffy investors?’

‘I can’t ski,’ was all he said at first. She tried to formulate an understanding response, but she was choking on her disappointment. ‘But if you think it will help, I’ll come.’

Her happiness revved up again and she’d never been so glad of one of Ziggy’s dictates before. ‘It’ll help. I owe you—’

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ he said gruffly.

‘Isn’t there something I could help you with in return?’ She experienced a little twinge of guilt, knowing full well her question was just an excuse to see him again during the week.

‘I suppose there is something.’

‘Anything!’

‘It’s for my work,’ he said. ‘You’d have to let me tell you.’

‘No, just tell me where to meet you and I’ll guess before you give it away. I’m definitely going to guess.’

‘You want to win,’ he said drily. ‘D’accord. It’s on Wednesday. You’d have to come early. Is that okay?’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘You don’t even know what you have to do.’

‘I don’t care. If you’ll be there, I’m looking forward to it.’ His splutter in response suggested she’d laid it on too thick, but she was too happy to care.

‘I’ve got to go. I’ll text you the address. I – I’ll see you on Wednesday.’