A World Away (A New Adult Romance Novel) Page 4

  Three feet in front of her, with his back to me, stood Jacques. He had one camera hanging off his body, and another to his eye. He snapped away, occasionally giving directions to the model in French, then telling her things like ‘bravo!’ and ‘superbe!’ and ‘oui, c’est ça!”

  I paused, wondering whether or not I should say anything. It was definitely Jacques, there was no denying that. I stood there for a couple of minutes, all the while wondering if I should leave or not. Was it weird, me just standing there watching? Should I go? Should I stay and talk to him? Suddenly, the shoot seemed to finish. Jacques turned around and spotted me, then waved.

  It was too late to leave now, I couldn’t just pretend that I hadn’t seen him anymore. I waved back, and waited to see what he would do. A minute later he came over to see me.

  “Sophie, bonjour!” he exclaimed, and I couldn’t help but smile. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I actually found Jacques really charming. It was weird, since he was almost old enough to be my dad, but there was just something about him. Something about him was intoxicating, attracting, it drew me towards him. I just couldn’t help myself.

  “Bonjour, Jacques” I replied with a smile “What are you doing here?”

  He motioned the model. “I’m doing the spread for a magazine here today. I did not expect to see you here. What are you doing here?”

  “Well, this is the University which I go to, so I’m going home.”

  “Ah, what are the odds of that? It must be fate, only fate would bring me back to you like this.”

  I giggled at his dramatics.

  “Sophie, I’m not the type that normally does this, but seeing as fate has put us in each other’s path once more, would you do me the honor going to dinner with me? We need not call it a date, why do we not simply go to dinner his friends?”

  There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he made me feel so comfortable and yet made parts of me tingle when he spoke that made me agree immediately. I couldn’t believe that I’d done it. What had happened to the Sophie that planned on staying away from men? First she went to have coffee with this man, and now she was letting him take her out to dinner.

  “Fantastic, I am so happy to hear that. Why do we not meet here tonight, at say seven?”

  “That sounds great,” I agreed, secretly happy that he hadn’t asked to come pick me up at my apartment or meet somewhere private. After all, I was still very much the type of person that moved slowly. Even with men like Jacques, who gave the impression that I could tell him anything and that he would understand, and keep my secret safe.

  As soon as I got back to my apartment I called Noelle to tell her the good news. Then I called Claire, and both of them had the same reaction.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re actually doing that! That’s amazing!”

  They were so excited for me, I couldn’t help but become more and more excited for myself as well. I spent a while getting changed, longer than I ever had before for any first date. Well, except maybe for my first date with Mike. But I forced that thought to the back my head. This was the time for new beginnings, this was a time for dinner with the guy as friends. He had said that we were going as friends, and that took any pressure off of me in terms of this being a romantic dinner.

  I had to admit, I was completely torn as to whether or not I wanted romantic feelings to develop. After all, Jacques was charming enough, it was really just a matter of the age difference. No. You swore off men for good, Sophie, I scolded, you’re not allowed to develop romantic feelings for someone.

  I went back to where I met him that afternoon in the Park, arriving a few minutes after seven. I had to force myself to stay back, since after all I was usually the goody two shoes who always arrived to all appointments 10 minutes early. But as Clara had taught me, when it came to men, I was supposed to arrive a few minutes late so as not to seem too eager.

  Jacques was ready and waiting for me at the statue, holding a small bouquet of flowers. He handed them to me, and I gushed about their beauty.

  “Pour vous, mademoiselle,” he announced with a bow and a flourish, and I took the flowers happily.

  Normally if somebody offered to go out on a date as friends and brought me flowers I would have been completely creeped out, but with Jacques things were different. They weren’t roses or anything, they looked like a combo of irises and daffodils, but they were absolutely beautiful and I could feel the blush crawling up my face as I thanked him.

  “Ah, it is not a problem, I simply believe a beautiful woman should have beautiful flowers.”

  He led me down a few streets, telling me about a restaurant that he had been frequenting since he was a child, which served some of the best food in Paris. Soft snow gently drifted down on to us from the sky, and as the Eiffel Tower lit up in the distance, I immediately knew exactly why people saw Paris as being the most romantic city in the world.

  This walk was absolutely perfect. We walked in silence, only the sound of our footsteps and noises from surrounding restaurants and other people coming by hitting our ears. I felt like I was in heaven. I had never experienced any feeling like I was feeling right now before in my life. It was one of those moments where if time had frozen and I kept walking like this forever, I would actually have been happy. The soft lights of the city, the cold snow giving everything a layer of white purity was just absolutely perfect.

  Eventually we got to the restaurant. Jacques led me through an old style door leading to warm orange light, a welcome sight on a night in which I could see my every breath. As we entered an old fashioned bell rang against the door, and Jacques was immediately greeted by a man, well into his sixties at least, and enormous, who waddled through the restaurant and greeted him, arms open. They flew into fluent French for a minute before Jacques introduced me.

  “This is Jean-Charles, he is the owner of this restaurant, and has known me since I was only this high,” he told me, and I shook hands with the man.

  “Bonjour, monsieur,” I said, much to the pleasure of the older man, who had obviously been told I was not a French speaker.

  “Ah, mais la mademoiselle, she speaks beautiful French,” he gushed. “Please, you must sit. Sit!” he ordered, leading us to a table by the window. We sat at the antique wooden table while a young woman brought us menus. I opened it and made an effort to read the names of the meals, and to my surprise, I understood quite a few of the dishes. My French was definitely improving!

  “Do not worry, Sophie, I was thinking of ordering the special for us both, and that way you do not need to worry about the menu.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that,” I replied. Sure enough, twenty minutes later we were digging into the most succulent, deliciously moist coq au vin I had ever tasted in my life. Jacques even ordered us a bottle of wine, which made me feel so incredibly grown up, seeing as I was still months away from being old enough to do so in an American restaurant. Here I was, drinking wine at a restaurant with a sophisticated older man. Of course, given my family history I normally avoided alcohol, but I thought a little glass of wine on a night like tonight would be fine. After all, given how I’d seen my mother take down entire bottles of vodka in a single day, I wasn’t too worried about one small glass of wine. I just had to make sure one glass was all I drank.

  “So, Sophie, tell me about your life.”

  “Well, I grew up...” I started, and then I paused. I didn’t really tell people the truth about my past. A few people knew, of course, but they were close friends. They weren’t people I’d met twice in my life. I was just ready to tell my usual lie: I’d grown up in the suburbs, my mom was a teacher and my dad was a salesman for a big company. I had a little sister who was just about to graduate from high school, and a dog named Rusty, a golden retriever. I’d told that story to people who asked so many times that sometimes I started to believe it myself. After all, it was a nicer story than the truth, and it was fun to dream about having had a normal childhood. But t
here was something about Jacques, the way he looked at me. He looked so earnest, as though I could tell him anything, and I decided to take a chance.

  “Actually, I grew up in a pretty bad place. I never knew my father, my mother was an alcoholic. I grew up in a studio apartment where space was about as available as my mother was emotionally. I would stay in school well after class just to avoid having to go home, and eventually I realized school and education was my way out of that life. I graduated with honours and got accepted to University, and now I’m in my second year.”

  Jacques eyes were understanding, and I could tell he wanted to reach across the table and take my hands in his, but that at the same time he wanted to keep an appropriate distance. I appreciated that so much. He was such a gentleman, such a charming man, and I immediately knew I’d made the right choice by confiding in him.

  “Oh Sophie, you’re very strong to be able to get through that sort of life. What you’ve done to get your life on track, there are so few people who have the fortitude to do so.”

  I began to blush. “It was nothing, really, I was pretty much too young to realize what I was doing for most of it.”

  “No, no, do not put yourself down. It is important, what you have achieved so far in this life. I apologize for ordering wine, if I had known I would have chosen a more appropriate drink.”

  “It’s fine, wine is fine. I haven’t drunk much in my life, but the times I have I haven’t felt the need to drink more than is necessary, and a glass of wine can’t hurt me that much, surely,” I replied with a smile, and he toasted me.

  “To a woman incroyable.”

  Our conversation moved on and for the first time in my life, it felt completely natural to continue a conversation after revealing my deepest secret. Normally when I would tell people conversation would drift off and we’d stand around awkwardly. Clara was the only other person who didn’t have that kind of reaction, she just hugged me and said she’d always stop me from getting drunk, then tried to get me to hook up with one of her friends. It had all been very typically Clara. When the end of the night finally came and Jacques helped me slip on my coat, we walked out into the cold Paris night and headed back towards the University.

  “I hope you have had a good night, Sophie.”

  “I absolutely did, thank you Jacques.”

  “I know this may be forward, but I’m wondering if you would perhaps want to do it again. I mean, it need not be dinner. Why do I not take you to Versailles? Have you seen the palace yet?”

  “I have not had the chance to yet, no.”

  “Ah good. In that case, meet me at the RER station on Saturday, why do we not meet at 9 o’clock, and I will show you the Sun King’s palace, hands down the most beautiful and extravagant home in the world.”

  “I’d like that,” I replied, and as I walked along the streets back to my apartment, I didn’t really understand the giddy, warm happy feeling travelling through my body. Was I falling for Jacques? Already? Surely not. I had more sense than that. This had to just be hormones, going wild because I was near a man for a while.

  Still, I couldn’t deny the warmth I felt as I crawled into bed that night. Jacques was a good person. I felt like I could trust him. I trusted him with my secret, the story of my early life. I actually found myself looking forward to seeing him again on Saturday.

  Chapter Six

  Sure enough on Saturday morning I met Jacques at the RER station, and we rode to Versailles, having to change trains once. It was a long trip, the ride taking nearly an hour, but despite the commute neither of us found a lack of things to talk about.

  “How did you get started into photography?” I asked, curious as to his work. Jacques smiled and looked out the window for a moment, obviously lost in thought, before he answered me.

  “It was about twelve years ago. Just around when the world was starting to make the switch from film to digital cameras. As a child my mother had bought me a camera, a 35mm one that I held in my hand. It had no focus, only one shutter speed, but it was my favourite toy. In high school I bought myself a Pentax ME Super with money I earned working on weekends at the local boulangerie. With it I entered a competition, a contest to discover the next big fashion photographer. I did not win, no, but the editeur of the magazine holding the competition called me and offered me a job. From there, the rest is, as you say, history.”

  “That’s amazing. So you always knew you wanted to be a photographer?”

  “Yes. It is in my blood. It is in my veins, and has been since I was only a little boy. I could not imagine myself doing anything else. La photographie, it is my life.”

  Just then, our train pulled into Versailles station. A short ten minute walk later and we were at the palace. I’m pretty sure I just stared at the elaborate gate for at least a minute when we got to the front. I don’t know how long I stood there gaping, but eventually Jacques gently touched my elbow. I couldn’t believe something so simple as a gate leading into the palace could be so elaborate, so beautiful.

  “Come, Sophie, it is even more magical once we go inside.”

  The lineup was already getting pretty long, but it moved swiftly, and ten minutes later, after having our bags X-rayed like we were in an airport, we were starting along, audio guides in hand. The next two hours were among the most marvelous of my life. I took out my phone and took pictures in every room.

  Versailles was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life. For one thing, the palace itself was enormous. It was at least hundreds of feet long in every direction, and looked like three stories high. It had to be hundreds of thousands of square feet, and that wasn’t even including the grounds we entered. Us tourists were only allowed access to certain parts of the palace, and the parts we saw were incredible, to think that we only saw but a fraction of the full building was unbelievable.

  Everything was gilded with gold. I hadn’t seen so much gold in my entire life. The ceilings were painted with the most exquisite paintings, the walls covered in wallpaper that would be considered beautiful nowadays, let alone four hundred years ago.

  Every time I stepped into a new room I found myself even more amazed than before. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and the enormous, elaborate windows gave me a view onto the gardens, which spread as far as the eye could see.

  Jacques had been right: this building was unlike anything else I had ever seen. There could be no building on the planet that compared to the pure eloquence, the richness of this building. It was built by the King Louis XIV of France, the Sun King, built as a gigantic display of the wealth and power of the French monarch. The palace was so immense, so extravagant that I could only imagine the pure awe foreign dignitaries must have experienced upon arrival to this place hundreds of years ago. Hell, I walked around with my jaw on the floor now, over three hundred years after the palace was originally built.

  The opulence, the pure amount of gold and money that must have been involved was mind boggling to me. Giant statues representing the ancestors of the French monarchy lined a hallway, one room was filled with portraits of Napoleon’s generals, rooms were kept as they would have been back when the palace was lived in, with luxurious beds and waiting rooms for the King and the Queen. I couldn’t believe it.

  When we finally stepped outside, I felt like I was in a foreign land compared to the palace. Never had I been somewhere which had blown me away like the palace.

  “Shall we walk through the park?” Jacques asked, and I nodded. We walked along together in silence. It was winter, so there were no flowers in bloom, but still I could tell that the garden was exquisite. We spent a while in the Orangerie, with a giant fountain as the centrepiece. But as I looked at the gushing water at the center, imagining what life must have been like here for Marie Antoinette, something caught my eye.

  It was a man, on the other side of the fountain. He was watching me, and the instant I noticed him my breath caught in my throat. I had never seen a man like him before in my life. His hair was black
, jet black, short and scruffy. He had that “just got out of bed in the morning” look, but his hair was still short enough that he could pull it off without looking like a hobo. His eyes were black, and as he stared at me, although he was at least twenty feet away from me, it felt like he was looking directly into my soul. When he noticed me looking at him, he smiled. Dimples formed in his cheeks, dimples that made my heart melt.

  Why the hell was I reacting like this? This was the second time since coming to France that I’d felt attracted to a man. But this one, this man, this was different. I had never felt like this before about anyone. Electricity coursed through my veins as I looked at him, my blood felt like it was on fire. I didn’t want to look away. I tried to smile back at him, but I was frozen to the spot, entranced by the man’s absolutely perfect face.

  Suddenly, I heard Jacque’s voice behind me, and I jumped.

  “Oh, I am sorry Sophie, I did not mean to interrupt your dreaming, I simply thought we should visit Marie Antoinette’s Trianon.”

  “I didn’t realize there was even more to see!” I exclaimed, shocked. Surely we had seen it all? I turned around to get one final glimpse at the man who had elicited such a strange reaction from me so quickly, but when I looked back to the other side of the fountain, he was gone. I wondered who the man was, then tried to put him out of my head. He would remain a beautiful stranger, forever.

  As we headed down the path to the Trianon, I marvelled at the enormous size of Versailles. I knew I was talking about it too much, but it was so big I couldn’t help myself. I needed to express my absolute disbelief that a place like this existed.