"Why can't I find them?" I ask to myself as I rummage through my closet. I'm trying to find my matching pair of boots to go with my purse, but I can't find them among all of our things in the closet. My little brothers are so untidy, and they always throw their things with mine. It makes it impossible to find anything.
"Natalie dear, if we had a larger place, we wouldn't have this problem," my mother chimes in the doorway, making me roll my eyes. My mother insists we get a much bigger house, but I love this apartment; it has a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower, cafés and shops close by, and it's affordable. My mother promised me she wouldn't live a luxurious lifestyle anymore and that we could try being a real family.
"Mother, I've told you; this is what normal families go through, we just need to adjust," I respond. my mother lets out a defeated sigh, knowing she will lose the argument.
"Well, I have a pair of similar boots, why don't you just wear those?" she asks. I contemplate on it for a while, and nod after I stand up.
"Since we're running late, I'll borrow them this one time," I say with a slight smirk, because as much as I hate to admit it, my mother's tastes may be expensive, but it's much more refined than mine.
"It's okay, I won't rub it in, I know my tastes are more refined," my mother slyly says as she walks to her room. I drop my mouth open at the shock of realizing she probably read my mind, but I know it's only because we've probably developed a weird hive mind from the close proximity.
Our relationship has become more wholesome since we left New York and started anew in Paris, France three years ago. She kept all her promises to me, and even agreed to stay with me in my tiny, two-bedroom apartment. I got a job as a model agency consultant, and it's much easier than being a model. My mother never pressed me to do any modeling or have an opinion on my career choices during our stay, and I feel so free.
My mother even met someone new here in France, and my brothers and I tease him because he looks just like Daddy Warbucks from Annie, so that's what we call him. His name is Phillipe, and he's rich, so I know he's my mother's type. But, he is also very sweet and kind, and reminds me a lot of my father. He also has two grown sons, and tries to matchmake me all the time, but I insist that I'm not interested. That, and it's awkward to date your future brothers-in-law.
I did meet someone very recently, although I'm not sure how far I want it to go since he's not someone I wanted to date to begin with. I still ache to be with Jacque every day. Not a day has gone by that I don't remember him. I saved all our pictures on a cloud app online and look at them from time to time. I still cry when I think about his family wanting nothing to do with me after the accident. I blamed myself for a long time, but I was fortunate enough to have my mother and brothers at my side through it all. Then about three weeks ago, I ran into this man...
I was returning from a long and arduous day at work, and went into my favorite café, as I usually do, and as I was making my way back up to my apartment, I heard someone shout "Mademoiselle! Tu as laissé tomber ce!" I turned to find a very familiar face rushing towards me to return my wallet. I tried to thank him in English, but forgot for a moment that I'm in France, so I replied in broken French, "Je parle très peu-"
"Ah, it's alright, I'm an American, too," the man interrupted me. I blushed after realizing my accent is atrocious. Three years and I still can't get the language right.
"Um, thank you, I didn't even realize I'd left my wallet, I must've really had a hard day," I politely responded. The man smiled at me, and I couldn't shake off how I recognized him. Is he an athlete? A famous movie star? He has ashy brown hair, a clean-shaven face, tanned skin, and piercing blue eyes. A very masculine and beautifully sculpted face, but I'm not easily swooned by his looks since my job literally involves helping good looking guys like him every day.
"You're welcome, Miss?" the man asked in an obvious attempt to get my name. I'm used to men always trying to "get to know" me, and I'm still not interested, I usually say Mrs. Ramos and they move on, but this guy didn't give up.
"Mrs. Ramos," I said with wide eyes. The man chuckled and looked down at his feet. I'm annoyed by this simple act, and turn to leave.
"Uh, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you, I'm just surprised you don't remember me," he said. I'm now curious, because I was just thinking that I recognized him.
"Should I know you?" I asked in a deeper tone than my normal voice.
"Well, you 'rejected' me about four years ago, I'm sorry if that news article left a bad taste in your mouth, I really tried to fix it, but I later found out you got married, and I just wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding, and also-," he explained as if I know who or what he is talking about. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, absolutely stiff, because I have no idea what he is talking about. He continued to smile at me, and it made me want to smack him right across his cocky face.
"I'm sorry, I can't recall anything from before, please excuse me," I try to end the conversation, but he still persisted.
"Please, Natalie, I'm sorry, I really am sorry for your loss," he proceeds to speak about me as if he knows everything about me. I felt my eyes widen at his words, because I thought he knew about my deceased husband. My heart was racing hard and hitting against my chest, and I felt a lump forming in my throat. Before I could say anything, he continued.
"I was sorry to hear about Mr. Blanche, it was truly a terrible thing that happened, please extend my condolences to your mother as well," he proceeded to look back down at his feet. The lump in my throat went away and my heartrate slowly went back to normal. Relieved that he probably doesn't know about my husband, I felt a tinge of regret as he turned around to leave.
"W-wait," I called out softly. He turned back to me with a much more serious look than he did before. "I didn't get your name." What happened next, I could not predict, but it confirmed my suspicions that I knew this man from before I met my Jacque.
As I was helping my brothers get ready, I admired how handsome they were becoming. I am proud of them for learning French much quicker than I could, and they're doing so well in school, too. They're finally getting to know their big sister, and I feel like they are happier here.
"We'll be late if we don't leave in the next five minutes," my mother shouts from the foyer. We shout back, "Five minutes is all it takes!" and burst into a fit of laughter at our inside joke.
For the first time in three years, I feel at peace. I wouldn't say happy, because the pain is still lingering, because I feel like Jacque never left this world. It's a feeling I've never been able to dismiss, but I chose to ignore it after discovering his family wanted nothing to do with me, or at least that's what Laurence informed. I've been lonely these last few years, but I never stopped thinking about him. He was and always will be my true love.
It's fashion week in Paris, and as part of my job, I'm required to be there. My mother and brothers strangely wanted to go, so I got them free tickets. So, we make our way by taxi, and arrive just in time. The hustle and bustle of the crowd is a bit overwhelming for me, but my mother and brothers are enjoying themselves, so I'm not complaining.
"Mon cher, you are late!" I hear a familiar voice calling from behind, and kiss his cheeks.
"I still brought her here safe and sound Daddy Warbucks," I tease, then turn to find my mother already at the bar.
"Cette femme, je l'ai dit plusieurs fois! I am not dis Diddy Warbucks you call me, where iz your mozer?" Phillipe whines in his thick accent. I point over to the bar with a smile. Phillipe proceeds to follow after my mother to stop her from drinking alone. The crowd begins to gather and line up to enter the theatre. I go looking for my manager, Miss Patel, to show her that I'm present, even though I really didn't want to go. The glam of the fashion world always left me jaded and perturbed. But I chose this career because it pays well, and Jacque always told me to choose something that will allow me to save money and live well.
In my lost memories about Jacque trying to get me to understand finances in our kitchen, I accidently bump into someone face first. I immediately start apologizing only to see his goofy face mocking me.
"Good thing it was me who bumped into you; I was worried you would walk right into a post," he sarcastically says while giggling.
"When did you get here? I thought you had to get back to New York tonight for the photoshoot," I ask a little flushed and surprised.
"It was postponed for next week, and its fashion week, I'm not going to miss this," he gently replies, "I thought you were bringing your family, where are they?"
I stiffen once he puts an arm over my shoulder, the thought of intimacy still intimidates me, especially with someone new, but this man I ran into three weeks ago is not the same person I once thought he was.
"I think they all went inside, I'm just looking for Miss Patel," I answer, "But, I'm not sure if it's the right time for you to meet my-"
"Grant Fairbanks?" I hear my mother's voice shout from behind us, "How are you? It's been years since I've last seen you," my mother continues prattling on not realizing immediately that I'm standing in front of him. "Do you two know each other for work?" my mother asks.
"Uh, actually, mother, we've been seeing each other for a few weeks now," as I say this her eyes widen in disbelief. I feel almost guilty for admitting that I'm currently dating a man I wanted nothing to do with over four years ago. But I had this image of him back then. I misjudged him and thought he was just a trust fund baby playboy, but he isn't.
After he returned my wallet to me, I invited him to a cup of coffee at my favorite café, we talked and I was embarrassed after he told me who he is, and how bad he felt that a news outlet had published an article claiming that he would 'pop the question' to me. The obsession that the media had with him being an eligible and handsome bachelor turned into an absolute frenzy; he claimed he didn't know who I was until that article was published. I accepted his apology but he also wanted to get to know me, I agreed with the exception that he let me lead, since I'm still a bit forlorn over the loss of my husband and I've never been comfortable being around men. Only Jacque was able to help me overcome that.
He agreed, and we went on a few dates every week. Getting to know him, I realized I believed a biased news outlet that painted him as an eager playboy, who didn't care about his father's magazine or reputation. I believed he was a skirt chaser and a fool.
But I was wrong.
He rarely dates because the company takes up so much of his time. He has a real, for lack of a better word, fuck boy face. The media merely made assumptions about him because of his devilishly handsome looks. So far, he's been very patient and compassionate towards me. He's never once laid a finger on me, and respects my personal space. Tonight is the first time he made physical contact with me when he put an arm around my shoulder.
Although, as part of my compromise, I told him I'd try to be more affectionate. Little by little, I'm developing feelings for this man I thought I would hate. I can only hope that Jacque would forgive me as he watches over me. I'd be repelled to think he would hate me for dating Grant Fairbanks.