Lost in Paris by Elizabeth Thompson (ebook smartphone .txt) 📕

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” T says. She hands me a glass of champagne. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us, Han.”

I’m overcome by a sudden rush of shyness as I feel Aiden’s gaze on me. Then Jemma gets up from her seat at the island and offers him one of two shots of tequila she’s poured, which he waves off. She proceeds to down both and whispers something in his ear.

She looks pretty tonight, rocking a 1920s vibe with her jet-black hair cut into a sleek bob with bangs. Her flawless porcelain skin is the perfect canvas for her smoky eyes and bloodred lipstick.

He’s at least a foot taller than Jemma. She looks tiny standing next to him as he smiles down at her. He offers her a taste of whatever it is that smells so good on the stove. She puts one hand on his bicep and the other over her heart, closes her eyes, and moans.

“Oh, Aiden. Oh my God. Mmmmm… What is this? It’s better than sex.”

Everyone laughs, clearly eager to have what Jemma’s having, but Cressida quips, “Jemma, obviously you’re sleeping with the wrong people.”

Jemma holds onto Aiden’s arm with both hands and gazes up at him. “That’s just occurring to me.”

Puh-lease. I have no right to be bothered by Jemma’s innuendo, but I can’t help it.

“It’s just simple beef bourguignon.” Aiden slants a glance at me and looks a little embarrassed for Jemma. “I figured a good, hearty French stew would be the perfect dinner on this cold night before we send Hannah off to Paris.”

Jemma is Cressida’s friend. T and I have gotten to know her through Cres, but we’ve always found her to be somewhat of an enigma. Nice enough, but distant.

As Jemma and Aiden stand together at the stove, it’s clear they would make a beautiful couple.

I have this premonition of getting an invitation to their wedding.

Just like what happened with Charlie. Only this time, the talk would be about how Jemma and Aiden had been friends and neighbors until that night that changed everything. Jemma would coo from her place at the bridal table, “It was his beef bourguignon. One taste and I knew I couldn’t live without him. Just think, if he hadn’t cooked that going-away dinner for Hannah, I might never have tasted true love.”

The guests would sigh and clap and tap their champagne flutes with silverware until the couple kissed.

Then Aiden would tut. “We would’ve found our way to each other eventually. Nothing can stop true love, but here’s to Hannah for speeding things up, and here’s to Cressida for getting the matchmaking wrong again.”

It occurs to me that I’ve never given Charlie a name for the Date From Hell Hall of Fame. He was more long-term than the others, but he still deserves the dubious honor. Let’s go with The Heartbreaker, since he broke up with me out of the blue after we’d been together for three years and then disappeared from my life until a save-the-date card arrived in the mail six months later.

What would Aiden’s Hall of Fame name be? Not The Ghoster, since he’s here tonight. The Chef? Hard to say since he hasn’t really done anything wrong.

“I’m here. I’m here. So sorry I’m late.” Marla’s words yank me out of my thoughts. She rushes into the kitchen at a half jog, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor. Her red curls look wind tousled and her cheeks are flushed.

“I meant to be back an hour ago, but, well… you know how it goes.”

I’ve never been so happy to see her in my life. It’s such a strange feeling, but she’s a welcome distraction from what’s cooking between Aiden and Jemma. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what kept her, but she’s going on about the London traffic with the group, and really, it’s not my business where she’s been or what she was doing. Just like Jemma and Aiden aren’t my concern.

Still, I wish I understood what changed between them over the past week. On New Year’s Eve, Cressida was certain that Aiden Zedrick was my soul mate, and I was open to the possibility. Now Jemma is all but humping his leg. I mean, it’s fine, but I don’t get it. If Jemma had prior claim—if something had been brewing between the two of them—I wish Cressida would’ve told me. Even better, I wish she wouldn’t have invited him here tonight.

Then Jemma leans in and whispers in Aiden’s ear again.

This sucks.

I turn my back on them—literally—and try to fall into the conversation about traffic that’s still somehow going strong. If I’d been wistful about leaving London to relocate to Paris twenty minutes ago, I’m not now.

THE DINNER IS DELICIOUS.

We start with a mesclun salad with goat cheese, pumpkin seeds, yellow beets, and a traditional vinaigrette, then move to French onion soup followed by the beef bourguignon with plenty of crusty French bread that Aiden baked himself. Of course, the wine is flowing and everyone has had too much.

Jemma is seated to Aiden’s left, and I’m on his right. Earlier, I caught her switching the place cards that Cressida had set out.

T had originally been in the place that Jemma claimed.

I’m surprised Jem didn’t move me, which makes me wonder if she’s aware of the plans that Cressida had for Aiden and me. If she didn’t know, that would make things slightly more forgivable, but still disappointing.

Since I sat toward the center of the table, I was drawn into many different conversations and mercifully didn’t have to rely on small talk with Aiden.

To be honest, I was too busy talking and eating to notice whether Jemma clung to him during dinner or if she spoke to anyone else.

Even though it’s after eleven by the time we finish dinner, we decide to go to a club called Fugue and dance. I’m not in the mood, but everyone else is