Page 60 of Sinful Escape

Just before midday, I stood, stretched the kinks out of my back, clutched the microphone, and turned to my group. “Listen up, history lovers, you’re going to like this one. In a couple of minutes, we’ll arrive at the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière. The basilica’s fascinating structure draws from both Romanesque and Byzantine architecture which was very unusual when it was constructed in 1872.”

Anthony in the back row emitted a loud, exaggerated yawn, probably just as much from being tired as from his lack of interest in history. I had no idea why people like him went on a Vacation Dreamz tour. All the paraphernalia stipulated the tour schedule and focus. Maybe they didn’t read the itinerary properly. There were plenty of ‘party’ style tours around that fixated on the nightlife.

For the benefit of those who were listening, I continued, “The basilica is actually two churches sitting on top of each other, and the locals call it the upside-down elephant. See if you can work out why as we approach.”

“Oh yeah,” Tiffany said.

“Tiffany can see it. Anyone else?”

“Yes,” Lexie said. “It looks like an elephant on its back, and the four towers look like legs.”

“Correct. One of the best aspects of this building is the site it’s built on. From here, you get an incredible view over the city of Lyon. On a really clear day you can see all the way to Mont Blanc, Europe’s highest point.”

Moments later, Roman reversed the bus into position and killed the engine.

“Okay, guys, we have one hour here. I’ll lead a tour through the basilica or you’re free to stroll around as you wish. But remember—one-hour max. We must be at lunch on time because trust me, you don’t want to keep a French chef waiting.”

They all seemed to stand at once. As they grabbed their belongings and filed off the bus, I turned to Roman. “See you soon.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” His grin was ridiculous.

I cocked my head and frowned. “And what exactly would that be?”

His grin grew bigger. “No niente.” He shook his head.

Laughing, I grabbed my bag and skipped down the steps.

Seven women and four men joined me for my private tour of one of the most fascinating yet less-renowned churches in Europe. “This way, guys.”

I rattled off intriguing facts about the church and how it had shaped the history of Lyon. Pointing out a gilded statue of the Virgin Mary positioned in front of an intricate stained-glass window, I said, “This church is dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Many believe she protected the city of Lyon from the bubonic plague that swept through most of Europe in 1643.”

The group nodded as they scanned the artwork. Being able to share my knowledge with my guests reminded me how much I loved my job.

A brick dropped in my stomach.

My knowledge would be completely useless once I was booted out of Europe.

Damn that letter. Damn my boss.

Before that brick became as big as a shipping container, I unclenched my jaw and silently vowed that no matter what, I would be the best I could be right up until my very last day.

After showing the group the most interesting aspects of the basilica, I led them out to the best viewing platform in the city and eased to the back of the camera-snappy tourists.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d also exerted a bit of energy, thanks to my roll in the hay. Stifling a giggle, I peered into the distance. Mont Blanc was hiding today, concealed behind a sea of haze. I’d only seen the mountain four times in my thirty visits, so today’s absence wasn’t a surprise.

My life was like that at the moment . . . unable to see into the distance. In six months, I had absolutely no idea what I’d be doing or even what country I’d be living in.

I’d had plenty of times in my life where my world had been tipped on its head. But this time was worse, way worse. A cloak of hopelessness engulfed me. Anger and sorrow filled the same space in my head. I didn’t want to leave, not Europe, nor my job.

But there was nothing I could do.

Thankfully, I didn’t have time to ponder that brutal reality. With my tour guide’s voice at full projection, I hollered to the group that we needed to get moving.

Back on board the bus, after I’d completed a full head count, Roman released the brake and we rolled down the hill to Lyon. With the microphone in hand, I kneeled on my chair to face the passengers. “I hope you’ve left room for one of the best meals in France.”

A few groaned. “Not more food.”

“I know. I know, you probably don’t need to eat for a week after this morning’s high tea. But what some of you may not know is that Lyon is France’s culinary capital. It’s affectionately known as the stomach of France. Nearly every street offers rustic Bouchon restaurants and peasant delicacies. Today, I’m taking you to one of my favorite restaurants, Le Pailleron. You’re all in for a real treat, especially if you chose the fish.” My mouth salivated at the thought of it.

---