Page 15 of Pampered in Paris

“Non, mon trésor,” he states. “Consider this me trying to impress you.”

He’s trying to impress me?

Just like I have been with the French language. Except I’ve only embarrassed myself with my attempts. I need to figure out a phrase that will let me show off and dazzle him.

I watch his hands move quickly as he makes his way through the vegetables next to him. All I can think about are his hands on my body and what his fingers can do.

I bite my lip, trying to distract my mind with a glimmer of pain. Instead, it makes me think more about Alexandre and the sensation of his tongue ever so slightly grazing my skin.

It doesn’t stop the heat that ignites in my lower abdomen, knowing that there’s only a little panel of lace between my core and being ravished by Alexandre once more. I take my sweater off and ask Alexandre for a glass of water. My mouth is dry and my palms sweaty. I wipe my hands on my dress. I’m not nervous. We’ve already slept together.

But why am I feeling anxious?

Can I make it through dinner?

Alexandre

In addition to a glass of water, I pull out a dry white wine and pour two glasses. I tell Anne about the flavor notes as I continue to prep dinner. I’m waiting for the perfect opening to tell Anne about my visit toLe Cordon Bleu. I wasn’t aware that one of thepeople on the team that reviews applications is an old culinary school buddy of mine.

Despite not tasting Anne’s pastries or knowing exactly what all she can do, I talked her up and described what I do know. I described her passion, her growth, her background and career switch. I explained that she is one of those people ready to dive in, learn everything, and thrive in Paris. Between the application and my words, he offered her a spot in the fall. She’d need to be back in the city for September and ready to jump right into classes. But she got in and the spot is hers if she accepts.

I watch Anne drink the water before she sips the wine. I don’t know when the perfect opportunity will pop up. Maybe I need to take the initiative, like François mentioned.

“You said you haven’t been professionally trained for becoming a pastry chef.” I set all the diced veggies to the side. “Is that something you’ve considered pursuing?” I sip the wine while tidying up the veggie scraps.

“It is.” She runs her index finger along the rim of the wine glass and sighs. “It was, I suppose. I’m not sure.”

“There’s a lot of great programs abroad, such as Germany and Switzerland.”

“Interesting that Paris isn’t among them.” She narrows her eyes at me.

“I assume you already know that since you came here for a conference.” I add oil to a pan and turn the heat on low. “There isLe Cordon Bleu. They have a few campuses here and overseas. It’s well-known.” I trail off at the end and add the veggies to the pan. I mix it all together while Anne talks.

“I did consider applying there, but I’m not sure I’d even get in. I mean, I’m in my thirties and have a year of experience. That’s not exactly ideal Paris pastry school material.”

“Is that all that’s holding you back? The unknown of getting accepted?” I turn the heat off on the stove and walk over to joinher on the seated side of the island. I take her hands in mine. “If you got in, would you stay?”

“I haven’t thought about what would happen if I got accepted because I haven’t applied. I don’t want to waste precious vacation time on something that doesn’t have a chance of happening since the forms are sitting in my apartment.” She sighs. Her shoulders droop as she exhales.

“What if someone else submitted your application for you?”

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops, her cute strawberry lips forming a large oval shape. “What are you saying, Alexandre?”

“The morning after we slept together, I saw theLe Cordon Bleulogo on some papers when I set the pastries down and I was curious if you were interested in their school. I figured I could answer any questions you had about the program.” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to find the right words.

“So, you decided to take my application? Or what?” Her voice wavers. I can’t tell if she’s getting angry or upset.

I suppose I don’t really know everything about Anne.

“I submitted your application in person today. I spoke with the admissions guy. We’re old friends.”

“How could you do that, Alexandre? That’s my personal information.” She fumbles for words. “I hadn’t even decided if I was interested in their school or not.” She stands and starts to pace. “This is a vacation fling. You had no right to take my application, let alone submit it for me. How could you go behind my back and do that without even talking to me?” Her eyes start to water and my chest feels tight. She pulls her sweater on and starts to grab her bag.

I can’t be the reason for her tears.

I reach for her hand. I want to comfort her and hold her close, but she pulls away from me, ready to leave.

“You got in.”

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