Page 44 of Win Some Love Some
“Of course not,” the agent said, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.
I’d been fooled once, why not be fooled again? Silly little girl who thought she was in love with a prince.
To be clear. Crystal clear. I never once thought I was in love with Rene.
“Still,” Special Agent Naugle said as he handed me his card from a clip in his back pocket. “If he does contact you, you’ll let us know immediately.”
I took the card. I had dozens of these in a drawer in my bedroom.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“If I don’t kill him first,” my dad muttered behind me.
“Dad!” I scolded. “Special Agent Naugle might not realize you’re joking.” I turned to the agent. “He’s joking.”
“I’m not,” Dad said. I turned to glare at him but he was unapologetic.
With an awkward goodbye, the agent left, but the tension between my parents and me didn’t immediately dissipate. It was always like this. They could feel my shame and I could feel their pain. We were like disco balls in a room, reflecting everything to each other. Again and again.
When I first told them.
When the scandal blew up online.
When they met me at the airport and I fell into my father’s arms crying.
They thought I was both heartbroken and humiliated.
I never bothered to correct them. Humiliated, yes. But I’d only been heartbroken once in my life and that was not something I was going to share.
“Honey, what’s that face you’re making?” Mom asked.
I immediately wiped my expression and thoughts clear of Nick.
“It’s nothing. I’m going to go to my room.”
“You don’t want to talk about the fact that a criminal might have plans to show up here?” Dad growled. “Maybe we should talk about your safety.”
“Rene was never dangerous. Everything was just an act with him. It was all bullshit. And what I told the agent is true. He’s not coming to this small town. There’s nowhere to land his borrowed private plane.”
“I don’t like it. And neither does the FBI, if they thought to come here in person,” Mom pointed out. She had her sweater wrapped tightly around her waist, her hands tucked under her arms.
“Trust me,” I said and reached out to touch her arm, pull her hand free so I could hold it. “He’s just following protocol. Rene will never show up here. Now I’m off to memorize Jolie’s menu.”
“Why?” Dad asked.
“So I can translate all the dishes. It’s a French restaurant.”
“In a town in Maine.”
“Trust me,” I told Dad. “Jolie will love it! It will bring such authenticity, a little je ne sais quoi!”
“I don’t know what that means,” Dad said.
“It’s French,” Mom explained to him. “You go do you, honey. I’m sure you’ll be the best French speaking hostess at a French restaurant ever.”
“Right?” I said, full of hope and optimism. “This is going to be great.”
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