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Thespace had a gallery feel to it: clean white walls and directional lighting to emphasise the artwork.Thepictures took her breath away—all shot from the air.Somewere discernibleParisianlandmarks: theArcdeTriomphe,NotreDame, and theLouvre.Butothers were more abstract, from other parts ofFrance.Ariver snaking through a forest.Aclose-up of a disintegrating coastline.Wavesbreaking off the coast ofNormandy.Jessthought of her great-grandfather, who had fought inWorldWarIIand survived the invasion atNormandyBeach.Hehad died a long time ago; she only had vague memories of an old man with paper skin and liver spots who smelled of menthol and coughed a lot.Shewished she’d beenold enough to talk to him about his experiences.Nobodyin her family had written down his story.Allthat history, lost.
‘Well, if it isn’tSleepingBeauty,’ said a deep, smug voice.
Jessjumped, torn out of her thoughts.Sheturned her head and found herself looking at a familiar face.Fora moment, she felt like she’d been there before, in this gallery, wearing this dress, meeting this person with his distinguished salt and pepper hair, judgemental frown, and scar.Thesensation passed, and she snapped back into her present timeline, a dizzy feeling of unreality lingering and then slowly fading away.
‘It’syou!Er…’Didshe know his name?Bloodrushed to her cheeks as the few memories she did have from the previous night needled her again.Hertoes curled with awkward self-consciousness, especially as she realised that her brain hadn’t accurately recalled just how gorgeous he really was.Itwas a small comfort that his eyes also swept up and down her body with reciprocal appreciation.
‘Gabriel.’Helifted his eyebrows as though thinking she should know his name and shook his head in a patronising manner.Thiswoman is a lush and a danger to humanity,it said to her.Hehoisted a camera bag onto the desk and unzipped the main compartment.Heinspected the lenses one by one, in a way that she had seenKrishdo many times before.
‘Soyou’re a photographer.’Shecouldn’t help how her voice dipped down as though accusing him of something nefarious.Soyou’reJacktheRipper.She’dalready had her fill of photographers.Herbreak-up withKrishhad left her somewhat camera shy.Unconsciously, she stepped back towards the door.
‘Guiltyas charged,’ he mumbled, absorbed in his task.
Herhead told her to go and she took another step towards the exit, but stopped herself.Despitehis career choice, she didn’t want him to think badly of her for last night, even if he was a sullen grouch.Buthow did one apologise to a stranger formaking an unwanted, drunken advance?Theroom went quiet for a moment.Shegrappled for the right thing to say while studying a picture ofLesInvalides, whereNapoleon’sTombrested.He, on the other hand, seemed in no hurry to talk to her, involved as he was in prepping his kit.
Heregoes nothing.Clearingher throat, she smiled her sweetest smile and said, ‘Thankyou for your help, by the way.Lastnight,Imean.Idon’t usually get drunk like that.Itwas just?—’
‘Thebreak-up.Iknow,’ he said without looking up, his voice implying that she had told him quite enough.Heloaded a memory card into the back of his camera.
Howmuch did he know?Herold friend embarrassment turned up again, and she scuffed at a non-existent mark on the floor with her foot.
‘Still,’ he began as he replaced his camera in the bag. ‘It’sirresponsible to get so drunk when you’re travelling alone.’
Hermouth fell open.Jessresented his admonishing tone, which for some reason was even more galling in anAmericanaccent.Whodid he think he was?Herdad?Shealready knew it was a bad idea, but hated hearing him say it.Twinnedfeelings of shame and annoyance danced through her.Shewas a grown woman and could make her own choices, even the bad ones.
Withan uncharacteristic trace of sarcasm, she said, ‘Well,IguessI’lljust be grateful that you were around to save me.’
Forsome reason, his arrogant features froze, and a stricken look crossed his face.Hisforehead crumpled, his gaze turning inward.Afew long seconds passed before he visibly shook himself and resumed zipping up the bag with unnecessary vigour, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Whatwasthatabout?
Shecast around for something else to say, feeling awkward. ‘Yourwork is beautiful.’
‘Thanks,’ he practically grunted.
Theman was obviously busy.Shewas about to say her farewells and leave when her phone beeped to alert her to a new text.Shefished it out of her bag.Itwas a message fromKrish!Perhapshe’d had a chance to think about it some more and realised that he’d made an awful mistake.
Witha hopeful smile, she opened it and read:
Hey Jess, All okay? I’m worried about you being all alone in Paris. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I hurt you. Krish x
Herillogical hope finally died.Herchest filled with a cottony feeling, and a sob escaped her mouth.Hottears formed in her eyes.Checkingup on her was a veryKrishthing to do, but it just opened wounds that she had sewn closed using weak thread.Shewished he’d just leave her be.Witha trembling finger, she blocked his number.
Atissue appeared in front of her, held out byGabriel, who had an even angrier scowl than usual on his face. ‘WasthatChris?’ he asked.
‘Krish, yes,’ she corrected him.
‘Whata dick move.Heshould leave you alone.’
Forsome reason she felt the urge to stick up for her ex, even thoughGabriel’ssentiments echoed hers.Despitethe fact that things had ended unexpectedly,Krishhad been the perfect boyfriend up until that point.She’dstruggle to find anybody with the same mythical combination of kindness, sexiness, and ambition.Thethought made her well up again. ‘Actually, he was one of the good ones.That’swhyI’mso upset.’
Gabrielsnorted. ‘Obviouslynot, if he was stupid enough to walk away from you.’
Inlight of their conversation so far, his words surprised her, shocking her tears into drying up.Theireyes met for a moment: blue on brown.Thescar across his right eyebrow gave his gaze a degree of extra intensity.Shelooked away first.
Sheused the tissue he’d given her to clean up the last wet marks from her face.WithGabrielstanding so close, she caught his scent, which she surprisingly remembered from last night.Itmade her think of snuggling by a roaring fire on a cold winter’s day.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘it’s still a bit raw.’Shetried not to picture what she andKrishwould be doing right now in the alternate reality where he hadn’t broken her heart.Walkingalong theSeine, gazing into each other’s eyes…
