Point Us to Paris

Book Three of Summer Flings

Aimée Duffy

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HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Aimee Duffy 2014

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Aimee Duffy asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © August 2014

ISBN:9780008106287

Version 2014-07-22

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Paris

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Aimée Duffy

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

For the ninja, super-graphic-girl and queen Catco.

I couldn't have done this without the support of you 'special' ladies.

Paris
Chapter Eight

Paris really was the city of romance and Ciara was reminded of it every stinking second.

‘You’re messing with our karma, Cia,’ Elle said, but despite the words her friend didn’t look annoyed with her. Her eyes were almost as sad as Ciara felt.

‘I’m sorry. No more moping, I promise.’ She sipped at the red wine they’d ordered in a small bar not far from the designer shops both Gem and Elle had dragged her around.

Beneath the table were all her friends’ bags with so many new clothes that they were going to have to pay another excess weight fee at the airport when they left for their next stop.

‘You know the best way to get over a guy is to get under another,’ Gem pointed out. ‘We’re going to the club tonight. Maybe we’ll meet a trio of gorgeous Frenchmen.’

Ciara forced a smile, feigning excitement. Elle’s sharp look told her it was a wasted effort. After a few tears had appeared when they got to Miami International, her friends hadn’t taken her gaze off her since. Pretending to sleep for the whole flight just to get the attention off her hadn’t worked. It just made them more determined to cheer her up.

‘I don’t think that’s what she needs, Gem.’ Elle reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of notes, then left them on the table. ‘But I have an idea.’

‘Oh hell, what now?’ Her mind was too busy churning through the possibilities that she didn’t even moan at Elle for paying the bill.

‘Where are we going?’ Gem asked when Elle picked up her bags.

‘You’ll see. I didn’t waste all that effort getting us into Le Baron for Ciara to wear a face like that all night.’

‘Thanks Elle,’ she murmured dryly. Then something clicked. ‘Wait, isn’t that the private club the Russian mafia lords drink in?’

She’d googled the night life in Paris before her shopping trip in Miami to try and figure out what to buy with her vouchers, and La Baron was one of the clubs she remembered, just not for the right reasons.

Elle laughed. ‘It used to be, but it’s under new management now. Relax.’

‘So why did it take so much effort to get in?’ she asked as they started off down the street.

‘Because it’s private. And exclusive. I want to go. Obviously.’

There really was no stopping her friend when the chin tilt appeared so she sighed and gave in for the moment. It didn’t take Elle long until they got to their destination and Ciara couldn’t stop her chin from dropping. Two windows showcasing sleek, black dresses would have been enough to stop her in her tracks, but above that and the door a black metal balcony with gold letters stunned her.

Elle was taking them to Givenchy, knowing how much Ciara loved the black dress she borrowed from Elle for a spring dance a few years before. But this was just cruel. Taking her to a shop that she couldn’t even afford a scarf in.

‘Come on,’ Elle said, pulling her toward the door.

‘I can’t go in there.’ Ciara tried to wrestle her arm back.

‘You’re going alright. Gem, get her other arm!’

They had such a tight hold on her that struggling wasn’t just humiliating in front of all the passers by, but totally pointless. Strong-arming her into the shop can’t have been easy with her wriggling and the bags they were already carrying, but they did a better job than she could have.

‘I hate you for this! Both of you!’ she hissed, closing her eyes to make it hurt less. If she saw any of the dresses, the accessories, she’d be saying ‘bye, bye’ to the rest of her money.

‘You’re going to love me soon,’ Elle said, not even out of bloody breath!

‘What, when I’m penniless and on the next flight to Dublin? I doubt it.’

A woman’s voice asked in French if they needed assistance, but her lessons from high school failed her as she couldn’t remember how to say ‘yes, call the feckin’ guards.’

Elle answered in fluent French, making Ciara hate her even more. Then she was being dragged again and in a bid to end this madness, she planted her feet and refused to budge.

She should have known that wouldn’t stop Elle.

‘Drop the bags. We’ll pick this cry baby up and carry her to the changing rooms,’ Elle said to Gem.

As her feet left the ground she did the most stupid thing ever and opened her eyes.

They were in a rectangular room, all grays and white but that wasn’t what drew her attention. It was the minimalistic clothes hung on rails in the indentation from the walls. Dark, plain, simple and oh so pretty.

Little black jackets hung next to the matching white blouses and leather skinny jeans. The next alcove had sleek, knee length skirts and a blouse with a daring strip of red below the bust. But the loveliest, most elegant black dress draped over a mannequin with so much effortless grace stole all her attention. Her anger evaporated and she sagged against Elle, needing the support.

‘Think we’ve found a winner,’ Gem said, lowering her friend back to the floor.

Such a bittersweet feeling, seeing something she wanted so much and knowing she could never ever have it for real. She’d been having that feeling a lot lately.

Elle started up again with the French, so fast she didn’t understand and then they both dragged her away from the dress. The swell of disappointment made her too weak to fight back, and she stared at the prettiest thing in the world until it was out of sight, just to make sure it was ingrained in her memory.

Gem shoved her into the dressing room and she sagged onto the sofa, feeling even more miserable than she had an hour ago.

‘You’re going to make me strip you too, aren’t you?’ Gem said, then without much of a pause got to work on doing just that. ‘Just so you know, this isn’t gay in the slightest.’

Ciara didn’t care what it was as she let her so called friend strip her top off then her jeans.

‘This has to go too, sorry.’ Gem unclipped her bra and pulled it off her arms. ‘You do have a nice pair, but not nice enough to turn me off the dicks for good.’

She knew Gem was trying to make her laugh, but her eyes watered instead. God, it was like she was grieving. For Zack first and now for the prettiest dress in the world.

The curtain parted to show Elle with a hand full of hangers. ‘Shit, Gem. I didn’t tell you to molest her.’

‘I didn’t, I just got her ready. Do you have it?’ Gem asked.

Ciara couldn’t care less what they were talking about. She knew it would only mean more torture. At least there weren’t mirrors here. She could look at the panel without seeing her despair or catching a glimpse of them.

‘This is ridiculous, Ciara. You should be excited, not acting like someone died,’ Elle said. She thrust something at Gem, then pulled Ciara onto her feet. ‘Don’t make me slap you. I will.’

Like she cared either way.

‘This is totally unnecessary,’ Elle huffed, but then turned her around. ‘Hold up your arms.’

They weren’t going to leave her alone until they’d had her way, then she could go back to the massive house and lock herself in her room until they were ready to leave this horrible city.

Ciara lifted her arms and closed her eyes. Satin fabric fell down over her body effortlessly, with nothing but a thick strap over one of her shoulders. She wouldn’t open her eyes and look, this was bad enough. The soft dress skimmed her curves, all the way down to her knees making her tingle and yearn.

She was turned around again and pushed forward a few steps.

‘This is the one,’ Elle said.

‘I’ll say. Wow, Ciara. You look like a model,’ Gem gushed.

Ciara didn’t dare look. She couldn’t trust herself to hold it together if she got a flash of reflection. Her imagination was already running riot.

‘You know, I’m trying to do something nice for you and here you are, being an ungrateful bitch.’

Ciara did lose it then, but not in the way she’d feared. As soon as Elle had spoken, anger flared through her, burning away all the hurt and she did open her eyes, but the image of her in the prettiest dress in the world didn’t soothe her.

She whirled on Elle. ‘How is this nice? You know I can’t afford Givenchy but you dragged me in here anyway, torturing me with more things I can’t have! As if leaving Miami wasn’t bad enough, now you want to show me how fucking amazing I look in this dress, knowing I’m going to have to walk out of here without it? You’re the bitch, Elle.’

Elle’s eyes widened and got a little watery. ‘I’d never do that to you, Ciara. The dress is yours and you can walk out of here with it. It’s already paid for.’

Her anger only cranked higher as she returned to the dressing room, pulled the satin off without missing a beat then got dressed in record time. When she got back, Elle and Gem’s worried expressions made her bite her tongue against the angry torrent she wanted to scream at them.

Instead she headed for the exit.

‘Where are you going?’ Gem asked. ‘Cia, don’t do this.’

‘If either of you knew me at all, you’d know how much I hate being a charity case and would never have done this. Some friends you are.’

Gem called out again but Ciara kept walking until she hit the streets, then broke into a light jog as tears welled in her eyes. Her gut wrenched until she had to slow down, the sick feeling lying heavy in her stomach. It was guilt, she knew she’d overreacted but not enough to go back and accept their charity.

Instead she walked aimlessly through the city, not noticing much at all about the beauty of the place she was in. Her mind went back to her eighth birthday, when the headmaster called a meeting with her father and she’d tagged along. He’d thrown out words like genius, and good university and ever since that day her da had worked double shifts, weekends too, just to make sure she could have the best education money could buy. Money they didn’t really have, but that her college friends had in spades.

She knew it was different, but the principal was still the same. She’d barely earned enough in her life to begin paying anyone back. Maybe if she had a plan for the future, she wouldn’t have half of the stupid pride she did. But this was real life and she was who she was.

***

Hours might have passed, Ciara wasn’t really tracking. She’d walked through most of the city and was now at a park with the clichéd couples on benches, tourists with their cameras enjoying the afternoon sun and kids running around with Viva La France footballs.

She wasn’t tracking the world cup either, but most of the tourists seemed to be and had dressed for the occasion with footie shirts galore. Finding an empty spot shaded by a massive oak tree she sat down and decided it was time to snap out of this funk.

After all, Elle and Gem had only been trying to cheer her up and the guilt had shifted to shame, so much so that each time her phone vibrated she couldn’t bring herself to fish it out of her pocket.

But that was wrong, they’d be worried about her and Elle had been right, she was an ungrateful bitch. One who didn’t deserve her friends. Pulling her phone out, she noticed all the missed calls, texts and voicemails and was about to dial Gem when a text from a number she didn’t recognise flashed on her screen.

1pm. Le Petit Café.

The address followed. Had Elle and Gem bought a new phone to tempt her out of hiding, or worse, gotten a private investigator involved? She squeezed out a giggle, trying to convince herself the latter was ridiculous but she couldn’t say for sure that they hadn’t. Elle was just as prone to overreaction as her, albeit in a different way.

Jumping up, she stuffed her phone back in her pocket and then peeled out of the park, keeping a look out for the nearest taxi. She had an hour, but wanted to get there as early as possible in case her mental friends really had paid someone to find her.

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