Author: Rebecca Raisin
Series: The Little Paris Collection, Book 2
Standalone?: Yes
Release Date: June 30, 2016
Genres: Contemporary Romance, Chick Lit
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Summary
Anouk LaRue used to be a romantic, but since she had her heart well and
truly broken her love life has dissolved into nothing more than daydreams of
the perfect man. Retreating to her extraordinary Little Antique Shop has always
been a way to escape, because who could feel alone in a shop bursting with
memories and beautiful objects…
Until Tristan Black bursts into an auction and
throws her ordered world into a spin.
Following your heart is a little like getting lost
in Paris – sometimes confusing and always exciting! Except learning to trust
her instincts is not something Anouk is ready to do when it comes to romance,
but the city of love has other ideas…
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Exceprt
“Well you haven’t met Claude yet. And…” she paused for
effect “…his brother Didier lives in Paris, and just so happens to be an art
critic. Art. He likes art. You like art!”
As if that was enough to jump into bed with someone, which
is what she constantly nagged me to do. I shook my head in a vigorous no.
“Don’t do that thing you do, not again, please.” It was her
mission to set me with up with a man, any
man, the only prerequisite seemed to be that he was breathing. So far she’d
introduced me to a sixty-year-old count with a handlebar moustache, a
dreadlocked guitarist who spoke in tongues, and the last and most explosive no:
a magician who kept threatening to make my clothing disappear. I shuddered at
the thought of such paramours.
We walked in silence, enjoying the hazy sunlight on our
faces. Twenty minutes later we arrived at one of our favorite restaurants, Mille, near Les Invalides. Inside the
various buildings that made up Hôtel National des Invalides there were museums
and monuments pertaining to the French military, and deep within its walls lay
Napoléon Bonaparte’s tomb. It was a hallowed place and steeped with history, a
popular spot for tourists who could wander most of the expanse for free.
Mille served traditional French food, and a selection of fine
wines, perfect for a slow lunch, and it was a good vantage point for people
watching, which was one of my favorite things to do.
The maître d’ recognized us and hurried over, motioning to a
table by the window. We thanked him, taking proffered menus. Lilou ordered
white wine without consulting me, and fluttered her lashes at the poor smitten
man, as was her way. “Vin blanc, OK?” she asked, leaning her head on her hand, giving
me a lazy smile.
“Well you’ve ordered it now, haven’t you?” I furrowed my
brow, trying to appear disapproving, but failing.
“Oui, I have.” She laughed, and it lit up her blue eyes. We
were similar in appearance, but Lilou had a playfulness to her that made her
radiant, which I had never had, even in my teens. While our facial features
were alike, our style was markedly different. I tended to wear vintage
clothing, forties style, and Lilou was very a la mode, and kept up with the
latest fashion trends even on her limited budget. Her hair was always loose,
and shiny, like a shampoo model, and mine was curled or coiffed. She favored
natural makeup, and I preferred the dramatic smoky-eyed, scarlet-lipped look.
Though many a time she’d pilfer my wardrobe for scarves or dresses – a younger
sister’s rite of passage.
Perusing the menu I decided on the dish of the day – let it
be a surprise – and Lilou went for the beef fillet with béarnaise sauce and
potato dauphinoise. For such a lithe specimen of a girl she could eat as
heartily as any man. She’d have entrée first and finish the meal with a rich
dessert, of which I would steal a bite, and then she’d order yet another bottle
of wine. I had her measure, and knew without doubt I’d pay for the lunch, and
its accoutrements. It was nice to be able to shut off for a few hours, with
someone who knew me inside out.
I enjoyed our sisterly time together, and the fact we could
be ourselves and relax into the afternoon. I wondered if that might change if
we lived together. The thought of Lilou wreaking havoc inside my pristine
apartment, where everything was just so, was enough to make me rue my choice
not to say no to her – but how could I? Parisian apartments were expensive, and
I knew she couldn’t keep up paying for hers for any length of time. I calmed
myself, promising there’d be rules she’d have to adhere to. She would be on her
best behavior surely?
We ordered our meals, and the waiter filled our wineglasses.
I sat back feeling my limbs loosen with the first sip of crisp white wine.
“As I was saying,” she said, giving her hair a customary
flick, “I know my match-making choices haven’t been ideal but this Didier…” She
pretended to pull her collar out as if she was hot, and waggled her eyebrows
suggestively. “Whoa! Seriously, you have to meet him.”
I clucked my tongue like my maman would do when Lilou was
being too Lilou. “No thank you. Your
choices have been downright hideous.” I gave her a withering stare. “A
magician? A sixty-year-old count? You might think I’m mature but I’m only
twenty-eight for God’s sake. I don’t think we need to reach for the fringes of
society just yet. And certainly not a man old enough to be my papa!”
She leaned forward and whispered, “Some women find silver
foxes very attractive, I’ll have you know.”
It was like speaking another language with Lilou. “Silver
foxes?”
“Oui,” she said. “Silver foxes, you know, a man with a
sprinkling of gray, a little mature but a whole lot of sex appeal.” She slapped her hand on the table and let out a
roar of delight.
“Hush, Lilou. Mon Dieu!” All eyes were cast toward us.
“What?” She blew out her cheeks. “You can’t nurse a broken
heart forever. Six months is enough grieving time, too much time for a man like him.
You need to have a passionate affair!”
I shriveled in my seat, hoping no one could understand her
fast-talking sentences. “I’m not grieving –” I scoffed “– far from it. I don’t
have time for it, that’s all.” Lilou knew the intimate details about Joshua
because the petit espion had found my
diary and read every single word. If not for that she’d know zero, because who
would tell the world a horror story like that? “And if I did have time for a
relationship, I wouldn’t reserve it for the type of men you’re suggesting. A
silver fox, I mean…?”
Laughter burbled from her. “You said you wanted someone
extraordinary! Gray is the new black, non?”
I arched a brow. “I don’t think so, Lilou.” Really, she was
so adamant about the most ridiculous things.
Tugging her dress down as she sat back in her chair, she
said, “Sister of mine, I hate to say it, but you are only twenty-eight. Not eighty-eight. Why can’t you have a little fun
while you’re waiting for Mr. Right? Even Madame Dupont beds more men than you
do, and she is almost eighty.”
About Rebecca Raisin
Rebecca Raisin is a true bibliophile. This love of books morphed into the desire to write them. She’s been published in various short story anthologies and in in fiction magazines, and is now focusing on writing romance.
Rebecca aims to write characters you can see yourself being friends with. People with big hearts who care about relationships, and most importantly believe in true love.
Connect with Rebecca on her Facebook page, Twitter, Pinterest, or her website.
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