Dark shadows crept under his hazel eyes. He loaded two empty crates onto the rear of the vehicle. “Did Ines send you?”
“No, should she have? Why are you avoiding her?”
“My parents have set a date for the proposal.” Luc slammed the doors shut. “Why continue to see her and torment myself with the unattainable?”
“Because you love her and you don’t want to get married. You want to be with Ines.”
He flinched. The truth stung. It hurt, more so when it was already known but never spoken.
“I understand family is important. I get it,” I continued. “But what about your happiness?” Luc’s dilemma mirrored my aunt’s from all those years ago. She had chosen her family and paid the price in years of loneliness.
“I can’t go against my parents.” His deep voice dropped to a whisper.
All I could think about was Ines. She loved him—was waiting for him to choose her. As tortured as he seemed, his decision was clear.
I frowned. “At least tell her what you’ve decided instead of avoiding her like a coward.”
“I can’t.” His chest caved, turning inward.
“Then you don’t deserve her.”
* * *
* * *
My aunt stood outside the tea shop. Her once straightened shoulders slumped. An errant strand escaped her upswept hair. People were walking the street, yet no one was going inside.
It wasn’t as if they ignored the shop; instead, they paused, whispered among themselves, then proceeded onwards. I’d seen this behavior before: in the hallways at high school, around the water cooler at work, even by the buffet table at family gatherings.
A walking tour guide passed by with his group and my aunt confronted him. I couldn’t follow the conversation, but I didn’t need to. Their body language communicated much more than words. Aunt Evelyn advocated for her shop; the guide wasn’t receptive. His group scattered into the nearby stores.
My aunt walked away fuming.
Stopping this required the man responsible to set things right before the rumors become a sentient entity of their own; otherwise, it would be impossible to control the narrative.
I entered the store and handed the cookies to my aunt. She opened the box, then closed it.
“Thank you for picking these up. I’m afraid there aren’t many customers to give them to. I went out there and tried, but no one comes inside. That tour guide is like the others: they repeat the horrible, false information about me and my business. Nothing I can say clears my name.” She slouched against the clean countertop. “I’m the newcomer. They’re not going to listen to me. Ines’s family is doing their best to talk to them. I expected resistance in some form, but I thought I had the luxury of a few months to get established.”
“It shouldn’t be this way. Girard isn’t playing fair.”
“No, he isn’t.” Aunt Evelyn sighed and moved to the tea service behind the counter and poured me a cup. “This is my dragon tea. Try it. No one else has.”
I took the warm teacup in my hands and inhaled. Spices teased my nostrils: cardamom, ginger, and cloves, along with a promise of an earthy base.
“This smells delicious.” I drank deeply.
She flashed a weak smile. “I’m glad you approve.” Her eyes never left me.
“Are you worried I wouldn’t like it?”
“No. I stand by the quality of my tea.”
I sat the teacup down and reached for a galette, taking a bite of the waffle cookie.
She tilted her head toward a young hipster stroking his beard outside by the window. He was reading the tea listing posted behind the counter. Her eyes, however, never looked away from me.
“What?” I asked.
“You drank tea, Vanessa.”
A lingering taste of oolong filled my mouth. Nothing pressed against my lips. No intrusion compelled me to speak. My eyes widened and I began to cry.
Forty
Aunt Evelyn placed a hand on my arm to steady me. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
Had I known it would take almost dying to cure me, I might have jaywalked earlier. It was like a part of me, the part I could never tame, died on that Paris street corner.
Wiping my eyes, I refilled my teacup before stepping outside to observe a crowd of people pass. All the while, I sipped my tea, without pain, and without worry. My aunt followed me out, smiling as she watched me finish the cup.
“Do you want to walk around town drinking tea to make sure?” she asked.
“I’m tempted to,” I laughed. A sound straight from my soul, loud, joyful.
For the first time in my life, I truly felt free.
Red threads were everywhere, connecting people near and far—a tapestry of silk strings sewing souls together. In the ocean of couplings, two people, though, were unconnected: my aunt and me. My excitement contrasted with her growing dimness.
I came to Paris and got more than what I desired, yet my aunt had not.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling, Auntie?”
“Because I chose this.” She waved her arm to encompass the whole neighborhood. “I went in with eyes open. I took the risk, and thought I could do it. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Her voice broke. Without any hesitation, I hugged her. She rested her head against mine, leaning in for support. I loved her and wanted nothing more than to see her happy.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to help you,” I said, squeezing her close. “By the time I leave Paris, everything will turn around.”
“If only I had your confidence. I was so sure this would be my time, that I earned the right to choose what I wanted.” A joyless laugh escaped her lips. “I’d been foolish in thinking there was still a chance, but it’s too late. Sometimes, dreams are meant to stay outside the realm of reality. Yearning for the stars won’t bring them to your fingertips.”
She had given up, but I refused to allow her dream to die.
* * *
* * *
Though I wasn’t needed at the store, I stayed and kept her company. The tension in our relationship was gone. No longer instructor and pupil, we were now just aunt and niece. However, tension had given way to a lingering sadness, which plagued my aunt. My tasting her teas brought her momentary joy, but she soon returned to her morose state.
I yearned to see the confident, strong woman I’d admired that fateful night at the restaurant. She had been resplendent then, challenging her old love with her presence and her words. Now, the fight had abandoned her, leaving exhaustion and resignation in its wake. Gone were the glorious golds: she now wore muted grays.
It wasn’t fair; I had what I wanted, she didn’t. We fell into an odd waltz: I dampened my happiness, she masked her sorrow.
The prospect of meeting Marc for dinner raised her spirits a little. I still hadn’t heard from him, aside from the drawing I carried in my purse. I missed him.
When the shop closed and Uncle Michael returned from his meetings, I retreated to my room upstairs in relief. My failed stint as a cheerleader left the bitter taste of disappointment on my tongue. I dialed Auntie Faye’s number.
“Hi, Auntie, did you send the picture?”
My aunt was in her salon. The ambient noise filled the background, making it hard for me to hear her. “Yes, it should arrive tomorrow morning. What’s the rush?”
I ignored the question. It would lead to too many follow-up demands. “Did you find anything else out?”
“Mr. Renaud has many admirers. So many desperate women. The worst is his close friend’s sister, Leticia Chirac. She has been after him for years. One time, she bribed the concierge of a hotel he was staying at in Zurich to get into his room. It caused a scandal. She was waiting for him on his bed, naked. Allegedly. One of the maids found her when he called to have someone check if he had left his briefcase in the room. Everyone involved was fired. He travels with his assistant now.”
“Creepy.” I shuddered. “Does this mean he has a bodyguard then?”
“You mean his driver and assistant. Mr. Leo Lieu. Ex-marine. Ninth-degree red belt in jujitsu. He’s a distant relative of Ning’s husband. I asked George, and he said they met once at a family reunion in upstate New York.”
I might be able to use this. Uncle George had always doted on me, and dropping his name on the bodyguard might give me access to Girard. Enlisting him in my matchmaking scheme was a stretch, but at minimum, I hoped that the vague family connection could grant me an audience before he put me in a chokehold.
“Linda wants to know when you’re calling. You know you don’t want to keep your mother waiting. Call her after you get off the phone with me.”
“I will. I promise.”
“How is Evelyn doing?”
Miserable and defeated. “She’s with Uncle Michael now. He’s visiting from Munich,” I said instead. “We’re going to have dinner soon.”
“Good. We’re worried about her.”
“You sound like you miss her.”
“I do. We all do. She’s one of us, even she can’t deny that.” There was a pause and a sigh. “Go call your mother.”
“Yes, Auntie. Thank you again.”
I hung up.
Before I could call Ma, I needed to figure out how to downplay the accident. She would worry regardless, yet I had to mitigate the damage as much as possible. The best-case scenario happened: I was alive and free of the curse. And I had a romantic prospect. If I could get her to focus on the latter, maybe she’d gloss over the former.