Fromage à Trois by Victoria Brownlee

Author:Victoria Brownlee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 2018-08-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

20

THE NEXT MORNING AFTER A raucous night of drinking and dancing I was excited to see a message from Gaston on my phone saying he was looking forward to catching up again soon. I’d clearly received it while out, but thankfully I’d had the good sense not to attempt a long reply and in my inebriated state had simply sent a casual “Oui, oui” and a winky face.

It’s back on! I thought, smiling widely. But now wasn’t the time to get caught up daydreaming about another date with Gaston.

Billie’s flight from Australia was due to arrive that morning, and while it was a shame that she hadn’t made it to Paris in time for Clotilde’s and my housewarming party, I was looking forward to seeing her immensely. Since I’d moved in with Clotilde, I’d hardly had a free moment to message her and I was excited to find out what had been going on in Melbourne and to show her my new Parisian life.

Ignoring my pounding head, I stumbled into the kitchen, turned on the coffee machine, and watched the restorative liquid drip slowly into the pot. Debris and glasses covered the bench tops from the party and I started to clean up quietly. I wanted Billie to see our apartment at its best. As I went, I avoided counting the empty bottles of wine and kept telling myself that things could have been worse. But when I saw and smelled the heaving ashtray, I was overcome by nausea. Turns out, it isn’t a stereotype—the French still love to smoke. A lot. Even more so when drinking.

Hearing a man’s muffled voice coming from Clotilde’s room, I grabbed my coffee and went to hide in the shower, hoping to scrub away my hangover, or at least some of my leftover eye makeup. I tried to remember if there’d been anyone else in our Uber on the way home, but the details—all except me begging the driver to turn up the tunes—were hazy.

Emerging hot and red from the steamy bathroom, I ran into Clotilde and the sexy French dude that belonged to the voice I’d heard. I exchanged les bises with her midnight mystery man—awkward in a towel—and offered them coffee. Clotilde refused on her new beau’s behalf and shuffled him out the door quickly. We listened carefully to his footsteps descend the stairs before we started giggling and discussing what had happened the night before. Hugo was a photographer from a shoot she’d been at a few weeks earlier who—unbeknownst to me—she’d had a massive crush on. She’d run into him last night and the rest was history.

“Then why did you chuck him out so fast?” I asked.

“He couldn’t stay a minute longer,” she said seriously. “Papa and Gaston are arriving soon to take me to brunch.”

“Where are you going?” I asked, trying to sound calm despite feeling my heart flutter.

“Eggs and Co. Why don’t you come?”

“I can’t,” I said, cursing the bad timing. “Billie is flying in today. I’m heading to the airport to meet her.

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