Lucas regarded me carefully. “You’ve got a problem.”
Brilliant, this ass**le. “Yes. My problem is that I’m on my honeymoon, alone.”
“That’s not your problem.”
My jaw fell open. Who the hell was he to tell me what my problem was? He went on before I could protest.
“Your problem is that you thought things were going to be one way and they’re not. You’re not even telling me you miss the guy who was supposed to be here with you. You just don’t want to be here alone because that wasn’t the plan.”
“That is not what I said!”
He laughed. “That’s exactly what you said.”
“Well…” I flapped my hands. “That’s not what I meant. I’m flustered. And drunk.”
“So you do miss him? Because I don’t see a heartbroken girl here in front of me. I see someone who’s angry that her relationship ended badly mostly because it ruined an idea she had about the perfect life. And she flew all the way here, but even Paris isn’t enough to distract her from the fact she didn’t get exactly what she wanted when she wanted it.”
“It was more than an idea! It was real. At least, it felt real…most of the time.” My spine curled as the fight left my body. Even my voice weakened. “But what do I know?”
He spoke softer too. “Want to know what I think?”
“No.”
He held up his hands. “Fair enough.”
I put my credit card on the bar. “I want to pay my bill and leave.”
“The wine is on the house.”
“Because you feel sorry for me?” I snapped. God, Mia, just shut up. Why I was letting this guy get to me, I had no idea. Wasn’t I in this bar because I felt sorry for myself?
He hesitated before answering. “Yes. Originally, I felt sorry for you because some ass**le treated you wrong. But now that I know a little more, I think he did you a big favor. Now I feel sorry for you because you’re going to let one bad day ruin a dream that you’ve had for such a long time. You know, if you leave tomorrow, I bet you never come back. I bet you’ll always think of Paris as a miserable, lonely place.”
I opened my mouth to argue and then closed it. Was he right? Was I letting one bad day speak louder than a lifetime of dreaming about Paris?
“But I’d also bet you’re stronger than you think.”
I met his eyes, and they were serious. Was he right? I’d known coming here wouldn’t be easy, but I’d gotten on that plane. Cocking my head, I asked, “Were you a psych major or something?”
He grinned. “Double major—music and psychology. Graduate degree in psych. Look, I know we just met, and I do tend to analyze people and open my big mouth when I should probably just keep my opinion to myself. But when you walked in here alone and looked around, I thought, There is a woman who knows what she wants. That confidence is sexy.”
“But I’m not confident.” The words came out like a whimper as I stared down at my left hand, where my ring used to be. I wondered where it was now—I’d thrown it in the toilet, but Coco had rescued it.
“Yes, you are. You’re just a little scared right now.”
Exhaling, I looked up at him through my lashes. “You argue with everything I say. It’s really annoying.”
“Sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
“How?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, let’s make a deal. You agree to give Paris one more day, and I’ll agree to spend the day being your tour guide—no psycho-analysis, I promise. If you’re still miserable even when you have a friend by your side, you can grab a flight home the next day. I’ll even call the airline for you.”
“A friend, huh?”
“You think about it.” He moved down the bar to fill drink orders, and I checked out his ass again. It really was cute. And though he wasn’t my first choice for a travel companion—I’d rank him somewhere above my mother and below Coco and Erin—the offer was sort of sweet, and I figured he’d make a pretty good guide, being native and all. I could give it one more day.
When he returned, I held up two fingers. “I have two conditions.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Name them.”
“You have to quit arguing with everything I say about myself. You don’t even know me.”
“Yes, I do.”
I drew in a huge angry breath, but he burst out laughing. “Sorry.” He flashed his palms at me. “But you’re cute when you’re mad, you know. It’s going to be hard for me to resist poking at you just a little.”
My mouth hung open. Was he flirting with me? I was half furious, half flattered. On one hand, he’d irritated me to no end tonight with his smart-ass, know-it-all attitude, but on the other…My God, how long had it been since someone had flirted with me this way?
The other bartender called for help, and Lucas held up one finger over his shoulder to put him off a moment. “So? What’s the second condition?”
“There must be wine.”
He grinned. “Deal.” I put out my hand and we shook on it, and then suddenly he pulled me toward him over the bar, kissed each of my cheeks, and then the first one again. “Nice to meet you, Mia. Welcome to Paris.”
#
Despite Lucas’s opinion, I did not feel confident enough to take the Metro for the first time at night, so he put me in a cab and gave the driver directions to the hotel. Lucas raised an eyebrow at my fancy digs but didn’t make any smart comments. We agreed he’d meet me there in the lobby at ten the next morning—he argued for noon, but I insisted on earlier.