Rebecca Raisin - The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower

And the buyers were French people, he said. Trustworthy.

In that flurry of love, I had believed him. Of course I had.

It was the greatest shock when I stumbled on them at an online auction and confronted him about it. Non, non, non , he mimicked my French accent, remember your messages? The antiques are mine as you said so many times! Au revoir, Anouk. It was fun while it lasted.

Ambushed.

And fraught, the gendarmerie couldn’t help me. They said I’d gifted them to him. They had proof. Text messages that came from my cell phone, saying those exact words. Joshua was clever. He’d been ribbing me, he called it. Teasing me about ‘gifting’ my treasures and like the lovestruck idiot I was, I played along by text, waiting months for these so-called buyers to pay. By the time I realized what he’d done, he was on the arm of another woman. Antiques vanished. And those texts came back to taunt me.

The grand piano once owned by Fania Fénelon is yours! A gift from me to you. Love Anouk xxx

It was the cold, calculating way he did it that struck fear in me – the thought that a man could fake a love like ours broke something inside of me. I begged, yelled, pleaded for the gendarmes to listen to me, but they gave me a bored stare, and asked me to come back with more proof, like I should do their job for them.

Joshua and I had planned to pool our resources and were going to buy the best antiques, build a museum, so the world could clap eyes on such rare beauty, and not just people who could afford such luxuries. In order to do that, we had needed to sell some bigger pieces to fund it, and then source the most famous, the most illustrious of what France had to offer. Little did I know, he was selling them to amass his fortune… He’d played me like a piano, knowing instinctively I’d fall for it because it was a lifelong dream of mine to open a museum for cherishables.

The thing that hurt the most was that I did love him. When it all came to light I realized I had been in love with a ghost. Joshua wasn’t who he portrayed himself to be. The man I loved didn’t exist. The one who held my hand as we slept, or woke me with butterfly kisses, was a charade. So if I held myself at arm’s length from the world, that’s why, and I wasn’t going to be apologetic about it.

Sadly, Joshua was still working the antique circuit, so I ran into him often, which felt like a stab wound to the chest.

Lilou gave my hand a pat, dragging me back to the present moment. “Three weeks might be my limit with a guy, but that’s because I haven’t found anyone who makes me want more.” She lifted a shoulder. “I know what that crétin did, and the fallout that remains. I’d strangle him if I knew I could bury his body and get away with it.” Her eyes blazed at the thought. “All I’m suggesting is ease yourself back into the dating game with a few one-night stands. Pick a rugged type, one that has commitment-phobe written all over him, and go from there…”

“Lilou! I couldn’t do that. Non. I need to know more about a man before I let him sprawl all over my cotton sheets…”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh God, because they’re some kind of special antique material? Fine, swap the sheets for a cheap supermarket brand for one night!” Her voice rose with every inflection.

A waiter hovered close by, refilling the wineglass of a woman at the table beside ours, and overfilled it as he concentrated hard on us out of the corner of his eye. Ruby red wine spilled over, staining the white tablecloth. The woman gasped, and the waiter wrenched his gaze away, apologizing profusely to her.

Lilou jerked a thumb in his direction. “Prime example: nice taut derrière, sleepy eyes, and sensual full lips. Just picture those buff arms tangled around you, the bed sheets…”

This time the waiter knocked over the woman’s wineglass. Burgundy liquid spilled quick and fast into the woman’s white-skirted lap. Lilou gave them a cursory glance. “OK, maybe not him, he’s too clumsy.” His face colored scarlet.

“Stop!” I hissed, struggling to remain composed. “I see your point and I’ll take it under advisement.”

She swallowed back half a glass of her wine. “I hate it when you say that.”

***

Lilou and I stood out front of the little antique shop, languid after lunch, and hugged our goodbyes. “See you tonight,” I said.

“Actually you won’t.” Lilou gave me an elfish grin. “I’m off to follow a musical festival around Normandy with Claude. I thought I might do a collection of jewelry based on sound. It’s a research trip.”

“What?” My big-sister instinct kicked in. “You’ve only just got back. You and Rainier were only going away for a week. It’s been three and now Rainier is gone, and there’s someone called Claude, and you’re going to follow a music festival ? I thought you were doing a line of sunset-inspired jewelry? No, Lilou! You’re supposed to be studying. At least try and build up your online site so we have ammunition if Papa finds out.”

She let out a long harrumph as if I was the veritable thorn in her side. I could guess what was coming next…

“Anouk, you only live once !”

Voila!

Once Lilou had her sights set on something, she was a force to be reckoned with. Even though her life lacked direction, I had a feeling she’d always be OK by using her charm and quick wit. She was irresistible when she flashed her radiant smile. Deep down she was a minx, but I loved her so, even though she added an element of drama to my already busy life and created the worry I carried in my heart when she was off on one of her adventures. I was desperate for anyone or anything to slow her down and keep her in one spot, long enough that she’d plant roots and stay.

I dreaded another call from my papa, asking after her. I’d have to cross my fingers, and lie yet again, knowing eventually it would all come crashing down around me.

A part of me envied her; I was never that frivolous, never had been. My days revolved around work, sourcing antiques, investigating their history, traveling near and far for estate sales and auctions, hunting through bric-a-brac for gems at flea markets and vintage fairs. That didn’t leave much time for anything else. My heart and soul went into my business. I kept myself coiled tight against any uncertainty that came my way.

I shook the familiar feeling of angst away before it could settle, blackening my mood.

“When Papa phones me what do you suggest I say?”

With a groan, she said, “Tell him I’m at the library! Or at study club, or out with a lawyer…who cares.” Typical flippant Lilou style.

“He’s going to find out eventually and then we’ll both be in trouble.”

She laughed, high and loud. “What can he do?”

“He can cut off your allowance…”

Her face paled. “True, so lie good.” She kissed me goodbye, and stole away. “I’ll be back soon!” The words bubbled above, blowing toward me in the Seine-scented breeze.

I watched her retreating frame, heading off into the sunset like an actress from a movie, her long hair undulating and her step jaunty.

From the corner of my eye I sensed someone watching me. I turned, hoping it wasn’t another uninvited customer. A man sat at one of the benches along the promenade. He was wearing chinos, with a tight white T-shirt. His lips curved into a smile when we made eye contact. He was double-take gorgeous with his blond hair swept back like he’d just stepped off a windblown boat, and his aviator sunglasses reflected my own surprised gaze back.

For one brief moment, I considered Lilou’s advice: go out with a man, any man, and see what happened. He moved to stand, like he was going to approach me, and the idea suddenly seemed ridiculous. I bustled into my shop as quickly as possible and locked the door, peeking out through the lace curtain. He was still watching, an amused smirk on his face. In one swift movement he stood and waved, sending me scurrying back into the dark recesses of the shop. Mon Dieu, he knew I was spying on him!