Love, Unwritten: Meet Cute Sneak Peek

Chapter 4

Getting Acquainted

Stepping inside the hotel is like stepping back in time—in more ways than one. I was hoping for a quick check-in and quiet escape to my room before heading out into the city. But upon entry, I’m met not only with brown-and-white marble floors, antique furniture that likely costs more than my life, and crystal chandeliers heavy-enough to serve in a reenactment of The Phantom Of the Opera, but the glowing bride herself.

“Eeek! Oh my gosh, Juliet, Juliet! I wasn’t sure you were going to make it!” Samantha abandons the poshly dressed man at her side and runs toward me with glee. She collides into me with such force I nearly fall backwards into the revolving door.

“Did I not RSVP?” I ask, legitimately concerned. It would be me to conveniently forget to confirm in case I wanted to change my mind at the last minute.

She releases her vice grip—her blonde, Marilyn Monroe styled bob smacking me in the face as she does. “You said maybe like three months ago, and then I never heard anything else. I assumed you’d be too busy with all your writing and your fabulous life in NYC, but here you are! And just in time!”

Her words have me gulping down bile along with the truth while I quietly question why I’m actually here. I felt bad knowing I was primarily coming for Paris. But the truth is, Samantha and I haven’t spoken in seven years? Maybe longer.   Receiving her wedding invitation was one of the biggest surprises of my life, and that’s saying something. I guess I thought it was an attempt at reconnection, and I guess I wanted to meet that attempt with one of my own. Ish. I mean, it’s Paris. But a random social media glance would tell her I haven’t written anything in years and my life revolves around my cat, which she clearly didn’t bother to do. So, now I’m genuinely confused as to why she even invited me.

“Um, just in time for what?” I ask. “The rehearsal dinner isn’t for another few hours.” I glance at my phone to check the time. It did take longer than expected to get from the airport to the hotel, but I still have enough time to freshen up and walk around for a bit before tonight—if she lets me.

“Exactly. The rehearsal dinner is less than three hours from now and I have no one to give a speech.”

“What?” I cough.

“I know, right? And then there’s the vows.”

“What about them?”

“I haven’t written them. I need your help.” Her eyes widen as she grabs hold of both of my arms. Oh. My. God. Okay, ouch. I wince as her perfectly painted nails dig into my skin despite the thick leather of my mom’s jacket. Is she serious right now? Her frantic blue eyes tell me she’s never been more certain.

“No.” I shake my head and do my best to withdraw from her grasp, but she won’t let me. “No. No, absolutely not. You do not want me to help you with that. Trust me.” Second attempt? Success. I play off my jerky motion by tossing my raven locks over my shoulder.

Samantha puts her hands on the hips of her white pantsuit. “Nonsense. You literally write about love for a living. Who else is better to help me?”

I purse my lips. “Like anyone else.” I scan the lobby for an escape from this conversation. I’ll take anyone and anything. A busboy who needs assistance. A package that needs to be delivered. A suitcase that needs to be transported. Speaking of, where’d mine go? Hell, I’d even take the dreaded reunion with my first heartbreak, Spencer, over this. Where is that good-for-nothing scumbag when you need him? Of course. Not here, despite being Samantha’s cousin.

Finally, my eyes lock onto the same man I saw Samantha with before. He’s handsome with brown tousled hair that almost brushes his shoulders, the kind of stubble that reads as effortless with clean edges that likely required a straight razor—the opposite of unintentional—and an amber gaze that tells me he’s heard every word of our conversation and would need no catching up.

“Him!” I point towards him before he can avoid being dragged into this. Samantha’s brows furrow as she turns in the direction of my gaze. My eyes widen in desperation as the mysterious man dressed in black trousers and a navy blue sweater makes his way to us. With Samantha’s back toward me, I mouth, “Help me.” He lowers his gaze to the marble floor as a slight half grin lifts his lip.

“Oh, stop it, JJ,” Samantha says then, turning back to me. “Charles is already doing everything in his power to make sure this wedding goes off without hitch, but if I can’t write my vows then…” She slaps her hands against her thighs. “There won’t be a wedding.”

I shrug my shoulders, a little too carelessly given the weight of this conversation. “Well, if you can’t put to words how you feel about your husband-to-be, then maybe you shouldn’t be marrying him.” Uh oh. Did I? I glance toward the brunette man to my right. His forehead wrinkles with shock. He shoves his hands into his pockets and does his best to avoid eye contact. Yep, I said it. Looks like the jet lag arrived early, just like this ambush.

Charles—whoever he is—clears his throat. Now he’s the one searching for an escape. Samantha takes a step back as if my comment was as sharp as the nails she just dug into my forearms.

“Sometimes words fail us,” she says. Gone is her chipper excitement. Replacing it is the kind of heaviness only I could bring. It’s then that she storms off toward the elevators. Though the sound of her clanking heels as she makes her way through the lobby lets her presence linger far longer than I’d like.

“Frick,” I whisper as I pinch my eyes closed and rub my fingers across my forehead.

“If there was ever a time for the real word...” The man known as Charles says then. His French accent is a warm reprieve from the chill clinging to my bones. I open my eyes to find him smiling at me. My brows furrow and my face contorts into something awful to express my utter confusion. Suddenly, Charles’ smile turns into a full-blow belly laugh.

As he presses his hand against his stomach, a small laugh escapes my lips despite none of this being funny. Not in the slightest. Though it is nice to be around laughter. I can’t tell you the last time I was with a man who laughed at anything but me. Isn’t he doing the same thing?

I bite my lip and lower my gaze to the floor. “I…I, um, I’m sorry. To the both of you. She said you’ve been working hard to make this weekend perfect, and I may have single-handedly destroyed it with just a few minutes and even fewer careless words.”

Charles shakes his head and extends his hand. I offer him mine in return. “You just said the words I’ve been screaming on the inside for two days now.”

“Oh my god! Really?” I ask. He nods. I look around even more confused. “Actually, why am I here?” Now I’m the one belly laughing. When I finish, Charles is still watching me with cheeks tinged slightly red and a warm gaze that radiates kindness.

“Oh, I think we know why you’re here,” he says then. My breath hitches as the silence settles between us. I tilt my head to the side. “You’re here for Paris, just like everyone else.”

“Ah, yes! Well, if Samantha has anything to say about it, I won’t have a moment to explore it. At least, not until this fiasco of a weekend is over. Again, sorry.”

Charles waves away my apology. “No need. It’s my job to make sure the wedding—if it happens—is nothing short of a fairytale. The happily-ever-after part is on them.”

“Mhmm, but can it really be a fairytale without the happily-ever-after?” I ask under my breath.

“Sure it can. A beautiful moment in time is still—”

“A moment,” I finish his sentence for him. “But, somehow I doubt my dear friend will accept that answer. So, I should get checked in and then check in with her.” I start in the direction of reception, but Charles continues with me.

“Ah, that’s already been taken care of.” Charles waves over a man dressed in a suit from the reception desk. He comes quickly, carrying what looks like a keycard except it’s made of wood.

“Merci, Girard,” Charles says, taking the key from him.

“Of course, Monsieur Delacroix. Enjoy your stay, Madame James.”

I raise my brow both surprised and impressed. “How—”? My eyes trail the man as he returns to his post.

“I overheard Ms. Hollins greet you, and took the liberty of having you checked in. I’m happy to escort you to your room where your bag is waiting along with the typical welcome gifts—fruit, beverages, candy.”

“Oh, candy? Now you’re speaking my language. But Samantha only said my first name? How did you—?”

“This is a high-profile wedding, Ms. James. While we do offer excellent service to all our brides—and guests—it’s protocol to memorize the guest list for all events with government officials in attendance.”

Oh, right. It’s been a while since I’ve been a part of this world. Samantha’s father is the U.S. Ambassador to France. He and my dad both got their start in congress before branching out in different directions. Samantha’s dad became an ambassador and mine joined the defense committee, eventually working his way to the Pentagon. Of course all of this made my high school years hell on a stick. At least that’s what Spencer Hollins proved himself to be.

“Well, thank you. I mean, merci, Mr. Delacroix.”

Once again, his lip draws into a half grin. “Please, Ms. James, aren’t we too acquainted for formalities? Call me Charles.”

I smile. “Are we? Only if you call me Juliet.” I extend my hand to him again, as if we’re meeting for the first time. His fingers gently brush mine as he grabs hold. With his eyes locked on mine, he leans forward, lowering his lips to my knuckles. I gasp at his soft caress.

“As you wish, Juliet,” he whispers, his breath almost as soft on my skin as his lips. I yank my hand back the second he lets go, though I can’t resist rubbing my thumb over the spot he kissed.

“Well, now we’re acquainted,” I say, as if to break the tension. Charles blushes as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “But I um, should probably find my own way to my room.” It’s then that he tilts his head to the side. “Okay, that sounded bad. It’s not that I can’t keep it my pants or rather, keep my pants on. I’m actually celibate. Or abstinent, whichever is not by choice but also by choice. Anyway, you get the idea. It’s just…” I take a deep breath to stop my rambling.

“You are busy. I’m sure there’s a million and one things left to do before the rehearsal dinner and I need to check on Samantha.” Before I can say anything else that makes me want to dig my own grave, I bolt off toward the elevators.

“Juliet,” Charles calls after me. I turn quickly at the sound of his voice—almost too quickly. “You’re going to need this.” He holds my room key between his pointer and index fingers.

“Right.” I slowly return as his studious gaze watches my every move.

“You’ll find Ms. Hollins in room 213. I’ll send up room service since I’m sure you’re famished and will need your strength if you’re going to survive tonight.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.” I take the key from him, noting the fact that he doesn’t just have names memorized but also room numbers. “Thank you,” I say softly.

Charles nods. “Do take the time to explore the hotel—and Paris—before you leave. It is a beauty to behold, even if only for a short while. And, for what it’s worth, I have every confidence that you’ll help Ms. Hollins write something lovely for tomorrow. Despite what you may think, I think you’re pretty brilliant with words.”

I smile and shake my head. “I’m brilliant at expressing displeasure.”

“Well, then go brilliantly write the opposite of whatever is tormenting your heart.” At that, Charles takes his leave, and I’m left both dumbfounded and yet with a clarity I feel is five years in the making. Write the opposite of what I believe? Write the opposite of what I think? Write the opposite of what I’d do. Maybe that’s the key to surviving this trip? Or at least, the wedding portion. I’ll do the opposite of what I’d normally do.

As that thought captures my mind, I watch Charles a little too closely as he disappears into a white and gold-trimmed room just off the lobby. No. No, that’s dangerous. Let’s just find Samantha and fix whatever is left of the friendship we used to have.