The Little Perfume Shop Off The Champs-Élysées

Thirty-four minutes later we were downstairs and ready to greet the day.

Breakfast was a noisy affair. We ate slowly and had long enough to down a couple of strong black coffees and munch on some fresh flaky croissants before assembling out front as instructed. The mood was ebullient, we all wore wide smiles, and fidgeted and jittered in anticipation. What would the day bring?

Lex wandered over, his face grey in the light of morning as if he hadn’t slept well, but his lopsided smile firmly in place. What kind of perfume would fix that malady, that sleeplessness that plagued him? Maybe a lavender and bergamot blend?

‘Hey, America. Ready to battle it out for the lead?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ I said. The air was electric with the unknown and I couldn’t wait to get started.

Maybe Lex would be an ally? The chat with Clementine and the whole freeze-her-out conversation left me a little dubious about her motivations. There seemed to be two sides to Clementine. I told myself to be careful, and not trust so easily. It was a game, after all, and the desire to win hung heavy in the air, though we all tried to downplay it. But with affable Lex, I felt as though he had the potential to be a real friend, and that I wouldn’t have to pretend around him.

‘What about you?’ I asked.

‘I was born ready,’ he said, laughing, the deep lines near his eyes crinkling like stars.

We huddled together, awaiting the Lecléres. Would there be an explanation as to where they’d been the evening before?

The group hushed as Aurelie appeared, a tight smile in place. Just behind her stood a man, his back to us as he spoke in rapid fire French on his cell phone. Would this be the elusive Sebastien, finally?

I waited impatiently for him to turn, excited to finally see the man in the flesh! He wasn’t tall like I’d imagined, but he filled out his suit in all the right places, and even from behind, he had a presence you couldn’t miss. He finally pivoted to us with his brow knitted. And those brows were glorious as far as men’s brows went. Black as midnight, and arched just so, framing those luminous green eyes of his. And then it struck me, a realization so chilling I gasped. Please god, he was not the elusive Sebastien Leclére!

Not him! My stomach flipped – of all the luck!

Chapter Seven (#ulink_4e97ee1a-fd28-59d4-8b0a-3cd09b9d5e11)

‘And so we meet again,’ he said, his expression unreadable.

Oh god, had he known who I was all along? My own smile felt a little more wooden, but I forced my lips to curve, goddammit. With his face inches from mine, I could smell the passionfruit note of tea on his breath, the peppermint of his shampoo on his hair, and his perfume, a fresh slightly tangy Oceana. But my anger flashed through me, making it hard to think. If he’d known who I was surely he should have told me? Not sat there listening to me complain! Why would he do such a thing?

‘So we do,’ I said, trying to mask the hostility creeping into my voice but failing. Kathryn must have sensed I had the upper hand because Sebastien was giving me his full attention so she moved to stand just in front of me, partially blocking my view. Probably a good thing, in the circumstances. My mind scrambled to think about what I’d confided in him the night before. Had I mentioned anything about the Lecléres? My heart pounded with worry. No, I’d been careful, but I’d also quaffed wine like it was water! This was not the start I’d envisaged!

‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you,’ Kathryn said, holding out her delicate hand. I willed myself not to roll my eyes at the sudden change in the English rose, as her complexion pinked, and her voice honeyed. Seriously. This is what I was up against? Were they all going to swoon in his presence? So, he was good-looking, but at least his presence took the attention away from me. I slid away, subtle as anything, when he took my elbow, and steered me back. Dang it.

I willed myself to look at him with a glare. Up close I could see he had the same kind eyes as his father. The same secretive smile. How could I have missed that? Holy moly…

Why did he hide who he was the night before? I suddenly felt like I couldn’t trust him, either. Maybe they’d set me up on purpose to see how I’d react… No, surely not. He’d missed the welcoming party, and that was obviously what he was alluding to when we’d met the evening before. It was just unlucky I’d kept walking into his path. But he’d known my name when I was sure I hadn’t given it to him! That was clearly no accident, the guy knew I was a contestant and played dumb and for what reason? He searched my face once more, a frown marring his features. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ Kathryn zoomed in on me, all sweetness and light. ‘You look a little peaked, Del.’

I narrowed my eyes. Peaked, yeah right. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ curtness spilled out.

When he took my arm again his touch sent a volt of longing through me. Had my heart not caught the memo that I was angry? And so what if he was good-looking? So were millions of men. Big deal. Urgh, but my heart had other ideas and tangoed inside my chest like this was some sort of celebration, when it clearly was not. It was his scent, I decided, that was making me cuckoo. I’d never met a man who intrigued me so and I told myself it wasn’t him, it was simply his eau de parfum making him desirable, proof that everyone should invest in quality fragrance.

‘I need water…’ Isn’t that what they did in the movies? Honestly how did water help at a moment like this? But it bought me some time to gather my thoughts, which were more like my twin sister’s thoughts, and for an insane moment I wondered if she’d figured out a way to control my mind. I wouldn’t have put it past her, the minx.

For one lonely minute I understood my nan’s advice about falling in love in a different language. And all her nonsensical chats about the language of love! What was French for falling in love… How did you say I love you?

Je t’aime. Je t’ai…

He placed a hand on my head. Was that some kind of French thing? I struggled with my confusion and anger, and the fact it was suddenly so damn hot. What was happening to me?

‘You’re tres hot, Del.’ The compliment took me by surprise. He was pretty damn hot too. ‘I…uh, appreciate you saying so, but isn’t it sort of a conflict of interest?’

He frowned, two lines marring the perfect symmetry of his features. ‘Pardon?’

‘Well you do own the perfumery, and I am here to win…’

With narrowed eyes, he cut me off. ‘And what has that got to do with your sudden…fever?’

Fever? Oh, god!

I wanted to die. He didn’t mean hot as in attractive, he meant hot as in feverish! I had to backtrack, and quickly. ‘My mistake,’ I said haughtily. ‘It’s the fever talking and I am confused.’

A smile played at the corner of his lips, as though he understood exactly what I’d implied. I would have liked to smack myself upside the head but settled for silently berating whatever part of me was dropping the ball so spectacularly. Was this some sort of travel sickness and it had only just caught me?

‘Kathryn, would you mind getting Del a bottle of water please?’ His silky accent rolled off his tongue like he was reciting poetry and again I pushed any thought of him aside. Millions of French men spoke exactly the same. Millions.

‘Of course,’ she said, but saved her mouth-full-of-marbles expression for me. Yikes, I was not making friends.

He was relaxed and efficient as if he’d met me a hundred times. I on the other hand felt wildly uncomfortable, and like I couldn’t trust myself to speak anymore. What if I blurted out some other faux pas? Suddenly he wasn’t just the gorgeous guy I’d run into (literally) – he was Sebastien Leclére, and it changed things.

‘Shall I call a doctor, just in case?’

‘A doctor?’

‘For your…fever.’ The wry smile was back and he placed his palm on my forehead to test my temperature. I shrunk under his touch, my mind spinning in a hundred different directions, and finally landing on…him. Damn it. I was suffering some kind of malady, the symptoms being a butterfly belly, jelly-leggedness, and a strange desire to run for the hills.

‘No, thank you.’

‘You’re still very hot.’ He winked, he bloody well winked!

I folded my arms, and took a step back. Was he teasing me? I ignored the god damn alluring sparkle in his eyes and said, ‘Cured with a couple of painkillers and some…space.’

He raised his brows. ‘Oui. If you’re sure.’

I lifted my chin. ‘I’m sure.’

With a nod Sebastien moved to the front of the group, leaving only faint traces of the spicy scent of his perfume. The sillage, which came from the French word for wake, and was one of many magic moments in the lifecycle of a spritz of fragrance. If the perfume was balanced properly, the sillage was an aromatic whisper, a goodbye just tangible enough to make you want more…

Damn it.

All chatter quietened as Sebastien called for attention. There was a sudden tightness to his jaw, implying what? He didn’t like public speaking? Us? The whole thing smacked of mystery. I guess that’s what they did best, those reclusive Lecléres… Just like last night when he should have been upfront with me.

With us gathered together and the competition about to start in earnest, perhaps he was thinking of his late father, who was lovingly referred to as le savant fou – the mad scientist – by his fans. If that was the case then I understood Sebastien’s sorrow. It had only been a year since he’d lost him, a drop in the ocean for bereavement, like only yesterday. No one knew what their relationship entailed but I suspected it was grief playing on his features and that made me soften slightly toward him. Even though he was the biggest jerk for pretending he didn’t know who I was!

With sunshine on his face Sebastien gave us a smile. Everyone stared, mesmerized by his presence. Still, his smile didn’t seem genuine to me. Almost as if he were acting. I only recognized it because I did the very same thing whenever anyone asked me how my parents were doing. Heard your folks were up to mischief again, everyone’s talkin’ about them! And I’d want to dissolve into the pavement, but instead I’d laugh it off. You know my folks, crazy as coyotes, but hearts of gold, I’d say time and again.

Even still, there was something magnetic about Sebastien, and it wasn’t only me who felt it, going by the open-mouthed, wide-eyed ogling going on around me from men and women alike. Under the soft sun he had magic in his eyes, just like his father.