The Little Antique Shop Under The Eiffel Tower. Rebecca Raisin

“Are you angry with me for some reason, mademoiselle?”

      “Are you dense? You knew I wanted that cello. You don’t need it. America has some fine objets d’art… Why don’t you hop back on your private jet and go hunt in your own country.”

      His lips curved into a wide smile. “My private jet?”

      For years, I’d heard men identical to him harp on about custom leather seats, and dinner degustation menus aboard their private planes. Memory-foam pillows, and round beds, and any number of things they boasted about to one-up each other with their vast wealth. Why couldn’t they fly on a domestic plane like everyone else? Their carbon footprints were yeti-sized. “Yes, fly it to America or somewhere else, and leave France alone.”

      “I’ve just been to Italy,” he said. “And nothing there compares to what I’ve seen here today… The quality is breathtaking.” He flicked me a loaded stare. Was he flirting with me? Did he think I was a fool?

      Women veering past did a double take when they saw him. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. If they’d spent two minutes talking to him they’d know he had no substance. He was an empty shell with a few dollars to his stupid name. Mr. Black? Honestly, it sounded like a pseudonym to me.

      “You should pull your bid on the cello,” I said, giving it one last try. “You don’t really want it.”

      “I only bid on it at the very end, because I knew you wanted it, and I couldn’t let the weasel win it from you. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was bidding for it just to upset you. Something about his smarmy face made my blood boil.”

      “Wait, you weren’t bidding against me the entire time?”

      He frowned. “Of course not! Not until you stopped, and he was set to win it. I couldn’t let him have the satisfaction.”

      “But you said you were interested in the cello when we first sat down!” I narrowed my eyes.

      “In the German cello, not the French one.”

      Could I trust this Tristan Black? “Which guy was bidding against me?”

      He turned and surveyed the people milling in the bar area, some drinking champagne to celebrate, some to commiserate. “That guy.” He pointed to a guy wearing almost identical clothes to himself. Goddamn it! It was Joshua.

      I softened slightly toward Tristan; he’d picked up on Joshua’s vindictiveness and tried to protect me against it. Why Joshua continued to torment me was beyond me. But Tristan had stepped in unwittingly, and no matter what his motivations were, I was grateful for it.

      Tristan leaned forward, standing inches from my face. Up close, his eyes were mesmerizing ocean blue. I shuffled backward, not wanting to be hypnotized by his cosmetic qualities. I could see how a girl would fall for his kind. “So I guess we can make a deal, now? The cello is all yours, if you want it.”

      “For how much?” Don’t drop your guard. Nothing is ever what it seems.

      “For the price I paid,” he said, shrugging. “I know you have a buyer for it.”

      “Because you were hot on my heels that day?” The red sports coupe driving spy!

      He lifted a palm. “Isn’t everyone around here guilty of that?”

      Touché. “And that’s it? I pay for the cello, and nothing else?” Usually a deal like this they’d tack on ten percent at least.

      He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. The aquamarine of them sparkled. “I wouldn’t rule out a dinner date, but yes, that’s all.”

      A smile played at my lips. “A dinner date? I don’t think so.” Tristan Black would have to learn things didn’t just fall in his lap no matter how generous he might seem to any unsuspecting person. There was always an agenda with men like him. Always. And he was choosing the wrong girl if he thought I’d be silly enough to go along with his whims.

      “Why not?” He laughed. “I won’t eat you.”

      “Very funny.” I wondered what would be a fair compromise. Ah! “Perhaps we can share a drink at the May Gala, if you’re invited that is…?” If he was invited to the gala, then he was connected with someone influential in Paris. It would be a good way to find out just who he really was.

      “The gala…” A blank look crossed his features. “Oh the gala! Yes, I’ll be there and I’ll hold you to that drink, Anouk.”

      Before he could add any more addendums to our deal I said, “Let’s go to the office and sort out the paperwork for the cello.”

      We explained to the clerk and she switched our details for the piece. Gustave the security guard called me over, waving frantically, as I was waiting for the invoice to be printed.

      “Excusez-moi, Tristan. I’ll be right back.”

      I rushed to Gustave, my heels click-clacking. His face was pinched, and he motioned for me to join him behind the curtain in the antechamber just near the office.

      “What is it?” I whispered.

      “Shhh,” he said and pointed. Joshua wore a mutinous expression and was making his way straight to Tristan.

      “Oh no! We have to stop him!” I went to push the curtain back but Gustave grabbed my arm to stop me. Tristan Black didn’t deserve to cop a mouthful from Joshua. As much as I distrusted the newcomer, I couldn’t stand by and watch him get berated on account of me.

      “Wait, Anouk. I have a feeling your Monsieur Black can look after himself just fine.”

      “He doesn’t know the story, Gustave. He has no idea what he’s dealing with! I have to warn him…”

      “Wait. I think you underestimate the new guy.” Gustave pulled the curtain aside an infinitesimal amount so we could peek out.

      Joshua tapped Tristan on the back with an index finger, pointed like a gun.

      I held my breath, wishing for the hundredth time Joshua would just walk off and disappear out of Paris for good.

      Tristan took his sweet time, chatting to the office clerk, and totally ignoring the finger in the back.

      Joshua tried again, this time using the palm of his hand.

      Tristan turned, annoyance clouding his face. “What can I do for you?” he said, his voice clipped.

      “Any reason you snuck in a bid like that? Or was it just to win her over?” Joshua pulled a sour face like he’d been sucking lemons, angry that someone had got the better of him. “She’s not worth it, you know.”

      I gasped. That lowlife! Gustave shot me a look that said, see?

      I clung on to the curtain that separated us from them. Through the gap I could see Tristan pull himself up to full height. “She has a name if it’s the person I think you’re referring to, and I don’t like your accusations, or your tone.”

      Shivers raced down my spine. “Yeah?” Joshua snarled like a beast. “Watch your step, I’m warning you now. She,” he spat the word, “isn’t who you think she is.”

      I reeled back. “What does that mean?” I mouthed to a shocked Gustave who shrugged. It was bizarre to hear myself discussed, and it was especially odd when it made no sense.

      “Well who is she then?” Tristan asked, an edge of menace in his tone.

      I inched closer again, intrigued too.

      “Who knows? It’s all an act with her.” Joshua’s lip curled. “What you see isn’t what you get. Comprendre?”

      An act with me? With him more like it! The hide of that guy. I wanted to storm outside and berate Joshua for making trouble. Again. But Gustave held my arm firmly, shaking his head.

      “The