The City of Love: A Medieval Time Travel Romance (Eternity Rings Book 1) Read online

  Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice the group of young guys just behind her, rushing to get out of the airport. They were joking around, pushing each other a little, and as she slowed down, they didn’t notice her change of pace. A tall, muscular blond guy—too busy fist-bumping his friend to watch where he was going—knocked right into her.

  The impact sent her careening off balance, sending her crashing to the ground and leaving her slightly dazed in an undignified heap on the cold, hard tiles. Her cases toppled over, blocking the path for an elderly couple who tutted at her as they had to walk around them. Sophie pretended not to notice them while she tried to catch her breath.

  “Sorry… Um… Excuse-Moi…” the athletic-looking blonde guy yelled over his shoulder as he carried on racing through the airport. His friends were laughing and joking about him sweeping a woman off her feet.

  Great, she thought, rubbing at the ankle that had twisted a little in the fall. Wasn’t that just a metaphor for her life—all the good-looking guys just elbowing past her in their rush to get to something else, barely even giving her a backward glance.

  Another couple gave her an irritated look as they tried to get around her overturned luggage. Sophie bit back her anger at the unfairness. She’d been minding her own business, trying to be a responsible traveler and keep her cases upright. It wasn’t her fault some idiot jock had barged into her. She needed to get up and move out of the way, but she could have sworn she’d heard the sound of material ripping as she fell, and she was really hoping it wasn’t her skirt.

  A young woman in a pretty blue tea dress and navy cardigan stopped beside her. She picked up Sophie’s cases and pulled them to one side, out of the way of the crowds.

  “Are you ok?” she asked, looking concerned. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and her voice had a clipped British accent.

  “Yes, sorry, just regaining my composure,” Sophie said.

  The woman held out a delicate, perfectly manicured hand to help Sophie back to her feet.

  “Um. I may have ripped my skirt,” Sophie said, in a low voice.

  “Ah,” the woman said, raising one eyebrow. She came and stood behind her. “Ok, stand up,” she said. “Nobody can see.”

  Sophie stood, slowly, smoothing her skirt down. “Is it ok?” she asked.

  “You’re fine,” the woman responded. “I can’t see any damage done.”

  Sophie exhaled. “Thank goodness for that.”

  “Indeed,” she replied. “Nice shoes,” she added, eyeing Sophie’s six-inch patent heels.

  “Thanks.” Sophie smiled at the compliment. “Not the most practical for traveling in, unfortunately.”

  “So I see.” She nodded towards Sophie’s ankle where a purplish bruise was already developing.

  Great, Sophie thought. How very attractive. Maybe she’d be lucky, and beautiful French men would find clumsiness an attractive quality.

  “They do look amazing though,” the woman continued, looking down at her own ballet pumps.

  “Thanks,” Sophie said. “I’d rather have your shoes right now though. And thank you for stopping, I thought I might get trampled!” She smiled. “I’m Sophie, by the way.”

  “Annaliese,” the young woman returned Sophie’s smile. “Happy to help. I can’t believe that big oaf didn’t stop and help you up. How rude!”

  “Well, it kind of sums up my luck with men in general,” Sophie laughed.

  “I was actually hoping to improve my luck with men while I was here.”

  “You’re not off to a very good start!” Annaliese grinned. “Have you been to Paris before?”

  “No, it’s my first time. How about you?” Sophie asked.

  “I studied here for a year, so I’m practically a native now,” Annaliese said. “I’ve just been back home for a few months to see my parents and now I’m back to start a new job.”

  “That’s amazing! I wish I’d had the opportunity to study in Paris. All the French I learned was in a stuffy lecture hall.”

  “It was pretty awesome. And let’s just say I learned more than the language.” Annaliese winked.

  “Any tips or recommendations while I’m here?” Sophie asked.

  “Where are you staying?”

  Sophie pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her bag. “Hotel de Sarlat, La Rue Saint Séverin,” she read.

  “Then I definitely recommend Café Cloitre. Great food, excellent wine list, but the best part is the gorgeous locals,” she pretended to fan herself with her hand and gave Sophie another playful wink.

  “Sounds great,” Sophie said, tucking the paper back into her purse.

  They walked through the airport together for a few minutes, until a tall, dark-haired man rushed towards them. He was gorgeous; all tanned skin, rock star swagger, and slightly rugged stubble with eyes like pools of melted chocolate. He lifted Annaliese up, as though she weighed nothing and then set her feet back on the floor, pulling her into a fierce embrace. “Ma Cherie,” he grinned. They kissed passionately, and Sophie looked away, a little embarrassed to be witnessing such an intimate moment.

  “Sophie, this is Jean-Paul,” Annaliese said when they broke for air.

  “Ravi de vous rencontrer,” Sophie extended her hand, but Jean-Paul took it and pulled her in, planting a kiss on each cheek. He smelled incredible. Like tobacco and cedar and lemons. Sophie cleared her throat and smoothed her skirt again.

  “Nice to meet you too, Sophie,” he said in heavily accented English. “Apologies, but we must go,” he said to Annaliese. “Airport parking.” He shrugged apologetically at Sophie.

  “Good luck with the men,” Annaliese said. “Don’t forget, Café Cloitre!” she added as Jean-Paul took her hand.

  “I won’t! It was lovely to meet you, and thanks again!” Sophie called as they walked off hand in hand. Annaliese turned and waved as they went. Sophie wondered if she might bump into them again while she was in Paris. Maybe she should have asked if Jean-Paul had any single friends.

  Sophie carefully steered her cases the rest of the way through the airport and thankfully managed to avoid any further mishaps. The sign for taxis had her back in high spirits, and she hurried towards the lone taxi at the otherwise empty pick-up point. This was a stroke of good luck!

  A few yards before she reached it, a balding, portly businessman in an ill-fitting black suit rushed past her and jumped into the taxi. Before she could stop them, it sped off. Sophie could have cried, but she dragged her cases to the top of the waiting area and waited. And waited. And waited. She waited for thirty minutes before she finally gave up.

  She glanced at her luggage, wondering if anyone would steal it if she were to leave it there and go get someone inside the airport to call her a taxi. She might have taken the risk if she hadn’t thought that airport security might get nervous with her abandoned luggage right outside the building. So, ignoring her throbbing feet and aching arms, she pulled the luggage back inside the airport with her.

  The woman behind the service desk was sympathetic, but she explained to Sophie in impeccable English that unfortunately, she couldn’t call her a taxi, she would have to wait. She said there was a shuttle bus into Paris for 5 Euros that left from the other side of the airport if Sophie would prefer that option. Sophie thanked her, the thin veil of politeness coating her words barely hiding her irritation. This was not the start to her romantic getaway that she’d imagined!

  Sophie checked the taxi rank, and saw there were now at least thirty people waiting for taxis. She sighed and headed towards the shuttle bus sign. At least there was a bus waiting at the bus stop. Sophie climbed on and handed a 5 Euro note to the driver, showing him the crumpled piece of paper with the hotel address.

  “Oui, Notre Dame,” he said. Sophie nodded. He let out a rapid stream of French that Sophie struggled to follow. He must have picked up on her confused expression. “I say when we arrive,” he said to her, waving his hand for her to take a seat and allow the passengers b
ehind to board. Sophie nodded again, glad to be sitting down. Her ankle was throbbing, and her arms ached from handling the suitcases. Maybe she should have packed lighter.

  When the bus pulled away from the airport, it was practically bursting with passengers. She was especially glad she’d managed to get a seat, as most of the standing passengers were a little too close to each other for comfort. She’d come here for intimacy with a stranger, but not quite like that! The air on the bus was warm and thick, and the cacophony of mingled perfumes made her feel sick.

  By the time Sophie could make out the imposing outline of Notre Dame, the bus was still full. When the bus driver yelled for her that it was her stop, she struggled past the other passengers with her cases, ignoring the glares as the wheels rolled over toes and the corners banged into shins. What was she supposed to do? As she got down from the bus, her stomach plummeted as she wobbled a little on her heels, but fortunately, she managed to stay upright.

  Sophie glanced around the unfamiliar territory and pulled her phone out of her bag. Thank heavens for international roaming, she thought as her phone found and connected to a service provider. Within moments she’d plugged the hotel address into Google Maps and had directions. Her heart sank a little when she saw it was another 15-minute walk, but the sooner she started walking the sooner she could collapse onto her bed.

  The smell of the boulangeries was intoxicating as she walked through bustling streets lined with shops and cafes. The streets teemed with couples strolling along, holding hands or having hushed, intimate-looking conversations outside one of the many cafes. It felt relaxed and exciting all at the same time, and she could see how Paris had earned the name the ‘City of Love’.

  Eventually, Google Maps announced that she had arrived at La Rue Saint Séverin and her destination was on the left. She glanced around, finding the hotel nestled between yet another boulangerie and an expensive looking jewelers shop. The smell of the croissants and pain au chocolat drifted through the air, warm and tempting. A young couple passed by, and the girl stopped to gaze longingly at the array of diamond engagement rings in the window. Her companion shifted from foot to foot, eyeing up the bar across the way and pretending not to see what she was looking at.

  Sophie snorted. You’ll be lucky, she thought as she watched them, the girl oblivious to her boyfriend’s obvious discomfort.

  After a moment, Sophie turned her attention back to the hotel. Huge gothic-style windows set into the aged stone gave it an almost otherworldly feel. The heavy wooden door creaked loudly as Sophie pushed it open, hauling her suitcases inside. The reception area was small and cozy, with an enormous red velvet loveseat positioned next to the mahogany reception desk. An artfully arranged bouquet of red roses graced the top of it, perfuming the air with their heady scent.

  Grateful to have finally arrived, and for the soft, plush carpet that cushioned the impact to her poor, tired feet, she hobbled towards the reception desk. The older, well-groomed woman with steely gray hair behind the desk checked her in efficiently, welcoming her to Paris and allocating her a room on the third floor of the hotel. Sophie asked about the view and the receptionist smiled, assuring her that the view from that room was the best in the building.

  The elevator was miniscule, and Sophie barely managed to fit in with her two cases, but with a little contorting, she managed it. It juddered and creaked as it slowly ascended, making her nervous. After what felt like ages, the doors slid open on the third-floor corridor. It felt like she’d been traveling for days when she finally slid the key card into the slot on the door and the light flicked to green.

  Chapter 2

  When she opened the door to her room, she was pleasantly surprised by the old-fashioned but tasteful décor that mirrored the style of the reception area. A golden brocade throw adorned the double bed, and red velvet curtains draped from an ornate brass pole. The impressive light fitting dripped with teardrops of crystal that dispersed the sunlight streaming through the open window into bright splashes across the ceiling and walls.

  Through the enormous arched window, she could see a small section of Notre Dame rising above the other buildings from its position only one street away. It was a nice enough view, but not as spectacular as Sophie had hoped. In the street below, people surged in and out of shops and cafes, laughing and talking, and their voices drifting up and into her room.

  Sophie shut the window, needing a moment of solitude and peace after the hustle and bustle of the airport and shuttle bus. She felt tired and grimy after a full day of travelling. She opened the door that led to the en-suite bathroom. The bathroom was spectacular with its gleaming ivory marble, white tiles, chrome faucets, and an ornate roll-top bath that practically begged Sophie to get into it.

  She pulled off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bath, inspecting her bruised ankle more closely now that she was in private. The deep purple patch was just above the bone of her ankle. At least it looked worse than it felt. One of the downsides of having such pale skin was that it showed every bruise and blemish unmercifully.

  She ran the bath, and took a set of clean, comfortable clothes from her suitcase to put on afterwards. Her stomach grumbled a little, reminding her that she’d not eaten anything since the bland and unsatisfying airplane meal. At least she was in the right place for good food and wine. Although her nose wrinkled at the thought of some of the more unusual delicacies, like snails.

  Sophie undressed, glad to be free of the uncomfortable travelling clothes. Wiggling out of her pencil skirt, she saw that the lining was ripped. Well, that explained the sound she’d heard as she fell over in the airport. She checked the damage, thinking that perhaps the best thing to do was to throw the skirt away. One less item to carry home, she reasoned.

  She wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror and studied her reflection. Her eyeliner was smudged on her left eye, and what had once been a sleek, glossy ponytail was now a lopsided, limp stringy mess of hair protruding from a halo of frizz. She sighed, pulling the elastic from her hair, letting it hang loose around her face. The frizzy black hair contrasted with her tired, pale face and worn makeup made her look even more pathetic than she felt.

  Dark shadows ringed her slightly bloodshot eyes, the morning’s application of Touche Eclat now a distant memory. What was she doing here? she wondered. Yes, it was called the city of love, but that’s because it was a couples’ destination. Why was she here in Paris on her own? Who came to Paris on their own for a vacation? What had she been thinking?

  She climbed into the bath, the hot steam rising all around her and the water melting the aches and grime of travel away. She inhaled the delicate floral scent of the hotel toiletries, but she couldn’t get her brain to quiet. She continued to second-guess all her reasons for coming. Was she really here just to have a fling with a stranger? What was the point of that anyway? How many flings would it take to fill up the space that was empty in her life?

  She got out of the bath, but getting out of the steaming hot water so quickly, combined with the questions whirling around in her head, made her dizzy. She pulled on the soft toweling robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, staggered to the bedroom, and flopped back onto the bed, trying not to cry.

  Her gaze landed on the telephone on the bedside table. She picked up the handset and dialed the one number that she knew off by heart. It rang a few times, and Sophie almost hung up before the familiar voice answered.

  “It’s me,” she said, weariness making her voice heavy.

  “Are you at the hotel yet?” Claire chirped.

  “Yes, it’s beautiful,” Sophie said. “A little colder than California, but the buildings are breathtaking, and it’s all so… chic…”

  “What’s wrong?” Claire’s voice dropped an octave.

  “Why do you think something is wrong?” Sophie asked, picking at imaginary lint on the brocade throw and hoping that the crack in her voice wasn’t betraying her.

  “Spidey sense,” Claire said. “You�
�re on vacation in the City of Love, what could be wrong?”

  Sophie should have known her twin would be able to read her like nobody else, even over the telephone. “I’m not sure coming here alone was a good idea,” she confessed. “It was crazy, I should have booked a girls’ trip with you, or with Amie. Maui, or somewhere.”

  “It will do you good,” Claire chided her. “You need some time alone to recharge the batteries. Trust me, you’re better there than here at the moment. Things are getting crazy.”

  “Did you sort out the problem with the checkout?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes, the web designer fixed it this afternoon, we are all ready to launch. Don’t even think about work until you get off the plane at home, I’ve got it all handled for now.”

  “Thanks, Claire. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d be fine. I don’t know anyone more capable and self-sufficient,” her twin reassured her.

  It was true, Sophie had always been the practical, organized, capable one. Claire was more of a dreamer, believing in fairytale romances and the idea that there really was one person out there for everybody.

  “I don’t feel self-sufficient now, I feel stupid. Who flies halfway across the world for a fling?” Sophie said miserably.

  “You do. Strong, independent women do, and you should take the time now to have that fling. You’ll have no time for anything but this business when you get back, and you don’t want to be practically the only single woman in her twenties who hasn’t cut loose a little and had some fun, do you?” Claire said.

  “Is it really fun, though?” Sophie asked

  “Yes!” Claire laughed.