What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) by Alix Nichols Page A

felt like she was falling. There you go, there’s the catch. It was
too good to be true. “So tell me.”
    “I’m . . . I get paid to spy on you.”
    She blinked. “By my father?”
    “No, by his competitor. He pays me to listen in to your conversations
with your dad and pass on anything of interest.”
    Lena couldn’t speak. Her stomach knotted and she had to concentrate hard
to hold back the tears. She looked at Rob’s hand on her shoulder and then
glared at him. He released his grip.
    “I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing. But please believe me that our
friendship and . . . and this , it’s genuine.”
    She was silent, staring out the window. His words hardly registered. Her
mind was too busy replaying the same phrase, like a broken record. Too good
to be true. Too good to be true.
    Robe spoke again. “I got to know you over the past couple of months, and
I really, really like you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, Lena.”
    Her gaze remained fixed on the window. He liked her. How sweet.
Everyone liked her—her mom, her dad, her ex best friend, her ex-boyfriend . . .
Now Rob. And yet they all ended up hurting her, through neglect or betrayal,
even if they didn’t mean to.
    He moved into her field of vision. “If it’s any comfort, I’ve been careful
not to cause your dad any real harm.”
    Does he expect me to thank him for that?
    “Lena, I’m so sorry for having spied on you. And I’m even sorrier for
having lied to you.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I had no idea you’d be this
kind, intelligent, lovely person . . . You were supposed to be a
spoiled brat.”
    She gave him the coldest stare she could manage. She wanted to hiss, I’m
sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. But she was afraid she’d break
down and cry the moment she opened her mouth.
    “Which, of course, is a crappy excuse . . .” He gave her a
helpless look.
    She walked to the door and opened it. “Please leave.”
    Rob gave her a sad, defeated look. He stepped over the threshold, then
paused. “Lena, please, will you give me a chance? I want to be with you. Can
you at least think about it?”
    He turned around and ran down the stairs. She shut the door and leaned
against it, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading away. When she
couldn’t hear him anymore, she slid to the floor and stopped fighting her
tears.

Oh, I’m so far from heaven!
    You—in my reach, so warm.
    God, please don’t judge—you haven’t
    Been here in female form.
    Marina Tsvetaeva

SEVEN
    It was late morning when Lena returned from the grocery shop around the
corner. She was unpacking her bags when she heard a knock on the door. Rob ,
she thought. She made a move toward the door and stopped. A few seconds later,
she took another step forward, stopped, turned around, and went back to the
kitchen.
    The knocking became more insistent “Lena, open up, it’s me! I know you
are there—I saw you walk in!” Jeanne said in her familiar throaty voice.
    “Coming!” Lena rushed to the door, taking deep breaths and wiping her
damp palms on her jeans. She couldn’t tell if the feeling that washed over her
was relief or disappointment.
    Jeanne walked in and looked around, nodding approvingly. “So, this is the
den where you’re hiding when you’re not at La Bohème  . . .
Cute.”
    Lena’s joy at seeing Jeanne was mixed with guilt. “I’ve been doing a lot
of sight-seeing recently,” she said.
    “Of course. Sight-seeing.” Jeanne rolled her eyes. Then her expression
changed to that of an exasperated parent. “Oh, come on, Lena. My coffee break
is only ten minutes, so I don’t have time for small talk. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”
    “I haven’t seen you in days. Make that a week. I’m worried about you!
What’s going on in your life that keeps you from La Bohème ?”
    Lena racked her brain for a plausible explanation. “I’ve also been
translating a lot. I concentrate better in here.