Amanda's Guide to Love Read online

  Amanda propped her head on her elbow to gain a better view of his face and muttered, “I can’t believe I’m still tipsy.”

  “On what? I don’t recall us drinking any wine last—”

  “On you.”

  His eyelids fluttered open. “Why, Mademoiselle Roussel, that is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be nice. Just factual. It’s actually quite annoying.”

  “Not from my perspective.”

  “Hmm . . .” She traced the contours of his face, thoughtful. “Must be your pheromones. I bet your levels are higher than average.”

  He gave a falsely innocent look. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Not for me. I don’t . . .” She struggled to find the right words. “I like it when things are compartmentalized.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lust and sex belong in the night. Morning is when reason rules, when my mind is at its clearest. It’s when I jump up from the bed and get busy.”

  “And instead you’re lingering here, still tipsy on me,” he prompted.

  “Exactly.”

  “Cheers, then.” He gripped the back of her head and kissed her on the mouth.

  She lifted her thigh and wedged it between his.

  He broke the kiss and wrinkled his brow apologetically. “I really need to pee.”

  She drew back, letting him stand.

  He turned around halfway to the door. “Don’t move, OK? I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When he reappeared in the doorway, she was sitting on the bed, wrapped in her satiny bedroom robe.

  “Damn.” He sat down next to her. “Can we rewind to where we were before my bladder ruined everything?”

  “No can do.” Amanda shrugged. “Anyway, we can’t just hang out and do what we feel like doing.”

  “Why not? It’s Sunday.”

  “Because it’s . . . wrong.”

  “Amanda, why can’t you just relax and let things take care of themselves every once in a while?”

  She chewed on her lip. “The last time I let things take care of themselves, they went very, very wrong.”

  “What happened?”

  “You really want to know?”

  He nodded.

  “The love of my life realized that another woman was the love of his, and he dumped me.”

  “You’re talking about Rob, I presume.”

  “And Lena.”

  “Let me tell you a story.”

  She sighed. “If you must.”

  “There was a man who always expected the worst. He lived a charmed life—blessed with good health and a wonderful family. But he was always on his guard and never, ever happy. He died of old age, surrounded by his wife, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Just before his heart stopped beating, they heard him mutter, ‘I knew this was going to end badly.’ ”

  She shrugged. “And the moral of the story is?”

  “You tell me.”

  Amanda gave him a defiant look. “The key to a perfect life is to be on your guard and unhappy at all times.”

  He threw his hands up in defeat. “You need help, ma belle. I’d say a dozen sessions with a psychoanalyst or three with my grandmother.”

  “I’m fine, thank you very much.” She stood. “If anyone needs help around here, it’s you. For your gambling addiction.”

  An hour later, she emerged from the bathroom waxed, moisturized, and fragrant. Kes lay on his stomach across the bed, reading a book.

  Her Guide to Perfection.

  “What are you doing?”

  He held the book up. “Drinking from this fountain of wisdom.”

  “Didn’t you pay attention to the title?” she asked, annoyed. “It’s a woman’s guide.”

  “As a fan of psychology, I’m interested in learning more about the aspirations and concerns of the fairer sex.” He poked the book. “This is a gold mine.”

  She attempted a dismissive shrug. “It’s just a collection of tips.”

  “It explains so much about you.”

  She strode over to him and yanked the book from his hands. “You should’ve asked before picking it up.”

  “It’s a book that you left in full view on your night table—not a secret diary.” He looked up at her. “Are the notes in the margins yours?”

  “No,” she lied. “I bought it secondhand.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway, the bathroom is free now.”

  He stood up. “If you brew some strong coffee while I’m showering, I’ll cook the best fried eggs you’ve ever had.”

  He sauntered into the kitchen twenty minutes later, barefoot and bare-chested. Amanda gasped. The man possessed too much beauty and grace for a human being. Good thing he had his jeans on. They suggested he was a mere mortal and not a demigod descended from wherever demigods lived to smite her for some minor misdemeanor. Or to mate with her—repeatedly—starting right now on the kitchen table.

  Get a grip.

  She swallowed and turned away.

  He went over to the fridge and took out the egg carton and butter.

  She gave him a skillet. “If your fried eggs are half as good as my coffee, I won’t call you a big mouth.”

  He placed the skillet on the stove and added a generous blob of butter.

  She hovered behind his back, watching.

  Suddenly, he spun around, lifted her in his arms, and set her down on the worktop next to the stove.

  She laughed in surprise.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because like this, you’re out of my way while I cook but still within reach when I want to kiss you.”

  “You call frying eggs cooking?”

  “What else should I call it?”

  She racked her brain, but no alternative came to mind.

  The butter began to sizzle, and Kes cracked the first egg into the skillet. Three more eggs followed before he washed his hands and planted a hearty kiss on Amanda’s lips.

  In the middle of which, a woman cleared her throat.

  Oh no.

  Amanda drew away and slid down to her feet, bracing herself for what was to come.

  “Hello, Amanda.”

  “Hello, Maman. I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  Vivienne said nothing. She wasn’t even looking at Amanda. She was staring at Kes’s bare chest, her expression mildly shocked.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but the skillet made an angry spitting sound, and he turned around to take care of the eggs.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” Amanda said and darted to the bedroom to fetch his T-shirt.

  As she scurried back a few seconds later, she saw Vivienne addressing Kes. “Do. You. Speak. French?”

  “A little.” His lips quirked. “I apologize for not introducing myself properly. My name is Kes Moreno.”

  Surprise flickered in Vivienne’s eyes. “You’re French. I was convinced you were foreign.” She shrugged. “I am Madame Roussel, Amanda’s mother.”

  “Very pleased to meet you.” Kes gave her a bright smile.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Vivienne said with a smile so cold it could solve the world’s global warming problems.

  “What do you do for a living, Kes?” Vivienne spat out his name as if it were an obscenity. “You look young enough to be a student.”

  “I’m twenty-six,” Kes said. “And I haven’t been to college.”

  Vivienne gave him the once-over. “You must be one of the servers at that café, then.”

  Kes shook his head. “Wrong again. I’m a professional gambler.”

  Vivienne’s jaw dropped.

  Merde. Merde. Merde.

  Why hadn’t he used the stockbroker cover he’d wielded with so much ease at Jeanne’s wedding?

  Amanda handed Kes his shirt and turned to her mother. “I’d forgotten you had keys to my apartment. What brings you here at this early hour?”

>   “I wanted to talk to you.” Vivienne glanced at Kes and back at Amanda. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Will you join us for breakfast?” Kes peeked at Vivienne over his shoulder. “After that I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  “I can’t stay long.” Vivienne pursed her lips. “Amanda, can we go somewhere private?”

  Amanda shrugged. “Unless you’re going to tell me something you haven’t already, there isn’t any point, really.”

  The words came out meaner than she’d intended them, but Amanda had to drive home that she didn’t need yet another lecture on the dangers of lingering in an inappropriate job. Albeit today’s lecture would have a variation to include the dangers of lingering with an inappropriate man.

  Not that Amanda disagreed with her mother or was unaware of said dangers. But she didn’t need to be reminded of them quite so often.

  Definitely not this morning.

  “All right, I’ll leave,” Vivienne said, lifting her chin. “But we will talk soon. I’m your mother. I can’t just stand by and watch my only child throw her life out the window.”

  She stomped out without saying good-bye to Kes.

  And just like that, Amanda’s morning—in fact, her whole day—was ruined. She poured two mugs of coffee, placed them on the kitchen table, and sank onto one of her replica Eames DSW chairs.

  Damn it, Vivienne had a formidable sense of timing. And a knack for dampening Amanda’s good spirits. No matter what the context was, Vivienne would always find a way to suck the joy out of her daughter’s best moments.

  Kes handed Amanda a plate with two happy-looking fried eggs.

  She gave him a lopsided smile. “Sorry about my mother’s intrusion. She wasn’t on her friendliest behavior . . . to put it mildly.”

  He placed his own plate on the table and sat down. “No problem. She clearly didn’t like me, but she does seem to care about you.”

  “I guess—in an infuriating, tough-love sort of way.” Amanda put a yellow-and-white morsel into her mouth and chewed. “Five on a scale of ten.”

  “Ouch. I was hoping for a nine or an eight, at least.”

  She pointed to the mug. “What about my coffee?”

  “It’s good. But not as good as what you make at work.”

  “I don’t have the same equipment here.” Amanda took a hopeful sip from her own mug, but it didn’t miraculously lift her spirits.

  “I need to drop by my apartment,” Kes said, “but I’m free in the afternoon if you want to go swimming.”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll call you, OK?” She began to clear the table. “How’s the gambling, by the way? Will you be leaving Paris a winner or a loser?”

  “Please—you’re insulting me.” He stood, too.

  “A winner, then. Congratulations.”

  He turned the faucet on and started to wash the skillet. “Thank you.”

  “If I remember correctly, you’ll be gone in ten days or so, right?”

  He placed the skillet onto the dish rack, picked up the brush to wash the plates, and ignored her question.

  Maybe he didn’t hear it because of the running water, or maybe he didn’t feel like discussing the impending end of their affair. And that was fine by her. She didn’t feel like discussing it, either.

  * * *

  Kes stared at the web page he had pulled up on his laptop. An all-inclusive offer stared back at him. He could hear its silent command. Push that button. Take me. You know I’m the best. It no doubt was. The package included a round-trip to Las Vegas and two months of casino hotels with the option of extending his stay on the same terms without losing his return ticket.

  It was good for twenty-four hours. He’d better book it now.

  And forfeit the chance to spend more time with Amanda. He stood up and began to pace the room. With every step he took, the answer to his dilemma became more and more obvious.

  When he told her he was leaving town in four weeks, his deadline had been completely arbitrary. Vegas had waited two years for his second visit—it could wait a few more months. He had acted on a hunch, following a sixth sense that told him she’d needed a time limit to accept the “benefits.” Her yes had hinged on the knowledge that whatever she was getting into would end soon and there would be no unpleasant complications.

  To be honest, he had needed a deadline, too, albeit for a different reason.

  When the day of his departure approached, he wanted her to ask him to stay.

  He needed her to ask him to stay.

  And so he’d done what he did best—he had gambled. He bet on his ability to get her hooked. It was a risky bet. From what he knew of her, she might want him—crave him even—and still walk away.

  She’d done it once before. She could surely do it again.

  Kes stopped in the middle of the room and raked his hands through his hair. Was he fighting a losing battle?

  Maybe. Or maybe not. Because his real gamble—his endgame—went beyond taming Amanda. He was plotting to get her to fall for him. He was staking his heart that he could make her cast aside her prejudice and admit that she cared for him as much as he cared for her. He was going all in that she could look beyond his origins and occupation. That she would grow accustomed enough to his differences to see through them.

  To see him.

  And to choose to be with him.

  His phone rang. “Hey, pral.” Marco sounded as upbeat as ever. “I’m downstairs. You haven’t forgotten I was coming over for a few days, have you?”

  Kes had no recollection of such an arrangement, but then again, he hadn’t been completely with it of late. “I’ll buzz you up.”

  A few seconds later, Kes shut his laptop and let his cousin in.

  “So, when should I organize your going-away-to-America party?” Marco asked, sprawling on the sofa. “I imagine you’ve booked your flight and hotels by now.”

  Kes shook his head. “I haven’t found a good package.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, a juicy discount like the one we had last time.”

  Marco narrowed his eyes for a second and then smiled brightly. “Cheer up, brother—I got your back.”

  Kes gave him a quizzical look.

  “What are cousins for, after all? Even if I can’t go with you this time, I want you to have the best value for your money. I’ve found exactly what you’re looking for.”

  “You have?”

  In lieu of an answer, Marco whipped out his smartphone and opened a page. The very same Kes had been staring at half an hour ago.

  “I saw this last night,” Marco said matter-of-factly. “You must’ve been looking in all the wrong places.”

  Kes swallowed. “That’s . . . great.”

  “It expires in twenty-four hours. I think you should book it pronto.”

  “I can’t.” Kes pulled a chair over and sat down across from Marco. “I need to finish some business here first.”

  “But you told me you’d been banned from the casino.”

  “It’s a different kind of business. It’s—”

  “Amanda.”

  Kes smiled in acquiescence.

  “I knew it. She’s holding you back.” Marco nodded sympathetically. “Women.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “No? Really?” Marco smirked. “Because it usually is. Listen, pral, there’s no need to make a fuss. If you’re too squeamish to dump her cold turkey, just tell her the truth—that you’re finished here, that your next stop is Vegas, and that you’ll see her when you’ll see her. It’ll be easier than you think.”

  You have no idea.

  “What?” Marco shrugged. “You’re a Gypsy, and she knows it. We never stay in the same place too long.”

  “No, we don’t,” Kes agreed.

  “Besides, she’s a smart girl. I’m sure she knows it can’t be serious between you two.”

  “Why do you say that?” Kes stared at his cousin, perplexed. “Why would she know it can’t
be serious?”

  “Because you belong in different worlds, that’s why.” Marco knit his eyebrows and stared back at Kes. “Please don’t tell me you actually want it to be serious.”

  “Why not?”

  “Jesus Christ.” Marco clasped his hands over his head. “You aren’t just screwing her—you’re actually into her. I should’ve realized it earlier.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I thought you were OK with her. With us.”

  “I’m OK with you sleeping with gadji women, no strings attached, like you’ve done in the past.” Marco leaned in and put his hand on Kes’s shoulder. “The Gitane girls are out of bounds before marriage, so a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

  Kes glared at him. “I think it’s stupid that our women don’t enjoy the same freedom as the men.”

  Marco removed his hand but didn’t comment.

  They sat in a fraught silence for a few long moments.

  “How serious is it?” Marco finally asked. “Are you planning to bring her into the family?”

  “Hey, hold your horses. We aren’t even . . . a thing yet. Not officially, anyway.”

  “But you’re hoping to be.” Marco smirked. “Wow. How did you go from telling everyone you weren’t made for relationships to being so into someone?”

  Kes shrugged. “I don’t have the foggiest.”

  Marco gave him a long, probing look and shook his head. “As I said, sleeping with a gadji is one thing, but letting it get serious? I can’t believe you allowed her to creep into your heart and pollute it.”

  “What the hell, Marco?”

  “Are you so changed by living among them? Are you so transformed that you’ve forgotten who you are?” Marco screwed his face up at Kes. “They’re unclean. They’re alien. You can’t attach yourself to one. You can’t betray your people like that.”

  Kes stood. “I have some errands in town. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, and I suggest you change your tune by then.”

  “Or else? Will you kick me out, pral? Will you disown me and your entire family and never break bread with the Gitans again?”

  Truth was Kes had no idea what he’d do, so he just shook his head and walked out the door.