Songs of the chapter:  Breakeven (Falling to Pieces) - The Script

It felt good to be back in France, the familiarity of the place warmly welcoming me instantaneously. I was primarily there accompanying my boss for work, assisting with having to interview a couple of fresh faced designers.

The next three days were the busiest, with me adjusting to communicating to people who rarely spoke English and rediscovering the city. I revisited the iconic Eiffel Tower where I'd had my first 'French' kiss and the gothic Notre Dame cathedral where, ironically, I had spoken my first French swear word. I reconnected with the culture and the people, feelings of nostalgia creeping up to the surface each time.

I left the last day's interview with Elodie-Claire Marci early, politely declining her dinner offer, instead driving to Café Rico, my old sanctuary, on the Rue Champs-Elysées. The sun was setting, casting streaks of bright light on the cobblestone streets, giving it an old-worldly feel.

As soon as I opened the door, the bittersweet smell of strong French press coffee filled my nostrils. I missed this. The smell of freshly baked pastries flirted with the early evening air, making me yearn for a fresh éclair with decadent Belgian chocolate drizzled on it.

"Un café crème et un éclair, s'il vous plait?" I asked the waitress, settling into a small table next to the window with the view of the Centre Pompidou.

"Et un café seule pour moi, merci," a familiar voice bellowed from behind me. Nicolas. "I'd recognise that order anywhere," he said, walking over to my table.

I bounded off my chair to embrace him, his signature coffee and Gautier perfume greeting me back. How I'd missed his bizarre yet mysteriously delightful and somewhat patriotic smell. "Hey, Zoe. I missed you."

We sat down and got to talking, with him catching me up with almost a year's worth of news. "Mari is getting married next week to that guy you despised so much," he reported about my old classmate and confidante.

"No!" I gasped, "That German prick, Ludwig? Oh my, does she love him though?"

Ludwig the Notorious, the nickname I'd dedicated to him, was a rich playboy most girls in my old university's inner circle were incredibly attracted to. He was a good-looking guy, I'll give him that, but his misogynistic ways disgusted me.

However, he charmed his way into many of their pants, using them for a month before moving onto the next hormonal victim. He tried to fool me too but I wasn't so gullible, seeing through his compliments and ridiculous, über generous offers.

My sweet friend Mari had not been so lucky - after six months of persistence on his part and her turning him down repeatedly, she finally cracked, giving him a chance.

"Elle dit que she does but I don't buy it, you know," he replied, munching on my dessert, reminding me of my dear friend with a longer mane. Of course she would. Love trumped sanity every time.

I regaled him about all my friends, the people I had met and my new job, purposefully neglecting to mention that I had a boyfriend. He told me about his work as a curator at the Louvre and showcasing his artwork. His hazel eyes twinkled when he spoke about art, softening his bad boy appearance.

I was mesmerised by him when we first met, and the way his glossy black shoulder length hair bounced up when he walked, tumbling down his broad, athletic shoulders.

We left the café, and he offered to drive me back to my hotel uptown. "I don't want you getting lost," he explained. Not like I would - after a few years living somewhere, you get a feel for how to get around.

His taste in music was still the same, indie rock escaping from the speakers. He had taken me to every indie rave across Europe during my first two years of university, making me skip school on certain days because "C'etaient plus importante que l'école", his excuse of everything being more important than school all the time.

"I wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow," he said, pulling up to my hotel. "I would have loved to grab dinner or something."

"We'll have to postpone it until you come to New York I guess," I responded, unbuckling my seatbelt.

He agreed with a nod and I turned to face him. He silently gazed into my eyes, his dreamy stare making my heart race like it had always when he looked at me like that.

He slowly ran his thumb across my lips, coaxing me into his lap. He leaned in and kissed my bottom lip first before parting his warm lips for mine. He tasted like before - chocolate and mint on his breath - and his lips felt comfortable on mine; I immediately pulled away from him.

"I can't do this. I have to go," I said, hastily opening the door and racing into the lobby.

I ran into my room, feeling horrible for allowing Nicolas to kiss me. It was wrong, all wrong! I shouldn't have been comfortable with his kiss. What kind of person was? I had a boyfriend. Oh no! Mitchell.

I stripped out of my clothes and looked for anything of Mitchell's I might have repossessed which I threw on to remind myself that I had a boyfriend I loved, a lot. I grabbed my laptop off of my bed and Skyped him, hoping to catch him before he left for work.

"Hey." He picked up after three rings. "I missed you that morning you left. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

"Hi. Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't wanna wake you and I was running late," I replied, my heart pounding in my chest. I felt sick to my stomach, ashamed of my actions - I had to tell him if I was going to feel better. "Can we talk for a bit? I need to tell you something."

"I have five minutes so yeah, sure. Make it quick."

"Okay. I met Nicolas tonight and he drove me back. He happened to kiss me goodnight and I kissed him back, but not before I pulled away and ran out, realising what a big mistake it was. I'm so sorry, Mitch. I feel like shit," I blurted out.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best way to put it out there: I saw him perch on the edge of his bed and he stared blankly back at me, wordlessly.

"I'm really sorry. I never meant for it to happen. Please say something, anything?"

"I don't have anything to say to you," he replied eventually. "You've told me about your relationship with him. I know he's your best friend. What exactly do you want me to say? That I forgive you and appreciate you telling me?" He sounded very bitter and his speech was laced with hurt and anger, something I'd never heard in his voice before.

"Maybe if I'd been able to tell him that I had a boyfriend, none of this would have happened," I retorted. Stupid Zoe! That escalated the entire situation. My cheeks felt flushed with anger and sadness, salty tears stabbing at my eyes.

"Oh, so this is my fault? You still have a boyfriend and you know that kissing Nicolas is never going to sit well with me. I'm the only guy you're supposed to be kissing or have I not made that part of our relationship clear?" he ranted, his green orbs betraying his heart heavy with emotion.

"It was a mistake, okay? And I'm telling you this now because I want you to see how sorry I am. It's bad enough that I'm beating myself up about this." His gaze shifted. "You could at least look at me," I muttered. "I love you and I'm so sorry."

"I don't have time for this right now," he said before ending the call.

I slid onto the carpeted bedroom floor, resting my head against the bed. Tears fell silently, cooling my cheeks and wetting his t-shirt. Why did I have to screw up all my relationships, I scolded myself.

I needed Mitchell. I loved him too much for it to end this way. I couldn't deal with losing him. I crawled into bed with a cup of chamomile tea and hugged my pillow, crying myself to sleep while the city fell asleep peacefully around me.
...
A/N: I'm dedicating this chapter to my good friend Primrose. I know how much it hurt your soul when Zoe and Mitch fought, but all great relationships have their rollercoaster moments.