Chapter Three

Cam didn’t think he could be more tired if he tried. He cast an eye at his cell phone to see the time…if they were to be at the French embassy by seven, he had exactly forty-three minutes to shower and change and get the kids down to the bus. He shouldn’t have let them talk him into another stop on the bus tour, but Jean-Paul’s words after dinner last night had been ringing in his ears all morning.

He knew the Frenchman was right. To come to DC and not see more than a few places was a kind of sacrilege. So, he’d given in and added to their stops. Which had made them late getting back to the hotel, especially after the kids had spent a long time posing in front of the MLK Memorial. They had thoroughly enjoyed their day, though, starting with a huge breakfast at seven—no one complained about the early start, to his great surprise—and then the bus tour. In all they had gotten off the bus eight times, including stopping again at the Jefferson Memorial. Surprisingly, none of them wanted to do a White House stop. He chose not to dwell on their reasons…he hadn’t been keen on it himself.

Now, though, he was behind, because he had overslept. Napping was underrated, because even though he still felt tired, he was in much better shape than he had been when they walked back into the hotel at five-thirty. The bus was to arrive at six forty-five to take them to the French ambassador’s residence.

Shaking himself, he hurried through a quick shower and dressed equally carefully. He didn’t often get a chance to wear a suit and tie, and as he looked himself over, he wondered if he’d pass muster with Jean-Paul. The thought made him do a double take. Why did he care what the Frenchman thought about how he looked? Just because he’d been friendlier than usual last night didn’t mean he cared about Cam or the kids. Maybe he was just more relaxed because he was back on his own home turf. Some people were like that…they didn’t do well in uncharted territory.

Passing a hand over his slicked-back hair, tied back in a ponytail that stopped just at the top of his spine, he decided he looked fine, even if he weren’t up to Jean-Paul’s level of sartorial splendor. And he wouldn’t allow the thought—that he really wanted the Frenchman to like what he saw—to take root in his head. His attraction—if that’s what it was—didn’t matter anyway, did it? They’d never see each other again after tonight. Shrugging off the strangely depressing thought, he eyed the dark blue suit that fit him like a glove, and the white shirt he had chosen to wear with it that highlighted his tan and the lines of his face. Grabbing his wallet and cellphone, he walked out to help escort his students to the bus.

“Silence, s’il vous plait, mes enfants.”

The students quieted and turned to face him as he stood in the front of the bus ten minutes later.

“We’ll be having a ‘mocktail’ reception before dinner is served. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. And of course, to use French as often as you can.”

“Sir, what if we suck?”

The boy who had asked the question was the shyest member of the group and his best French speaker by far, aside from Annette. Cam wished he could give the kid a shot of confidence. He smiled, but before he could open his mouth to give a rousing speech about how they would all do fine, another student spoke up.

“Dan, there’s no way in hell you’ll suck! We’re the ones who have to worry about ‘slaughtering the language’!” He put air quotes around the last three words, and the bus erupted in laughter at his echoing Cam’s words to them from time to time. “Besides, who cares if we suck? Nobody expects us to be masters of French. I’ve only been studying it since tenth grade.”

Assorted sounds of agreement filtered through the bus, and Cam decided to let the students continue to do his pep talking for him.

“Tell you what, Dan,” Adrian cut in with a laugh. “We’ll come bug you for how to say things the right way, and that way no one will suck at anything. You’ll be so busy coaching us, you won’t have time to worry about being bad at it.”

Dan looked caught between fright at the thought of being in the spotlight and excitement at being able to help. Cam smiled. It was times like these that reminded him of why he had chosen to be a teacher and why he loved it so much.

“Good pep talk, guys,” he said, clapping. “And just in time, too. We’re here.”

He watched them as they stepped off the bus onto the circular driveway. A couple of the boys wore suits, the others wore dress pants and shirts and matching ties, and the girls were all splendidly done up in pretty summer cocktail dresses that were not too scandalous. He was pleased to see they had heeded his warnings about dressing appropriately. He left the bus last and after confirming a departure time with the bus driver, he followed the group to the main entrance where Jean-Paul was waiting for them.

Cam looked him over as he shook hands with the other two adults in the party. His dark gray suit was elegant and sleek, like the man wearing it, his light blue shirt and dark blue tie echoing the color of his eyes and adding an unexpected warmth to the ensemble. His black hair was neat, the gray wings inviting Cam’s eyes to follow them to his beautiful face.

Pulling himself together, he stepped forward and prepared for the shock he knew he would feel when they shook hands. Last night, when Jean-Paul had taken his hand, it had been all Cam could do to pretend he felt nothing, though the contact had left a brand on his flesh that he could still feel long after he had returned to his room. And he was feeling that tingling again before the man even touched him. This was new, this visceral attraction to someone he would never have thought was his type to begin with. He had hookups in the past, but there had never been anyone he wanted to spend more than a night or two with, and none of them had looked or acted like Jean-Paul.

Jean-Paul smiled at him as they shook hands, and Cam felt almost breathless. Between the other man’s genuine smile and the electricity that always seemed to spark when they touched, he was struggling to keep his composure.

“Bienvenue à tous!” Jean-Paul said, turning away to the group, and giving Cam the chance to regain his composure. But just before he moved away to escort them inside, he turned back to Cam and pierced him with a look he didn’t know how to interpret.

Then they were moving into the building, being given a short tour of the space before being led out to the terrace off the room in which they would be dining later. The different salons that they were shown briefly all had incredible works of art on display, and the furnishings and floor coverings were bold and beautiful. Cam liked what he saw. It seemed to fit the lifestyle he assumed Jean-Paul was used to living, and probably explained why he was so reserved.

When the ambassador appeared and greeted them, he was surprised at how open and friendly he was. The French had a reputation in some circles for being snobs, but Cam saw nothing like that in the middle-aged man who greeted him. Jean-Paul introduced him to them all, and when he stopped speaking, the ambassador said, “Enchanté, tout le monde! Bienvenue chez moi. Welcome to my home. I apologize for my partner’s absence. He would have loved to meet you all, but he had a previous engagement.”

“It’s a beautiful home, sir,” Cam said, shaking his hand. “Merci pour l’invitation.”

“De rien, monsieur,” the ambassador replied. “It is my pleasure to host such a fine group of American students, especially because they love my country and its language.”

The ambassador’s smile was warm as he invited them to help themselves to drinks. Cam watched as he moved around among the students, engaging them in conversation, laughing gently with them, and his heart swelled with pride. The kids he worked with came from very ordinary households, with the exception of Annette, whose dad worked for their host. And none of them, including Annette, lived the kind of life that would have accustomed them to the elegance and sophistication of the evening they had just begun. He was happy that he had been able to give them the chance at a taste of the good life.

“Your students are doing very well.”

Jean-Paul’s voice almost in his ear startled Cam, and made shivers run up his spine. He turned to look over his shoulder and found Jean-Paul’s lips much too close for comfort. Stepping away, and swallowing at the thought that intruded, of those bow-shaped lips beneath his own, he tried for a smile and a nod.

Then, when he could think beyond the unexpected spike of lust that shot through him, he said, “Yes. And your boss seems to have taken a shine to them as well.”

Jean-Paul’s smile warmed his whole face, making his blue eyes sparkle. “Oui. He is a very gentle soul and loves to entertain.”

“This is a great place to live, too.” Cam tried to keep the conversation going while he managed the shivers he was still feeling. “I’m sure he entertains a lot.”

“He does, both for official functions and for private parties.”

Cam looked around at the paintings on the walls. “He’s a lover of art, too, I take it.”

Jean-Paul nodded. “That, and he loves to share it with his guests. I have visited his home in France, and it is a showpiece of fine art.”

Cam turned back to take in the man standing next to him. “Well, you fit right in with all the beautiful art.”

Jean-Paul cocked his head curiously. “Why do you say that? It is my job to be here."

Cam smiled. “That’s true, but my classrooms don’t look as good on me as this place looks on you. You fit in perfectly here, monsieur. Elegant and beautiful!”

The faint blush that stained Jean-Paul’s cheeks and stole down his neck amused Cam, and pleased him, too. Who knew a harmless compliment would have such an effect on the suave Frenchman?

“You are too kind, Camden.” Jean-Paul’s voice was low and warm. “I am sure you would fit in as well.”

Cam laughed. “Ever heard of a bull in a china shop, Jean-Paul? I think that would more accurately describe me in this house.”

Their banter was interrupted by the return of the ambassador who wanted to know all sorts of things about the school, the French program and even about Cam himself.

“If I am not mistaken, M. Archer, you are a former soldier?”

How did he know that? It wasn’t exactly a secret, but why would the French ambassador care to find out anything about a casual visitor to his home? Cam hid his surprise as he answered.

“Active duty and reserves, sir. Twenty years in.”

“You only recently retired, no?”

“Two years now, sir.”

Cam was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the twenty questions, but it all became clear when the ambassador said, “I could have chosen a military career myself, but I was young and wanted immediate gratification that navy travel would not have given me. I became a diplomat instead.”

He chuckled, and Cam felt he was only joking anyway, so he smiled as well.

"It has not been all bad for me. But I know I would have made a terrible professeur. I have no patience pour les enfants.”

He chuckled again, and Cam laughed. “I might have to disagree with you there, sir.” He looked around at his students on the patio. “I saw how you were with my kids. I think they’d disagree, as well.”

The ambassador smiled and a tinge of color washed his cheeks as he said, “Merci, M. Archer.”

When the ambassador’s attention was called away, Jean-Paul stepped close again and said, “I think the ambassador is not the only one who is mistaken about his abilities, Camden. You seem to be handling yourself much better than a bull in a china shop, no?”

Dinner was called shortly after, and the meal was an unqualified success. The conversation never lagged, between the kids asking the ambassador if he had ever been to the beach in the summer in France, about life in Marseilles and wanting to know his career path to being a diplomat. And in between all that nosiness, which he tolerated admirably, he talked about what it was like to grow up in France and how he had always wanted to visit the United States. Cam found himself mostly listening, only speaking now and again when the ambassador directed a comment his way.

It was nothing like he had expected it to be. And through it all, he could feel Jean-Paul’s eyes on him. He did his best not to make eye contact too often, but every time he did, something flashed in the Frenchman’s eyes, something raw and intense, something primal that pulled him in and made it hard for him to look away. What the hell was happening? They’d met a total of three times before this event, and the first two had barely been cordial. So why was he suddenly so hyper-aware of this man and his looks?

Dragging his eyes away once again, he looked around the tables at his students, all involved in animated conversations, delight and pleasure plain on their faces. The other two chaperones were also happily engaged in talk, one with the ambassador himself. This had been a good plan. Kids needed to see things outside of their particular sphere. They needed to know there was a world, large and fascinating and brilliant, out there beyond their imaginations. And this was just the beginning of that journey of discovery for most of them.

After dinner, once the dishes were cleared away, a screen was set up for the live broadcast of the fireworks over the Pont d’Avignon. A quartet made an appearance, setting up to the right of the screen. The kids settled down as soon as the first notes were played, and for the next half hour, they enjoyed a variety of tunes, from classical to pop. At the intermission, dessert was served—a fruit and ice cream concoction that was delicious and refreshing—and then the band was back for the second half which featured more of the same, though this time the kids seemed more familiar with the music. The final song was the French National Anthem, which the kids sang along to, much to the delight of the ambassador, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

The ambassador rose to address the group.

“Mesdames et messieurs et mes élèves, j'espère que vous vous êtes tous amusés jusqu'à présent. Et maintenant, c’est l’heure pour des feux d'artifice. Alors, tout le monde, êtes-vous prêt?”

Cam knew the students had been looking forward to the show all day, so they were more than ready for the fireworks. They whistled and shouted “Oui, monsieur!”, and the ambassador laughed gently.

“Alors, Allons-y, mes élèves!”

He clapped his hands and the outside lights dimmed. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen where the image of the Pont d’Avignon lit up. A commentator explained that the Festival d’Avignon was a two-week-long event including the fireworks over the bridge, whose official name was le Pont Saint-Bénezet. When the fireworks began, the kids cheered loudly and took pictures of the screen on their phones.

Cam had ended up sitting next to Jean-Paul, who leaned close to say, “I have been to the festival. The town is alive with visitors, and the excitement in the air is electrifying. You would like it there. So would your students.”

Cam turned to answer, but got lost in Jean-Paul’s blue eyes and the closeness of his full lips. His mind blanked out for a moment, but the noise of the kids cheering a particularly spectacular burst of fire penetrated his haze. He blinked and pulled away, facing forward without responding. He concentrated doggedly on the show until the last firework exploded in the sky. A final round of applause, and then kids were standing and talking excitedly. Cam stood up as well and looked at his watch. It was almost eight. He turned to Jean-Paul and said, “Well, I guess it’s time for us to go. This was a great evening. Thank you so much for arranging it.”

“It was my pleasure to do so, Camden. I only wish I could have done more.”

The ambassador walked over just then and extended his hand. Cam shook it as the man said, “M. Archer, this was a most pleasant occasion. I do not often host such a young group of guests in my home, but this was definitely a lovely change of pace.”

“I enjoyed it, Mr. Ambassador, and I’m sure the kids did as well.”

Speaking of which, Cam turned and called out, “Okay everyone, it’s time to go.” When they quieted, he added, "Adrian, you ready?”

The boy nodded and strolled over, while the others gathered round. They had decided they wanted to give the ambassador a gift, as well as make a little “thank you” speech. As Adrian was their most out-going classmate, he had been elected to complete those two tasks. He approached with the gift in his hand. Cam knew it was a framed photograph of the group standing in front of their high school with the school name clear above their heads, and a sign being held by the ones in the front that said, “Merci, monsieur l’ambassadeur!”

He extended his hand, and after the ambassador shook it, Adrian said, “Monsieur l'ambassadeur, mes amis et moi vous remercions de nous avoir invités à dîner chez vous. Nous avons eu un bon temps et, en signe de notre reconnaissance, nous voulons que vous ayez ce cadeau en mémoire de nous. Et bonne Fête Nationale, monsieur.”

The ambassador’s face was wreathed in smiles as he took the gift and opened it. The smile became a chuckle when he saw the picture. He replied in English.

“My young friends, I have enjoyed spending time with you all this evening. And your gift is very thoughtful. I will keep it on my desk. I hope you will continue your studies in French, and maybe one day you will all be able to visit la France and enjoy the sights and sounds of my country. Thank you again. Have a safe journey back home to Pennsylvania.”

He mingled with the crowd of students shaking hands and giving them encouraging words, before escorting the entire group back to the front, where Jean-Paul was waiting to see them off. The bus was waiting and Cam sent the kids in, along with the other two chaperones, while he stayed back to say his own goodbyes.

“Gentlemen, thank you for a great evening, and for the opportunity you gave the kids today. I’m sure none of us will forget it.”

He shook hands with both men and then turned to walk away, when Jean-Paul’s voice stopped him. He turned back as the Frenchman said, “It was good to have met you, Camden Archer. Take care.”

Cam had no idea what possessed him in that moment, but he said, “I’ll be around for a week in August. Maybe we can hang out again?”

Jean-Paul’s eyes widened for a moment before he smiled. “You are coming back to enjoy more of the sights?”

Cam chuckled. “I wish. I have a professional development conference to attend. I’ll text you the details. If you’re in town, maybe we can have dinner one night.”

“I would like that. A lot.”

His eyes telescoped a message Cam would need to unpack later. For now, he waved a hand in farewell, and Jean-Paul lifted his fingers in a quasi-military salute as Cam turned and walked to the bus. He was still standing there when the bus pulled away from the curb, illuminated by the light on the front porch.