Chapter 11
Ivana slept soundly on the plane, waking up only when it landed in Paris. Turning on her phone, the local time read 4:22 PM.
“Is this your suitcase?” a male voice reached her.
Ivana turned around to see a tall American man holding a suitcase identical to hers. She looked closely and noticed a small firefighter sticker on it, sure enough, it was swapped.
“Ah, yes, sorry, it’s the wrong one.” she apologized.
“Ivana?” the man suddenly mentioned her
name.
“You are?” Her heart jumped… could this. be someone Ernest knew?
She didn’t have many friends, especially male ones, since she cut off contact with everyone while she was with Ernest.
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The man took off his mask. “Winston?”
Ivana looked surprised.
“Yes. What a coincidence,” he said.
“How are you here?” Ivana puzzled.
He laughed, “Can’t firefighters come to France?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” she blushed.
He teased, “Hold onto your suitcase, don’t mix it up again.”
They swapped their suitcases. Ivana’s French wasn’t fluent, so she stumbled through explaining her address.
The apartment was right by the Seine River, opening her window gave her a clear view of the Eiffel Tower. The school of her dreams was only a ten–minute walk away. Her kind landlord, a French old lady, invited her to dinner.
At that moment, Ivana finally felt like herself, completely her own person. The last time she’d felt like this was probably
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when she was a child and her parents were
still alive.
Her nose tingled with emotion and she took out the last family photo she had, placing it on her bedside table.
During dinner, Ivana cooked tomato scrambled eggs, which amazed the French old lady. “The last time I had such delicious food was when my American friend’s son came to visit me in France,” the old lady said.
Ivana surprised, “Really? You have an American friend?”
The old lady continued, “Yes. Her son also arrived in France today and I invited him to join us for dinner. I forgot to mention this earlier, Miss Millian, do you mind?”
“Not at all, I don’t mind,” Ivana said. Just arriving in France where everything was unfamiliar, Ivana was eager to meet a few reliable American people.
“Ting–tong.” When she opened the door
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and saw the visitor, Ivana froze, it was Winston.
The landlord said, “Miss Millian, this is Winston Applegate.”
“I believe Miss Millian already knows me.” Winston’s French was much more fluent
than Ivana’s. Because he had seen her at her lowest point, Ivana felt slightly embarrassed and much more reserved.
“Miss Millian, Winston is very familiar with France. He’ll also be staying in this building, on the same floor as you,” said the old lady.
Ivana nodded, though she still felt slightly awkward. However, it was the landlord’s house and it wasn’t her place to say who could or couldn’t live there.
During dinner, Ivana’s poor French caused plenty of amusing moments. Although Winston seemed cold, he was actually quite attentive, always looking out for
Ivana.
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Once he noticed her struggling with French, he deliberately used simpler words. and slowed his speech significantly, “If you want to attend classes, you won’t
understand a word the teachers say with this level of French.”
Ivana’s face reddened. She had prepared when she decided to come to France, but she gave up learning French for Ernest.
Later, she never picked it back up again. and could only rely on her broken, half- baked skills from a few years ago.
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