The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 51
The photograph of Justin’s painting remained on Sophie’s phone as she entered the café on Third. Evening rain streaked the windows, blurring the lights outside into pale ribbons, while the low music and scattered conversations created the illusion of privacy. She had ignored Justin’s warning and come alone because Stella was more likely to speak freely without him watching. Even so, Sophie shared her location with Ted before taking the booth across from her sister.
Stella had already ordered two drinks. She looked composed in a cream-colored coat, her hair immaculate, as if this meeting were a social courtesy rather than another move in the war between them. One glass sat untouched near Sophie’s side of the table. Condensation had formed along its surface, suggesting Stella had been waiting longer than she wanted to admit.
“What do you want?” Sophie asked. She kept her coat on and placed her phone face down within reach. The café was public, the entrance visible from her seat, and several customers sat close enough to hear a raised voice. She reminded herself of those details while Stella smiled.
“Why the rush?” Stella nudged the waiting glass toward her. “Have a drink first.”
Sophie did not touch it. Stella’s sudden hospitality was more suspicious than open hostility, and the memory of every lie between them sat at the table like a third person. “You called me here. Say what you have to say.”
Stella lifted her own glass and drank, making a performance of proving the drinks were harmless. “You always assume the worst of me. We are sisters, whether you like it or not. Maybe I wanted one conversation where you did not arrive ready to accuse me of ruining your life.”
“You slept with my fiancé, lied to our father, and tried to turn my marriage into a scandal.” Sophie’s voice remained quiet, but anger sharpened every word. “You lost the right to ask for trust.”
For a second, resentment showed beneath Stella’s polished expression. Then she leaned back and glanced at Sophie’s phone. “Yet you still came. That means you want something from me too.”
Sophie thought of Justin’s canvas and the old University of Paris exhibition. She had hoped to draw Stella into a contradiction before revealing what she knew. “You said there was something I should hear.”
“And I will tell you.” Stella pushed the glass closer again. “But I refuse to be interrogated while you sit there acting superior. One drink, Sophie. Unless your new husband has forbidden you from making your own choices.”
The taunt was calculated. Stella had always known how to transform caution into cowardice and make refusal feel like surrender. Sophie looked at the amber liquid, then at Stella’s matching glass. Nothing about the color or scent seemed unusual.
“Justin does not control me,” Sophie said.
“Of course not. He merely follows you, answers your calls, and appears whenever you need rescuing.” Stella’s smile turned cruel. “How long do you think a man like that stays interested once the excitement is gone?”
Sophie refused to let the question find its target. Justin had secrets, but his loyalty had been more reliable than Stella’s blood relationship. She lifted the glass, intending only to end the game and force the conversation forward.
The first sip tasted slightly bitter beneath the sweetness. Sophie paused, but Stella raised her brows in silent challenge. There were countless ordinary reasons for an unfamiliar aftertaste, and accusing Stella without proof would end the meeting before it began.
“Satisfied?” Sophie asked, setting the glass down.
Stella’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Much better. Now we can talk like family.”
Sophie unlocked her phone and opened the photograph of Justin’s canvas. “Good. Then tell me the truth about the painting you submitted for the Monet Prize.”