Explosion in Paris

By Linda Masemore Pirrung

Explosion in Paris is the story of one womans determination to better her life because she has finally found the man of her dreams! By refusing to accept her husband's death sentence assessment of her soul, Angela Briann Scott is challenging herself to reach beyond her limits. This is especially true since her accidental meeting with the devastatingly handsome Ross Leigh Stafford. He's a man of high principles, irreproachable character, unsinkable spirit, and unwavering compassion, all the qualities that her husband, Mitch, is seriously lacking.

Angies adopted country of France glows with charm and beauty through her eyes. By reinventing herself to save her life, she discovers her true essence and she develops a strong sense of self-worth. Her impressive success and enduring strength tell a story that will keep readers engrossed to the very end!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 28, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440140754

Linda Masemore Pirrung

LINDA MASEMORE PIRRUNG is the author of three romantic suspense novels—Cracked Hearts, I Will Wait for You, and Explosion in Paris. She is the proud mother of three and the equally proud grandmother of two. She lives in Maryland with her husband of forty-two years.

Book preview

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

AFTERWARD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

The heart that loves has the will and strength to endure the test of time …

It was a glorious spring afternoon, full of promise—the promise that the fresh new buds peeking hesitantly out at the bright sun would eventually burst into vibrant color and inimitable blueprint. As she knelt in her garden, Angela Briann Scott couldn’t help but envy the new growth for its opportunity to start fresh every year. Her straight, jaw-length, hair shadowed her pretty heart-shaped face. She reached up to brush her stray chestnut lock behind her ear and reached for another starter geranium to plant. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her husband, Mitch, approaching. Her body tensed, but she continued to place the delicate plant into the hole she’d dug.

Hi love, Mitch said as he leaned over for a kiss. He surveyed her work for an awkward moment. Did you measure the depth of the holes and the space between each geranium?

Another woman may have turned and smirked at him, but that wasn’t in Angela’s nature.

No, I eye-balled it, Angie replied, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the sun with her hand as she looked upward to meet his gaze.

She stood up to stretch her aching legs. Running her fingers through her hair, she hooked it more securely behind her ears so she could see. Taking three steps back, she peered at her project, which she’d been working so diligently on since 9:30 that morning. She cocked her head and smiled. I think they look beautiful.

Mitch stood tall and staunch. His straight-backed posture resembled that of a soldier standing at attention. It was a stance Angie knew all too well. He lingered in silence for a few minutes, his face dark and stern as if he were faced with a classroom of incorrigible children.

As each minute passed, the silence grew more and more deafening, and Angie’s heart pounded harder and harder. Her throat constricted and her chest tightened as if her lungs were calcifying, preventing her lungs from expanding.

Angie watched her husband of seven years warily. His black hair was meticulously styled, and his dress shirt was without a single crease—she’d made sure of that. His tie was artfully tied, and his jacket lay exquisitely folded over his shoulder with only a finger dead center in the back collar to secure it.

Without another word, Mitchell Scott strolled with deliberate malice through Angie’s flower garden, one flawlessly shined shoe after the other, taking direct aim at as many delicate blossoms as possible, crushing them beneath his feet en route to their house.

Angie’s five-foot-five, one-hundred-twenty-pound frame stood motionless in her cut off jean shorts and pink halter top. Her wide-set, icicle-blue eyes were bewildered and hollow with sadness but full of fierce determination. Her arms tensed at her sides, and her long tapering fingers curled into tight, white-knuckled fists. Her blood pounded in her veins as she chewed on the impertinence of his cruel act.

Why do I put up with you, Mitch, darling? Angie whispered defiantly under her breath as another piece of her heart deadened. Unblinking, she watched him enter the house.

CHAPTER 2

Angie started another letter to her only sibling, her older sister of two years, who lived in New York.

Hi, Shea! I miss you!

I feel like I’m in an endless, long dark tunnel with no way out. I guess I will never understand Mitch no matter how hard I try. He can be so wonderful, so attentive, and kind and generous and then make a complete about-face and turn into a heartless, cold stranger that seems to look right through me. There have been times when he’s walked through the door yelling my name in that threatening tone of voice that I’ve actually hidden in a closet with my heart in my throat and waited in the hopes the storm would subside with time. I’m glad now that he didn’t want to have children because he didn’t want to share me. I could never knowingly bring an innocent new life into this environment. He made me quit my teaching career because we don’t need the money and I want to keep you all to myself, which, at the time and the way he presented it, sounded romantic and loving. Now, in retrospect, I find it chilling.

I wish he’d let me see you more often. I don’t know why he sees you as such a threat! You’re the only real family I have left after Mom and Dad died …

Angie finished her emotional letter to her sister, sealed it, and put a stamp on it. She lifted the mattress to place the letter beneath it —the only place she could think of to hide it until it was safe to mail it undetected.

Schooled at Berkeley State University, Mitchell had caught the Frank Lloyd Wright bug early on. Utilizing open floor plans, Wright had practiced organic architecture, allowing the site to generate the evolution of the design. This Wrightian principle never strayed far from Mitchell’s mind when he delved into new projects. He was definitely an out of the box thinker. He fell in love with steel beam architecture that veered away from homey wood boxes, as he called traditional wood-frame houses.

Mitchell had chosen a down-sloping lot in California, cuddled by the Sierra Nevada forest canopy to build their home. His biggest challenge had been the garage. He was an avid classic car collector, so he wanted the garage within close proximity to the house and big enough to hold five cars. His solution was to design the garage with as much care as he had the living room of the house.

The resulting structure, externally sided with panels of translucent windows, transitioned seamlessly into the rest of their 5,000 square foot house. The garage led into the house’s entryway, which opened to the wide expanse of the top floor that included the master bedroom suite with upholstered walls in taupe silk. The next floor down contained the main living space, decorated in a neutral palette and comprised of the living room, dining room, and kitchen, as well as two bedrooms. The stairway rotunda in the entryway was a soaring stair that seemed to rise up to heaven in a breathtaking swirl. Sweeping outdoor decks on both levels of the house offered secluded spaces for quiet contemplation, reading, or dinner for two amidst the treetops. These were Angie’s favorite niches and where she spent a lot of time reading and enjoying her solitude.

When designing the house, Mitchell had analyzed the placement of the sun and the direction of the wind. The environment of the lot had dictated the home’s design. He took his cues from the lankiness of the trees, their narrow widths. Vertical plaster towers and spanning steel beams formed the infrastructure of the house, with redwood and glass infill. Instead of building the ol’ wood-sided mountain home as a monument to the trees, the towers stepped down the hill, suspending the house among the trees. The suspension of part of the house permitted wildlife to pass easily beneath it.

He designed the glass walls to touch the ceiling, which allowed more natural light to flood into the house. Rather than living in a box that interrupted the landscape and environment, the incorporation of redwood, both inside and outside, enhanced the blending between structure and its surroundings. To quote Mitchell: The house becomes an overlook, a lens through which to view Mother Nature.

Much of the furniture in the house was built-in, so there was no distinction between the exterior and interior of the house. Their home was meant to be understated and sophisticated with a combination of muted tones, quietly elegant fabrics and harmonious arrangements. Mitchell was all about embracing blank slates, resisting the temptation to pick and choose from a pre-selected chart and forego attempts to recreate cliché styles. In his opinion, an open mind generated fresh ideas, a much-needed contrast to the seemingly endless regurgitation of mini mansions.

Angie loved her home, but if it were up to her, she would have chosen a warmer, cozier structure, possibly a log home with huge, over-the-top timbers instead of the cold, sterile straight-lined steel. Stylish furniture with lots of fabric, feather-down pillows, and throws were more her taste. But Angie’s opinion had never held much weight in their relationship.

Nothing had changed in the passing months. In their large, sunny, ultra-modern kitchen of maple and stainless steel, Mitch sat with his arms folded on the table, watching Angie roll out pie dough between two pieces of plastic wrap. He picked up his newspaper and sat back in his chair with his left leg crossed over his right. Propping his right elbow on the table to support his arm, he opened the newspaper and stretched it out in front of him.

Angie lined the pie pan with the bottom crust, swaying slowly and dreamily to the soft piano music playing in the background. She opened a cabinet door and pulled out a glass mixing bowl, then a paring knife from a drawer.

As he turned a page, Mitch peeked over the top of his paper and watched her for a moment. He watched her as she peeled and pared the apples and swayed her hips, obviously enjoying the music. After a few moments, he put his paper down. His chair scraped across the tile floor as he rose and walked over to the CD case. After scrutinizing the collection, he opened the glass door, plucked a CD from the case, and walked over to the CD player. He pushed the stop button and replaced Angie’s mood music with a loud Rolling Stones CD. Then, without a word, Mitch resumed his place at the table and continued to read his paper. He didn’t even throw Angie a charitable glance, apology, or acknowledgment for infringing on her enjoyment.

Lips tense, Angie let out an inaudible sigh. She felt like the victim of a grave injustice, but she did not react vindictively. On the contrary, she continued her project as if nothing had changed. As usual, her infinite capacity to adapt resolved the situation. The blade of her knife slipped under the skin of an apple as she concentrated on the task at hand.

With exemplary stoicism, Mitch began to read an article aloud. Listen to this, Angie. ‘Wozniak was only twenty-six years old when he co-founded Apple Computer and went public in 1980. He started with a simple dream as a boy that everyone should be able to have a home computer and he made it happen.’ So he was wealthy at thirty years old. He didn’t care about the money; he said he’d have done it without the money. He went back to college to get his teaching degree because he’d always wanted to be a teacher. He didn’t let wealth go to his head. How about that?

That’s very commendable, Angie said. Money isn’t everything, and it sure doesn’t make you happy. I loved my choice of a career. Being a teacher made me feel like I was contributing something worthwhile to the next generation.

Angie rolled the piecrust into a flat circle. She concentrated on the crust as she carefully picked it up and placed it over the apple filling. She pressed the crust around the rim and then picked up the pan. Balancing it in one hand, she cut dangling bits of crust off with the knife in other.

Here we go, Mitch said. "The driving tour, Concours D’Elegance, is in Pebble Beach on the fifteenth … Fabulous! I’ll make arrangements."

Mitch and Angie enjoyed the joyrides they went on with their Antique Car Enthusiast’s Club. They loved to show off their 1925 Hispano-Suiza Tourer. They also owned a 1948 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith Franay Cabriolet, a 1933 Rolls-Royce Phantom II, Continental Gurney Nutting Sedanca Coupe, and a 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SL Coupe.

Without meaning to, Angie slipped into her own private world. Her mind was the one private place where no one could see or hear her. Her heart’s memory eliminated the bad and magnified the good. She remembered when she’d just purchased her new, actually nouveau, year-old Roadster. She’d saved every penny she’d earned and invested it in Certificates of Deposit until she had enough cash to purchase her dream car. That was before Mitch entered her life. She remembered the utter joy and pride she had felt in her new car and her state of mind at the time. She had been such a different person then.

Angie placed her pies in her pre-heated oven and set the timer.

I’m going to the garden to pick some fresh flowers for the dinner table, Mitch, she said. I’ll be right back.

Angie had just finished snipping an assortment of flowers from her garden and was standing at her patio table attending to her task at hand. She was arranging her gladiolas and roses into a lovely bouquet in her favorite vase when she suddenly felt like she was being watched. She looked first toward the house, quite certain Mitch was spying on her. But she could see him through the window. He was still sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Her eyes wandered toward the woods, and she was startled when she saw a man peering at her from the edge of the tree line.

I’m sorry, the stranger said. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was hiking in the woods, and I have a habit of getting off the trampled paths to see nature in its natural habitat … I didn’t realize that this was private property.

That’s all right. You’re forgiven, Angie replied.

This devastatingly handsome stranger was over six feet tall with thick dark hair and warm, gentle brown eyes. He was dressed in hiking gear, so Angie was sure he was telling the truth.

I’m sorry to bother you, he said, tilting his head slightly. He turned and walked off into the woods. He looked back once and their gazes met. A polite smile crossed his face. Without another word, he turned once more and began walking again.

Angie watched the movement of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he walked away, and then he was gone.

CHAPTER 3

A month later, Angie met her sister for lunch at an intimate little Bistro on the other side of town. She was in town, combining business with pleasure and took the opportunity to spend time with her sister. The only time Angie had away from Mitch’s watchful eye was when he was at his office. Shea had a unique beauty. Her silky black hair was long and straight, and she had wide-set Nordic blue eyes like Angie’s. She was divorced and had no children. She was a devout career woman with a mind of her own.

Mitch would be furious if he knew I was here with you, Shea! Angie lamented. "I wish I could convince him that I need my sister in my life!"

Angie! You have to know that he doesn’t want to share you with anyone else! Shea said. You can’t really love Mitch! Why are you so afraid to do something about your unhappiness? Why are you so afraid to live, afraid to love again? I’m sure you’re gun-shy, but life is about taking chances! You said yourself that your lovemaking is empty anymore. You don’t laugh anymore. You seem to be a shell of the Angie I used to know. You used to be so full of life and fun, spontaneous, exuberant, bursting with ideas, bubbling over with talk of your latest project. I hardly recognize you!

Angie looked down in her lap. "I feel like nothing is worth doing. Marriage is one of the oldest institutions from the beginning of time, and I married him for better or worse."

Shea couldn’t help herself. Yeah! Well, so is prostitution! You said yourself that you feel like a prostitute anymore because you no longer have those kinds of feelings for him!

I know, and I feel so guilty feeling that way! I wish I could feel something! I feel complete indifference! I have no joy in my life any more, no reason to get out of bed in the morning! The tears started to trickle over Angie’s lower lashes as she lowered her head to hide her shame.

Shea reached over to touch Angie’s hand in an attempt to comfort her. She felt her silky black hair cover part of her face as she leaned toward her sister. She was trying desperately to find the right words to lead Angie to a road that would bring her soul back. Dare to imagine you could have a different life, Angie.

Angie looked up into her sister’s face. "Sometimes I wonder about my life. I live a small life. Do I do it because I’m not brave? Is my life valuable to anyone? Do I read to live vicariously through other people instead of living my own dream? When I read books I feel that they become part of my identity, and when I’m reading, I feel like I am the main character. Reading has become an insatiable vice for me. For me, a fascinating adventure is idealized in my dreams. But when I close the book that excitement fades after a week or two and I’m on to a new book so I can feel again."

Oh Angie, listen to yourself! Think about what you just said! You think you are making a noble sacrifice to please Mitch, to please the world? You know what you want and need, but you are afraid to take the chance. You’re settling, giving up on your life! You need to wake up!

I know I’m crazy. I am the little girl still believing in the fairy tale that my knight in shining armor will charge in to save me and whisk me away with him and live happily ever after. Angie realized with mortal unsteadiness that she was a prisoner in her own house. She had submitted to the prison sentence in an attempt to avoid further unforeseen catastrophes, one final sacrifice.

Shea looked Angie in the eyes with a stern expression. How long are you willing to wait? Past childbearing years? Until all your friends are grandmothers, and there you will be still obeying Mitch’s every whim in Victorian-land and living in books? We can make the misfortune our life, or we can get on with the business of living!

Please don’t judge me so harshly, Shea!

I’m too confused to be judgmental, Angie! Angie valued Shea’s advice. She knew she advised with courage and lucidity and tried to choose her words wisely. Angie appreciated Shea’s effort to advise effectively by injecting a little humor here and there.

Eight years ago I met Mitch. He seemed to have everything—wit, good looks, intelligence, and position. He seemed caring and loving. He was the most exciting man I’d ever met! I fell in love! I was willing to live in his reflected light, but it seems I’m more in his shadow. Actually, the better word might be ‘invisible.’

I’m amazed at your staying power, Angie! Essentially, you are nothing more than a deluxe servant with innumerable useless ceremonies of domestic ritual, Shea said in her melodious voice, and in her amiable way, she was telling the truth.

Frankly, I’m afraid of trying again. Mitch seemed perfect in the beginning, but he changed. Who is to say another man I may choose wouldn’t change? I’m a little gun shy, yes, Angie admitted easy justification for her surrender. Real life obliged her to concern herself with matters more mundane than heartache.

The waitress approached their table to offer them more coffee.

Thank you. Yes, I’d like another cup, Shea said with a thoughtful smile.

Angie found herself drifting off in her thoughts, remembering how she tried to keep her distance when Mitch’s mood slowly changed. He constantly deliberately searched for a minor error so he could reprimand her. She often felt like the ice as her body tensed for the expected blowup. He often searched for something to complain about so he could start a fight and use the fight as an excuse to demean and verbally abuse her. At times she actually found herself hiding when she felt like she couldn’t deal with another ugly word. In the mornings, she couldn’t wait for him to leave for work. It was her only time to recoup and have a little peace before the next storm.

Angie looked into Shea’s eyes. I know it’s wrong that the person I should want to spend every minute with is the very person that I dread being around. She finished with a long sigh then looked despairingly around the restaurant at the patrons’ faces. Her head came to an abrupt halt and her eyes widened into an affixed stare.

Shea took a bite of her croissant. Before her upper teeth met her lower teeth to chew, she looked across the table at Angie, but Angie’s gaze was fixed across the room. Shea’s head turned in the same direction to see what had her sister’s devout attention.

Angie’s breath caught in her throat, and her heartbeat quickened. They both held their breath and didn’t dare blink until the man turned around with a drink in his hand. His smile revealed the whitest set of teeth Angie had ever seen. The moment seemed to pass in slow motion like in a classic movie, holding the girls captive. They forgot to chew and swallow their food as they gawked wide-eyed at the magnetic-looking man. His perfect posture suggested complete self-confidence, his movements lithe and powerful. He was perfectly coifed, perfectly dressed, and had perfect bone structure—a flawlessly handsome man. It was as though he was the embodiment of Prince Charming himself!

Shea, still in a trance, still not blinking, managed to say indistinctly through her mouthful of food, Oh, sweet Jesus. I think I’ve just had the big O.

The intriguing man looked in their direction and a familiar smile spread across his face. He leveled his eyes on Angie and gave a perceptive nod, his indisputable gaze unwavering and acknowledging.

Oh God! Shea said as soon as she finally managed to swallow her food. Is he looking at us? I’m going to die right here in front of God and everybody!

Angie managed to get hold of herself. Actually, I kind of met him once, she said in a tiny girlish voice.

Shea turned her head back to Angie with wide eyes. You what? You know him?

Well, not really, Angie said. It was just a casual accidental meeting in the woods next to my house, that’s all. He strayed from the trail and didn’t realize he was on our property. I didn’t even get his name.

What a bloody shame! Shea announced a little too loudly.

They continued to eat in silence for a few moments, taking a little time to collect their thoughts and composure. They peeked at the man occasionally as his attention was directed back to the waitress.

Shea’s words snapped Angie back to the present. What can I say? That guy is someone I’d love to find out more about.

Oh, Shea, Angie shook her head, "he has to be taken. He’s probably married and has a house full of kids. He’s too wonderful-looking to be single, and anyone that delicious on the outside can’t possibly be as scrumptious on the inside. He’s probably so full of himself, vain and arrogant. I’m just not going to give him another moment of my thoughts. Are you interested?"

Shea smiled. No! I think you should dump Mitch and check that guy out!

Fear of failure lurked in the wings, waiting to pick Angie’s bones and invade her heart. If her doubts were to become reality, her insides were twisted into knots. Everything in her life was honorable: that was who she was. Her thoughts roamed freely in her fantasy arena, the script of her life, her wish for camaraderie and a sense of belonging and someone with whom she could actually share her life and thoughts. Mitch’s assessment of her was like a death sentence for her soul. She could never accept such a verdict of worthlessness. Nothing had prepared her to surrender her pride and self-regard sufficiently enough to accept Mitch’s unfounded humiliations. Her values and her sense of self had been already constructed when she married him. She felt compelled to let Mitch know what her rules were. She was determined to aim herself toward a niche of her choosing. She refused to be made to feel unworthy of human consideration. I am here