First Love, Once Removed

By Laci Maskell

Livia has been in love with exactly two men in her lifetime.
Jean-Luc was her first. He was the passionate, whirl-wind romance she never quite got over.
Lucas is her second. He is her rock, her safe place, her forever. At least she thinks.
Until Jean-Luc re-enters her life and splits her heart in two.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laci Maskell
• Release date: Jan 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005196820

Laci Maskell

I was born and raised in Nebraska. I fell in love with reading when I discovered Harry Potter. I began writing in the sixth grade. The four loves of my life are reading, writing, watching movies, and listening to music.

Book preview

First Love, Once Removed

Laci Maskell

Published by Laci Maskell at Smashwords

Copyright © Laci Maskell 2021

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Dedication

To all of you who stuck by me through the hard times.

Other books by the author

Still Life Moving

So . . . That Happened

The Phoenix Trilogy

Phoenix Born

Phoenix Burn

Phoenix Rising

Episode #1

Chapter one

My first day in France and I run right into someone.

Way to go, Livia.

Only an American would walk down a sidewalk, in a country they’ve never been in, with their nose in a book. When I make contact with the second party, the impact sends me ass first onto the stone sidewalk.

I sit, disoriented, on the ground for far too long. I look up when a shadow falls over me. The body is surrounded in a halo of sunlight, exactly like you see in the movies. The most beautiful guy I have ever seen stands over me. I blink several times. Surely I hit my head. When I look up again he is still there. And he’s smiling at me. The beautiful man is smiling at me. Beautiful men don’t smile at me.

Etes-vous d’accord?

I must have hit my head because I cannot understand a word he says.

He extends his hand to pull me up. My hand fits perfectly in his. They are soft and warm. He smiles as our hands connect. I blush and look away as I make it to my feet. Then he leans down to pick up my book, bag, and what I assume is his bag.

I’m so sorry, I say when I realize he is the one I ran into.

Pardonnes-moi, he says. Again I have no idea what he is saying. But when I remember I am in a different country, where its' citizens speak a different language, I’m not so worried I might have hit my head.

I open my mouth to say something to him, but if he doesn’t speak English we are going to have a problem.

I right myself and get my head on straight. I did learn a little bit of French before coming here. I just need to focus and remember it now.

Bonjour, I say, extending my hand to him.

The beautiful boy smiles, but instead of shaking my hand, he grabs me by the shoulders, leans forward, and kisses me on both cheeks. A blush flares in my cheeks and spreads down my chest and arms. I’m startled until I remember what country I am in. Maybe I do need to get my head checked out. I’ve had to do a lot of remembering so far.

Parlez-vous Francais? he says, but this I understand.

I even know how to answer him, Je parle un pev do Francais. Parlez-vous Anglais?

He smiles as I butcher his native language. It is a beautiful smile, one that takes my breath away. Yes, he says. I just wanted to test you.

I almost laugh because it sounds like he said he wants to taste me, even though I’m sure he means test.

Abandoning the English, he says, Comment vous appelez-vous?

Je m’appelle, Livia, I answer, then repeat his question while expelling almost all of the French I learned.

Jean-Luc, he answers. His accent makes me swoon.

I’ve heard French accents on TV shows and movies, but they are nothing compared to this guy’s accent. It is authentic, rich, and makes me shiver all over, especially in places I’d be embarrassed to admit.

It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry I ran into you, I say, trying again to steer the conversation in the way of English.

Il est agreeable de rencontrer vous. Quoi vous apporte a la France?

I must look at him like an idiot. I have no idea what he just said. I’ve heard people who speak different languages talk before, and it never bothered me, but I never needed to understand what they were saying. Now that I am trying to have a conversation with a gorgeous French guy, and have no idea what he is saying, I feel dimwitted, which embarrasses me. A silence falls between us, until he laughs.

My apologies, he says. That was rude of me.

No apology necessary, I say, and finally take my book and bag from him. I should be apologizing for hitting you.

It was my pleasure, he says.

I turn my head at him, not sure how it would be his pleasure that I knocked him on his ass, though now that I think about it, I think he stayed firmly upright. He smiles that beautiful smile