The Forbidden Heart Read Online Free

hidden.
    “How long will you be here?” her mother asked, almost the way someone would ask an
     unexpected and not-so-welcome guest.
    “Maybe for the rest of my life,” I said, and her eyes widened. I think my answer pleased
     her. Perhaps she was worried that Denise would have another fleeting friend. She extended
     her hand to me finally. I saw she wore no rings, especially no marriage ring. If there
     was any place she was aging, it was in her hands. They looked worn, thin with age
     spots around her knuckles.
    “I am Josette Ardant. Je suis désolé. Ma fille does not have the social skills to introduce properly. Not that I haven’t tried to
     teach her.”
    “You didn’t give me a chance,” Denise whined.
    “Pleased to meet you,” I said quickly.
    “I am on my way to my sister’s pastry shop,” she said, feeling a need to explain why
     she was reaching for a shawl and couldn’t spend more time speaking to me. She turned
     to Denise and told her in French not to take me to any places she wouldn’t go. Denise
     nodded and looked down.
    “Perhaps I will see you later,” I said as she started out.
    “ Oui . Perhaps,” she added without much enthusiasm, and left.
    I looked at Denise. “Your mother is very pretty,” I said.
    “Let’s go,” she said, sounding a little annoyed that she had to acknowledge anything
     nice about her mother. She grabbed her shawl and, now smiling, leaned toward me to
     deliver a secret. “My cousin Vincent said he would be glad to join us for lunch when
     I told him about you,” she said, reaching for the door. “He doesn’t often take off
     for lunch. I’m glad he was able to on my day off. I don’t get to see him enough.”
    “Yes, that’s nice,” I said. It was clear. She was using me to get Vincent to spend
     time with her.
    It rang a warning bell close to my heart. I had no idea what she had told him about
     me, how much she had exaggerated to get him interested in spending his lunch hour
     with us. If she built me up too much, it might be unpleasant.
    I stepped out, and she closed the door.
    “Where are we meeting him for lunch?”
    “His favorite café near Notre Dame. I always mix up the name with two others, but
     don’t worry. I can get there blindfolded.”
    I had no doubt.
    It was easy to see that Denise had few, if any, friends. As we walked, she was very
     eager to point out her favorite places, pouring her pent-up thoughts into my ears
     so quickly I had to take a breath to think. One question that obviously came to me
     after meeting her mother was what her mother thought of her being so heavy. Did she
     try to help her? Had she given up on her own daughter? Was she a selfish mother, especially
     after her husband had deserted her? Perhaps she didn’t want Denise to find someone
     to love and move out. I had seen them together only for a few moments, but I did feel
     a tension between them. Was it all Denise’s fault? Unhappiness seemed to be a guest
     who came to dinner and never left that home.
    “Has your mother ever been with another man since your father left?” I asked.
    The question seemed to stun her for a moment. “Another man?”
    “I mean, she’s pretty enough to attract interest.”
    “She has gone out on dates that my aunt arranged, but she hasn’t met anyone she says
     is worth the time or the sacrifice.”
    “Sacrifice? What is it she has to sacrifice?”
    “Everything. Men are demanding. My mother devoted herself to my father, and he treated
     her as if he expected no less. Just like all men, he was selfish. French or American
     or any.”
    “You can’t judge all men by the actions of one,” I said.
    She paused, thought, and then smiled. “That’s what I tell my mother. My cousin Vincent,
     for example, is the sweetest young man you’ll ever meet. He’s always considerate,
     always worried about me. He cares more about me than he does about his older sister,
     Margot.”
    “He doesn’t have a girlfriend?” I