2016 T.E.A. WINNER - BEST MOVIE AU.
Librarian Belle French is a lactose intolerant American, soon-to-be-Canadian, who loathes the French and is terrified to fly. When her fiancé calls from Paris to confess that he's in love with another woman, Belle decides to fly to France to confront him. On the plane, she meets Luc d'Or, a charming crook who turns her trip—and her life—upside down.

This non-magical Rumbelle AU is based on the movie French Kiss, one of my favorite romantic comedies from the 90s. If you're familiar, there will be scenes and lines from the movie, but I'm throwing my own twists in, too. Please comment freely. It is much appreciated. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon A Time or French Kiss or their respective characters.

Chapter 1: Paris Is Always a Good Idea

Paris is always a good idea." – Audrey Hepburn as Sabrina Fairchild, Sabrina

Belle French smoothed her hands over the pile of clothes in her partially-filled suitcase and cast a wary glance at her nightstand. Atop four towering stacks of books were the passports and two sets of round-trip plane tickets, mocking her for the bad news she was about to deliver.

How was she going to tell Victor she wasn't going with him to Paris after all?

On the opposite side of the bed, her fiancé was packing his own suitcase. They were supposed to leave for the Toronto Airport in three hours. She couldn't put off the conversation for much longer. Inhaling deeply, she braced herself for his inevitable disappointment and plunged ahead.

"I'm not coming to Paris," Belle blurted.

"What?" Startled, Victor dropped the sport coat he was folding on the bed. "Why not?"

"You know I hate to fly." Her face was hot with embarrassment.

"Yes, of course. But Belle. C'mon, we're talking about Paris," he said. "City of Lights, City of Love, the most romantic city in the world."

"You can still get the money back from my ticket," Belle pointed out, removing a sweater and a pair of jeans from her bag.

"Money's not the issue," Victor chided. "Please stop unpacking. What I wanted was for you to come with me. How can you not want to go to Paris? You're a historical librarian; shame on you. And, your last name is French!" He laughed at his little joke.

Belle grimaced, unamused. "Like I've never heard that one before. Victor, the French. Not my name; the people. They hate us, they smoke, they have a whole relationship to dairy products which I don't understand," Belle ticked off each offense on her shell-pink fingernails. "Besides, Doctor Whale, it's a medical convention. You'll be so busy comparing scalpel size with other doctors at Medicare meetings and suture demonstrations you won't even notice my absence."

"What about the Eiffel Tower?" Victor teased.

That was a low blow. Victor knew Belle's fond desire to see the famed monument was her major weakness where Paris was concerned.

"The Eiffel Tower," Belle sighed. "You know I'd love to see the Eiffel Tower."

"Then it's settled. Great!" Victor picked up Belle's discarded clothing and plopped the items back in her suitcase. He headed toward the en suite bathroom to collect his razor and toothbrush.

"It's not really the flying thing or the French thing," Belle confessed, hot on his heels. "I'm still here on a work visa. I'm not supposed to leave the country until my Canadian citizenship comes through."

"Babe, now you're just being paranoid." Victor poked his head through the bathroom door, then pulled his toiletry bag out of the linen closet. "No one's going to find out."

"Victor, it's the law. What happens when they question me at Immigration?"

"We'll make something up," he offered, blue eyes twinkling. "We'll tell them your cousin Bridgette fell in the Seine."

"Ha! They'll find out I don't have a cousin Bridgette and they'll deport me back to Maine," she declared glumly. "I wonder if the Storybrooke Library is hiring."

"Belle, come to Paris with me," he said. "I'll give you 10 milligrams of Valium, a shot of Stoli, and we'll be there before you know it. You can sing and dance on the plane and I won't repeat any of the ridiculous things you say and do."

Torn between pleasing Victor and her fear, she shook her head. Thankfully, a brief, insistent knock on the apartment door saved her from having to explain herself again.

"Everybody decent?" a female voice called playfully.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Is that Ariel? Seriously? I don't want to see my family tonight."

"She lives right across the hall and she and I share an apartment," Belle pointed out, pulling her curly russet hair into a ponytail. "Anyway, you never want to see your family."

"That's true," he said. "Have you noticed since we're engaged they barely even knock anymore? They just let themselves in whenever they feel like it!"

"Be grateful they care about you, Victor." Belle blinked back the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. "My father's never once come to visit me in the five years since I moved to Toronto. He's still angry I wasn't content to stay in Storybrooke to help him run the flower shop for the rest of my life."

"Maine's not so bad," he quipped. "There are tall trees. And bears."

Belle gave him a wounded look. Perhaps it was the independent streak borne of working long hours at the hospital, but Victor never seemed to take her desire for a loving family or her father's lack of acceptance seriously.

"I'm sorry, Hon." Shrugging, he ushered her toward the kitchen to greet Ariel, Victor's sister and Belle's best friend.

"You're forgiven," she murmured, frowning. Seeing the smiling face of her dearest friend cheered her up considerably.

"Hello, lovebirds!" Ariel looked up from the wine she was pouring. She winked at Victor and gave Belle an affectionate hug. "Glad I caught you before you left. You forgot your makeup case at our place," Ariel said, producing a sleek black bag. "And," she drawled, holding out a scented pink sheet of paper, "here's the stuff I want from Paris. Don't forget the latest and greatest in Parisian lingerie—Eric's whisking me to Quebec City for the weekend in three weeks. I haven't seen him in months. Long distance relationships are not for the faint of heart."

Victor snatched the message out of her hand, scanning his sister's lengthy list of requests. "I'll see what I can do. Belle's not going to Paris."

"Vraiment?" Ariel arched a brow. "Really? Is it the French thing?"

"No, it's the uh, flying thing," Victor replied.

"Uh, since you're going sans Belle, you can forget the lingerie store. I don't think I can wear something my older brother chose for me—some things are just too gross to contemplate." Ariel shot Belle a crestfallen look.

"Well, thank you so much for relieving me of my shopping duties, Princess Ariel," Victor bowed. "Would you get me a glass of wine from my own kitchen or is it strictly self-service?"

Ariel stuck out her tongue and poured him a generous glass of ruby red Cabernet.

"It's not the French thing and it's not the flying thing," Belle said, annoyed that they were discussing her and had already moved on to bickering as through she weren't in the room. "I'm not supposed to leave Canada until my Immigration interview."

"Well, it's a bummer that you're not going to experience Paris, Belle," Ariel sympathized, opening the refrigerator to look for a snack. "Are you sure marrying this guy is worth all this Immigration mumbo jumbo?" She elbowed Victor in the ribs. He groaned and Belle chuckled at his pained expression.

"Marriage, a home, and a family with a handsome, talented doctor?" Belle slipped her arms around Victor's neck and brushed her lips against his. "It's everything I ever wanted."

He gave an automatic smile and disengaged himself from her embrace. "Let's not give my sister a show, Belle."

"Hmmmph, that's never stopped you before, Victor," another female voice announced matter-of-factly. Victor and Ariel's grandmother appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Granny!" Belle launched herself at the older woman and kissed her plump, wizened cheek. "It's so good to see you!"

Victor raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise at his grandmother's intrusion. "Belle, did you hear a knock at the door?"

Granny ignored him. "Even though he's a naughty scamp, I brought you and that horrid boy I raised from birth sandwiches from my diner. Can't have my babies eating airport food. Besides, it's likely the last wholesome, Canadian fare you'll eat for a while. Those French smother everything in sauce to cover up the horse meat. " She shuddered in horror. "No cheese for you Belle," she said, holding out the takeout bag.

Grateful, Belle smiled.

"It's only a week in Paris, Granny," Victor reminded her. "And it's just me going. Belle's staying behind."

"Is it the flying thing?" Granny peered sharply at Belle over her spectacles.

"No, it's the French thing," Victor responded.

Belle ground her teeth. "It's not the French thing and it's not the flying thing…"

"…she's not supposed to leave the country till her Canadian citizenship comes through," Ariel finished, eyeing Granny's bag of food and sniffing appreciatively.

" Yes, yes, there's dinner for you as well," the old woman told Ariel. She turned her attention to Belle. "You know, they grew up, they moved out, and I'm still feeding and caring for these two," she said gruffly, pretending to be offended. "Belle, you're a very sensible, intelligent, lovely young woman with a good head on her shoulders. I love you like you're my own daughter, and I wouldn't want you to break the law just to see some hoity-toity Can-Can dancers and eat a plate of garden slugs drowning in garlic butter."

"That's because you're just so wonderful, Granny," Belle flushed, the joy of being loved by the only mother she had ever known causing her heart to swell. Victor's family meant everything to her. "Ariel and Victor know how lucky they are. So do I."

"Lucky indeed. That reminds me—I can't believe I almost forgot," Granny trilled, slapping her hands on the countertop. "Will and Anastasia Scarlet put their house on the market! You know, the one you two have been eyeing for the past year. It's fate, I think—your wedding's coming up and they're finally ready to sell."

xoxoxo

"Why are we looking at a house we can't afford?" Victor asked, as they sat in their car outside the Scarlets' sprawling farmhouse. He raked a hand through his short, wavy blonde hair and glanced at his watch. Belle had been so excited at the prospect of seeing the old Scarlet place that when she begged him to stop on their way to the airport, he had agreed.

Belle peeked in the large bay window, a mission made easier by the darkness outside and the lights illuminating the spacious rooms inside. "It's more than a house, Victor, it's a home. The Scarlets were happy here for many years. They built a life, raised a family. Now it's our turn to make a home of our own."

"Hon, I know everyone thinks doctors are loaded, but I'm going to be paying medical school debts for a long time. It's a great house, but I'm just not sure we can swing it financially," he admitted. Not only were homes expensive, they tied you down. He imagined coming home after 24-hour shifts at the hospital, only to be treated to a list of cleaning, yard work, and repairs.

"I'm glad you brought that up. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Belle said.

"Huh?"

"Since I turned 21, I've been putting money aside every week of my adult life which I then rolled into a high-yield term deposit with interest rates close to 20 percent," she said.

"What? What are you talking about?" He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"I've made us a nest egg."

"How many eggs?" She'd been saving money and he hadn't known?

"Quite a few, actually—$65,236 eggs. So with a little help from Granny, we can probably afford it. Isn't that great news?"

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he croaked.

She inclined her head, smiling coquettishly. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It's a surprise. It's a big surprise," he said, looking back at the Scarlet place. Staring at the picket fence framing the edges of the property, he suddenly imagined those gleaming white slabs of wood closing in around him. Breathless and warm, Victor tugged at his collar.

"Victor." There was a question in Belle's voice and he swallowed audibly.

"Yeah." He couldn't look at Belle just yet. Was she keeping more secrets? What else didn't he know about her?

"Talk to me," Belle urged.

But his gaze was fixated on the elderly couple inside the house marked For Sale; they dozed companionably on the couch while the television flickered in the corner. "My whole life is flashing before my eyes and we don't even have children yet."

Belle took his chin in her hand, stroking the strong line of his jaw. "I love you."

The words jolted him back to the present and he smiled. "I know," he said, and pressed his forehead against hers. Pulling back slightly, he regarded her, his eyes serious. "Come to Paris with me."

"I'm sorry, Victor." Belle's cerulean eyes were moist with regret. "I just can't."

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Up Next: While Victor is in Paris, Belle hopes to make an offer on their dream home. But a shocking phone call threatens to derail Belle's carefully planned life.