Blind-Date Baby (11 page)

Grace’s face crumpled into a watery smile. ‘Come here, you daft girl!’

Daisy ran into her arms and hugged tight. Grace had resisted the urge to sniff her head, as she’d done when Daisy had been a baby, but now she allowed herself the luxury.

‘If that’s what you want to do, then it’s fine by me. Honest! And if I end up going back to college too, we could end up studying together!’

Daisy stepped back and cocked her head to one side.

‘Okay, okay. I get it. You don’t want Mum cramping your style at college…But think! One day we could open our own little patisserie together. If you want that, that is.’

Daisy grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d say that!’

Grace grinned back at her. ‘It’s a plan.’

This was wonderful. Perhaps Noah’s plan for the future was going to turn out even better than expected. For the first time in weeks, Grace felt hope surge within her.

Grace finished packing her belongings from the flat the night before the wedding. The last thing to go into the last box was the photo of Rob and Daisy that sat in the hallway, keeping
guard all these years. Daisy walked up to her mother and hugged her from behind.

Grace’s eyes stung. She couldn’t quite bring herself to put the frame into the box, so she and Daisy just stared at it for a few wordless minutes.

‘It’s okay,’ Daisy whispered into Grace’s ear. ‘Dad would have wanted this for you.’

Grace looked down at the photo, at Rob’s smiling eyes. They seem to be looking straight at her, connecting with her soul. There wasn’t a hint of anger, jealousy or betrayal in them. She knew Daisy was right. But part of her ached for what she’d had with him, that wonderful mix of friendship and passion, completeness and freedom. It felt as if, by marrying Noah, she was saying goodbye to the hope of that in her future, even if, deep down, she hadn’t really believed it was possible.

Daisy took the picture from her and laid it in the box. ‘It’ll be okay, Mum. I promise you. I see the two of you together, and Noah’s right for you. Besides…I’ve told him that if he ever hurts you, I met a couple of interesting characters in Sicily who would “deal” with him if I asked them.’

Grace burst out laughing and turned to squeeze her daughter to her. ‘I love you, Crazy Daisy. And I’ll miss you when you go back to Greece and join your friends.’

‘But I’m here now, and everything is perfect.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Grace said and then she folded the flaps of the last box and taped them into place.

The wedding was an uncomplicated affair. Grace and Noah arranged a civil ceremony in the local town hall before a small group of friends and family. Nobody noticed the colour drain from the bride’s face as she joined hands with the groom and prepared to say her vows or, if they did, they just put it down to normal wedding jitters.

No one could have known that, at the exact moment of no return, Grace had a premonition so real, so strong, that it left her feeling cold for hours afterwards.

Noah kissed his bride and didn’t spot the hint of wariness in her eyes. But Noah wasn’t very good at looking below the surface of other people’s emotions. And heaven forbid he ever open the trapdoor to the cellar of his own.

The crowd of well-wishers sighed collectively when the groom announced a surprise honeymoon in Paris and whisked an unusually mute Grace away to the station so they could catch Eurostar. By early evening they were in the centre of Paris, the city of lights. The city of love.

Although there were far more expensive hotels on the north side of the river, in the Louvre and Marais
arrondisements
, Noah told Grace he really liked the atmosphere of St Germain, close to the vibrant Latin quarter and full of cafés where philosophers, politicians and great writers of the last few centuries had come to clash minds and share ideas.

‘I can’t believe I’m really here,’ Grace said as they wandered down the Boulevard St Germain, hand in hand. ‘All these quaint little cafés with their wicker chairs and awnings and waiters in long white aprons. It’s exactly how I imagined it would be.’

Noah just smiled and ushered her down a cobbled side street, round a couple of corners and then into a rather unique-looking restaurant. ‘Everyone has to eat at Le Procope at least once,’ he explained as the waiter showed them to a table. ‘Even if the guidebooks say it’s a tourist trap these days. The food is still spectacular.’

Grace stared around the room, one of many which seem to be arranged over several floors in the tall Parisian house. Old paintings of men in dusty wigs covered the walls and ornate glass display cases held china and champagne flutes, giving the impression they were dining in somebody’s best parlour.

The food
was
spectacular, from the marinated leek salad to the famous coq au vin, dished up in its very own miniature copper pot. But, after half of her main course, Grace suddenly lost her appetite.

It wasn’t long before Noah put down his cutlery and looked at her. In the month since she’d accepted his proposal, she’d come to see this same expression in his eyes over and over again, as if he could reach into her mind and pluck out her thoughts. It was a little unnerving. Extremely unnerving, considering her current train of thought.

‘I know this all happened a lot quicker than either of us anticipated, Grace.’

Oh, heck. He knew. She flushed a deep red.

‘Tonight…I know it’s traditionally our…wedding night, but if you’re not ready, if you want to wait a while, that’s no problem. We’ve got the rest of our lives. There’s no rush.’

He was being so sweet that Grace wanted to cry. But she didn’t think the ever-so-suave French waiters would be impressed if she dissolved into tears and blew her nose on one of the starched white napkins afterwards.

‘Thank you, Noah.’

Her heart swelled and, for the first time in the surreal event that had been her second wedding day, she realised with startling clarity that she really was lucky to have found him.

‘The truth is…I just don’t know how I feel at the moment. It’s all been so…’

He reached over the table and took her hand, stroking the ridge of her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. ‘I know. Don’t worry. We’ll both work out how we feel as we go along.’

It was late by the time they got back to the hotel. Grace got dressed for bed in the bathroom, silently cursing the filmy, strappy white thing that Daisy had egged her into buying. After washing her face and brushing her teeth twice, she put
the lid on the toilet seat down and sat on it. Her left leg jiggled all on its own.

Deep breathing. That was it. This was no big deal. It was just—

Who was she kidding? She was terrified, the nerves even worse than her
actual
first time. What was wrong with her? Noah was gorgeous and seriously sexy. Didn’t she want to sleep with him?

Hell,
yeah
! her ageing hormones chorused.

But still her left leg jiggled.

She pressed down on it with both hands until it stopped, then stood up. When she emerged into the bedroom, Noah was standing, dressed only in dark pyjama bottoms, staring out of one of the long elegant windows.

He turned slowly and she couldn’t help noticing the darkening of his pupils, a little
frisson
of electricity that passed between them. He walked over to her, ran a hand across her cheek, down her neck and along her collarbone. Grace stopped breathing. And then he kissed her, long and slow. A perfect kiss. The kind of kiss that certainly should be a prelude to
something
.

But Grace seemed to be standing outside of herself, watching herself, second-guessing what she should do with her hands, where to touch him.

Noah broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

He shook his head and made a soothing noise.

‘Really, I am. It’s been a long time since it’s been my…you know…first time with someone. I’m being stupid, aren’t I? It’s no big deal. I should…we should…just do it. You know, like ripping the plaster off—’

Noah said nothing, but pressed a finger to her lips. Grace just stared at him. He was doing that thing again—looking inside her. She wanted to screw her eyes up, but she didn’t.

He led her to the bed and pulled her down onto it so she was facing away from him and then spooned in behind her.

‘Go to sleep, Grace,’ he said and pulled her to him with a strong arm.

‘But—’

‘Go to sleep, Grace.’

Now it seemed her nerves were for nothing, part of her screamed out in frustration. The other part gave a huge sigh of relief. Even though, in their short engagement, they’d spent plenty of time kissing, touching, it still felt a little artificial, a forced situation. And Noah had been travelling some of that time while Grace had needed to stay behind and help wind things up at The Coffee Bean. They really hadn’t had a chance to relax with each other, physically or emotionally.

She did it now, letting the tension seep out of her muscles, enjoying the solid feel of him behind her. And, bless him, tucked in as close together as they were, she could tell he was ready for action, even if she wasn’t. She pulled his hand into hers and kissed his knuckles, tears in her eyes.

‘Night, Noah,’ she said in a croaky whisper.

Grace woke in the morning to find Noah still wrapped around her. She twisted so she could look at him. She’d never seen him sleep before. He looked younger, almost boyish—even with the deep creases at the edges of his eyes and the tiny speckling of grey hairs near his temples.

As if he sensed she was watching him, he shifted then opened his eyes. She smiled.

‘What’s so funny?’ he said and pulled a hand from underneath her to rub his eyelids with his fingertips.

‘You always look so in control, so self-contained. I kind of like it when you’re all groggy and confused.’

He yawned. ‘What’s the time?’

She leaned over and looked at her watch on the bedside table. ‘Nine.’

‘Nine!’ He jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. ‘I never sleep in until nine. Seven at the most. You—’he pointed a finger at Grace before disappearing into the bathroom ‘—must be a bad influence on me.’

Grace lay back on the bed and stretched. He was being lovely. No guilt trip. No tiny reminders that she had chickened out of their wedding night. She decided to play along. ‘I do my best to live up to my reputation. Anyway, what’s the hurry?’

His head appeared from around the bathroom door. ‘Paris. We’ve only got three days before we go home and I want to show you everything.’

Grace sat up in bed. ‘Everything?’

‘Well, lots. I need to come back here in around three months’ time for a book launch, so anything we miss now, we can do then.’ He looked her up and down. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Grace folded her arms across her chest. ‘Coffee. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had coffee.’

They went out for breakfast and had warm croissants and strong black coffee at Les Deux Magots. They climbed the Eiffel Tower, marvelled at Monet’s waterlilies and ate ham baguettes and cold Belgian beer sitting under bright red canopies in an outdoor café in the Jardin Tuileries.

Noah had done all these things before, but doing them with Grace brought a freshness to the experience. She flung herself headlong into every sight, every sound, every taste. There was one place he was desperate to take her, but he was saving it for last.

Since they were close by, they wandered round the Louvre, even braving the crowds to remark on how much smaller than expected the Mona Lisa was and wondering what the Venus
de Milo’s arms really would have been doing had they not been lost, and if anyone had actually found them and not realised what they were.

But, even in the face of such a wonderful day, Noah felt a little sad for Grace. She really ought to be here with someone who could give her the romance he feared she secretly craved. But he was selfish. She may have settled for second best with him, but he didn’t want to let her go so she could find it with someone else.

By three o’clock, Grace went on sightseeing strike. They were back in the Jardin Tulieries, the vast building of the Louvre behind them, and she sat down on a low backless bench amidst the trees and refused to budge.

He tugged at her hand until she consented to stand up. ‘One more stop.’

‘Do we have to?’ she said, her voice muffled by his jacket as she leaned against him.

‘We do. Come on, it’s just across the Rue de Rivoli.’

Under the large stone façaded arcades of the Rue de Rivoli was a place that was as close to heaven on earth as Grace could get. Angelina. The café famous for the best hot chocolate in Paris, and the pastries! Oh, the pastries!

It was all Noah could do to get her off the street and in through the door. But she found the inside was just as fabulous, with an ornate curved counter filled with works of art. Pink macaroons, stuffed with raspberries and topped with delicate flecks of silver leaf, pistachio bombes the colour of fresh green shoots with contrasting pink icing, éclairs, mille feuille, tartes…It was almost criminal that anyone should think of eating them.

When they were seated at a small round table beside a square ivory column, Grace had no problem in deciding what she should order. It had to be their signature dish, Mont Blanc, ac
companied by Chocolat Chaud des Africains. When it arrived, she spent a good minute memorising every swirl in the chestnut purée covering the fluffy white meringue before daring to break into it with her fork. The hot chocolate was just as good: thick gloopy melted chocolate—none of this powdered nonsense—infused with spices and served in individual jugs accompanied by glasses of whipped cream to dollop into it. She didn’t understand the reason for the glass of cold water the waiter served her. But then she tasted the hot chocolate. It had a wonderfully thick bitter taste, but a sip of cool water was definitely needed every now and then to clear her palate.

Noah had been going to order just coffee, complaining he’d eaten enough sweet stuff already in the last few months, but she wouldn’t let him off the hook. He smiled at her, and she knew he liked it when she got bossy, so she grinned back at him.