Christmas in Paris (27 page)

The sun streamed through the French doors, and Alec thought how much he loved the Oriental rugs and faded velvet wallpaper. How dare Bettina think she could refinish floors and knock out walls and replace the furniture!

“I was locked out of my suite and threw my shoe at Alec's window. If he hadn't rescued me, I would have spent my first night in Paris on the balcony. I was supposed to be here on my honeymoon, but the wedding was canceled.” She sipped her coffee. “It's a bit of an epidemic, I wonder how many engaged couples never make it to the altar.”

“Isabel is a financial analyst,” Alec told his mother. “She works for one of the biggest banks in America.”

“In my day, not all women were so accomplished. Alain thought my job was to have his martini waiting and hang up his overcoat.” Claudia paused. “I loved being a wife and mother, but now I wish I had a career.”

“When I was a child I'd rather practice my multiplication tables than read bedtime stories,” Isabel began. “And there's nothing more exciting than analyzing spreadsheets and feeling like you discovered a map to buried treasure.

“But you can't hang a photo of a stock trade over the fireplace or sit down to Sunday brunch with clients from Hong Kong.” She looked at Claudia. “What could be better than being married to the man you love and having a beautiful home and two children?”

“You're right,” Claudia said and sipped her coffee. “I was very happy.”

*   *   *

“ISABEL IS CHARMING,
I approve,” Claudia said, rinsing cups in the sink.

Isabel had gone to explore the vegetable garden, and Alec offered to help his mother in the kitchen. He remembered sitting next to Isabel on the brocade sofa and something shifted inside him. God, she was lovely! Her hair was glossy and her eyes sparkled and she smelled of expensive lotions.

When he was with her, he felt confident and alive. He pictured Gus in a blue cape, flying over the Eiffel Tower. A girl was stranded on the ledge and Gus swooped down and saved her. He set her down in the Place Vendôme and the crowd cheered.

“Approve of what?” Alec pulled his mind away from Gus. Even though he'd wanted his mother to meet Isabel, he couldn't admit he was in love with her. If Isabel turned down his proposal, his mother would be devastated.

“You're madly in love with each other,” Claudia explained. “It was as clear as the revolving glass doors at Le Bon Marché.”

“We barely know each other and I'm still paying off Celine's wedding ring,” Alec spluttered. “I'm hardly looking for love.”

“I came to Paris to sit in smoky cafés and dance in discotheques and kiss cute boys under thousand-year-old arches. Instead I fell in love with a cantankerous Frenchman who was ten years my senior.”

“That was different,” Alec insisted. “Isabel has a good job and family in Philadelphia. Just because she admired your Renoir and enjoyed the raspberry charlotte doesn't mean she's ready to move to Paris.”

“When I met your father, my favorite food was Yorkshire pudding and I thought French was an impossible language.” Claudia stacked silverware on the counter.

“If you think I can marry Isabel and save the house, I don't—” Alec began.

“This has nothing to do with me,” Claudia interrupted. “You're the only thing I have left, and I want you to be happy. Love can be difficult and painful, but really nothing else matters.”

“I had enough pain with Celine to last decades,” Alec said, suddenly flustered.

Why did he think things would work out with Isabel? He should go back to his flat in the Marais and be content with Gus and the tomato plant in the window box. But he pictured Isabel's wide smile and knew he had to try. He didn't want to live without her.

“Let's go out to the garden, I was just picking snow peas.” Claudia took Alec's arm. “And thank you for bringing Isabel, it's wonderful to meet my future daughter-in-law.”

*   *   *

“WHAT A SPECTACULAR
boulevard,” Isabel said. “It's like Fifth Avenue but with even bigger houses and so much history.”

Isabel wanted to stroll down Avenue Foch and Alec agreed. It really was beautiful with its chestnut trees and creamy stone mansions and elegant boutiques. The Arc de Triomphe stood on one end and the Porte Dauphine was on the other, and Alec felt a sense of pride.

“Your mother's story is so romantic.” Isabel stopped in front of a window filled with bonbons. “She was a young au pair living in a foreign country. She fell in love with an older man whose wife deserted him and left him with their three-year-old daughter,” she continued. “It couldn't have been easy, children that age think their parents were created just for them. It's like something out of a Jane Austen novel.”

“More like a Stephen King novel,” Alec mumbled.

Now was the time to tell Isabel about his family. But what if Isabel thought he wanted to marry her to stop Bettina from evicting his mother? Being in love was like the Phantom Manor at Disneyland Paris. Everywhere you turned there were trapdoors and quicksand.

“But true love conquers everything,” Isabel mused. “Antoine sends a dozen roses every day! It won't be easy being away from my family, but you can't expect to find love next door.” Her eyes were bright. “If your mother stayed in England, you would never have been born.”

“My mother is quite Parisian. She might still have a British accent and like her tea with lemon and honey, but she adores French fashion and macarons.” He paused. “And she loves 40 Rue de Passy. It's like living in the country in the middle of Paris.”

“It reminds me of my parents' home in Ardmore.” Isabel nodded. “I had no idea that you—”

“Grew up in a large house?” Alec cut in. “You thought because I live in a fifth-floor walk-up and illustrate children's books, I was raised in a three-room flat in the twentieth arrondissement.”

“Not exactly.” Isabel flushed.

“My father was successful, but I have to live on my own salary,” Alec explained. “My sister might be content living on the allowance my father provided her and having Édouard take her to dinner at Le Meurice. But I couldn't look myself in the mirror if I didn't pay rent and buy my own groceries.”

“That's what I said to Rory!” Isabel exclaimed. “His family has piles of money, so he just wanted to have fun. But none of this would have been built if the great architects were satisfied with what already existed.” She waved at the elegant mansions and tall apartment buildings. “And what if Thomas Edison thought gaslight was perfectly adequate or Henry Ford was happy riding horses? We all have to make a contribution, there's nothing more important.”

Alec looked at Isabel and wanted to kiss her. She was so enchanting, like a young girl collecting shells at the beach. But she might get cold feet and he'd miss his chance.

“I have to go back to the Crillon and get ready for tonight.” Isabel glanced at her watch. “Antoine is meeting me in the hotel lobby at seven thirty.”

“You have plenty of time,” Alec said. “We haven't explored the Place du Trocadéro or visited the galleries on the Rue de Rivoli.”

“I loved meeting your mother, but I have to take a bath and do my hair and makeup,” Isabel said and smiled. “You can't prepare for an Imperial Ball by zipping up a dress and rubbing on lipstick.”

Alec had intended on proposing on the balcony of his suite. But what if they arrived at the Crillon and Isabel insisted on going straight to her room? He pictured the room service bottle of Veuve Clicquot and platter of duck foie gras and sighed. Love was so expensive; he couldn't wait until they were married and could stick to a budget.

But if he dropped to his knees on the pavement, she probably wouldn't hear him over the honking cars and chattering tourists. Instead of realizing he was asking her to marry him, she might think he'd lost his wallet.

He took her hand and led her down a narrow passageway.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We must visit the Marché de Passy,” he explained. “It has the best organic fruits and vegetables in the city.”

Alec glanced at the baskets of tomatoes and trays of asparagus, and his shoulders sagged. Could he really ask Isabel to marry him surrounded by leeks and artichokes? But at least it was quiet and the smell of cooked sausage was quite pleasant.

He bought a packet of olives and bag of chestnuts. He took Isabel's hand and led her to a bench.

“You have to try one.” He handed her the bag of chestnuts. “There's nothing more Parisian than warm chestnuts wrapped in newspaper.”

Isabel put her hand in the newspaper and gasped. She drew out a black velvet box and looked at Alec.

“Ever since you tossed your Ferragamo on the balcony, my life has changed.” He took the box and held it in his palm. “You've made me see the world in a new light, and when I'm with you, I don't want the day to end. I love you and want to spend the rest of our lives together.” He opened the jewelry box. “Isabel Lawson, will you marry me?”

“You can't propose!” Isabel exclaimed. “I'm going to marry Antoine.”

“I know you've made mistakes and think you have to listen to the fortune-teller,” Alec implored. “But you're beautiful and smart and this time you're making the right decision. I will spend every day making you happy.” He paused. “You make me believe I can do anything and it's the best feeling in the world.”

“We don't know anything about each other, we've only had one kiss.”

Alec leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were warm and she tasted like raspberry and cream.

“Now we've had two,” he said, suddenly feeling cocky. “If you want, we can have more.”

“The kisses are lovely, but I've put everything into choosing the right husband.” Isabel twisted her hands. “The fortune-teller said I was going to fall in love and marry a French aristocrat, and I met Antoine the next day. I can't ignore the magical things that have happened since I arrived in Paris.” She paused. “If I listen to the fortune-teller, everything will be perfect.”

“You'll get a good job and with our combined incomes we'll rent a garden flat in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. We'll buy a little car and visit the cathedral in Rheims on the weekend.” He paused. “Then we'll come home and eat chocolate soufflé in bed.” He took Isabel's hand. “Everything is perfect. You just have to give us a chance.”

“I do have feelings for you…” She hesitated. “I promised Antoine I would go to the Imperial Ball and I can't go back on my word.” She looked at Alec. “Can I give you my answer tomorrow?”

Alec rubbed his brow and wished he'd learned how to pray. Could he ask God for the most important thing in the world, the first time he needed help?

“Yes,” he breathed. “You can give me your answer tomorrow.”

*   *   *

ALEC TOLD ISABEL
he had to run some errands and would see her tomorrow. He sat at Café Carette and ordered café au lait and brioche. God, that kiss! It was like a movie where the couple kisses in the final frame and the screen erupts into fireworks.

He pictured Isabel attending the Imperial Ball with Antoine and his chest tightened. It didn't matter if Antoine presented her with the Hope diamond; he was certain she loved him. All he had to do was make it through tonight, and tomorrow she would say yes.

He felt in his pocket and realized he still had the jewelry box. He forgot to give her the ring! He couldn't run after her now—she was preparing for the Imperial Ball.

Why didn't she ask to see the ring? Maybe she wasn't in love with him; she just wanted to let him down slowly. Being in love wasn't like the Phantom Manor at Disneyland Paris; it was more like Space Mountain. One minute you were looking at the stars, the next you dropped so fast your stomach stayed in your mouth.

He pushed aside the café au lait and signaled the waiter. What he needed was a large scotch.

 

chapter sixteen

Isabel sat at the dressing table and picked up her mahogany hairbrush. She admired the folds of the silver silk dress and wished she could concentrate on choosing a necklace and earrings.

She tried pushing Alec out of her mind, but you couldn't ignore a marriage proposal. It was like watching
To Kill a Mockingbird
on Netflix and trying to forget you knew how the trial ended.

How could Alec expect her to say yes when they had just met? She wanted Antoine to propose, but that was different. The fortune-teller said she was going to marry a French aristocrat. Antoine was like a preapproved credit card you received in the mail.

Usually she could solve a problem by analyzing the facts. But they kept rearranging themselves like objects in a Harry Potter movie. Alec was warm and good-looking, and when she was with him, she felt like she was watching a documentary where you see a flower bloom in slow motion.

But she had been certain Rory was the love of her life and Neil would provide her with a stable future. She couldn't ignore her track record; it was like betting on a horse that lost every Kentucky Derby.

And Antoine was so thoughtful! Every woman wanted to receive a dozen roses and dine at Michelin-star restaurants.

She remembered Alec kneeling on the cement in the covered market and had to smile. Of all the places he could have proposed in Paris, she couldn't think of anything less romantic.

But when he kissed her, she wanted it to last forever. Even if she was in love with him, was that enough? Could she ignore all the signs because of a flutter in her chest?

Alec's mother was lovely and the house on Rue de Passy was gorgeous. But it didn't matter if Alec grew up with English rose gardens and a Renoir on the wall; he still wasn't a French aristocrat. The fortune-teller's prediction had been specific; it would be like ignoring the fine print on a contract.