Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (9 page)

Back at work, my cell phone buzzed.
“
Allô?
”

“Kathleen, darling, I must tell you Issey Miyake is not my
favorite. So boring,” Tiziana announced melodramatically. “All those bland
colors and fabrics. Where is the
joie de vivre
?”

“Well, if you really want to be annoyed, check out Manish
Arora. I’ve heard the collection is circus-like. The invitation alone put me
off.” I glanced down at my invitation for the New Delhi-based designer’s show.
On it, the model’s makeup was done in the style of a colorful pantomime, and
her boxy dress resembled a child’s rendition of a house in a garden. From the
windows of the house, large, bright-green eyes peered out.

“Darling, are you joining us for dinner? We have a
reservation at L'Arpège at 9:30.”

“Excellent choice. I invited Sébastien to join us. Can we
add one?”

An explosion of happiness erupted on her end. “Darling,
lovely. I’ll take care of it.”

The background noise puzzled me. “
Where
are you now?”

“
Comme des Garçons’s show
is about to begin!”

“At least that will be kookier and colorful! I’ll let you go
.”

“Ciao, bella. We’ll see you
later.”

“Ciao!”

I texted
Sébastien,
L'Arpège
at 9:30?

A few minutes passed before I received his answer.
Perfect.

Since last night, I had had an
overwhelming desire to tell him how sorry I was about his wife. Over the last
week, I had wondered repeatedly what he’d thought of me sharing my broken heart,
as I had. All I knew was that I had wanted to be single, solitary, for a very
long time, but meeting him had changed that. Was it good or bad to respond so
strongly to one person? Was it good or bad that we had both lost someone we
loved? In sharing this, could we understand the other’s loss in a way no one
else could? I wanted to hear his thoughts.
If he wants to share them.

As soon as I entered the showrooms
of Jean Paul Gaultier, Marian, in her usual pouncing fashion, asked, “Can you
sit with us or are the bloody suits here?” I scanned the room and found
Sébastien across the sea of people, talking to a group of beautifully dressed
women. The jolt of lust I felt every time I saw him amazed me. I hadn’t been remotely
attracted to anyone since Mikkel’s death.

While I wanted to ponder, “Why now?
Why him?” I answered Marian instead. “No suits. Just me. Where are the
lovebirds?” Both married couples appeared to be missing.

“Charlotte needed to sit down,”
Hillary answered.

As we walked to the entrance, I asked
about Lea Peckre’s showing that afternoon.

“A continuation of last year’s
theme of the dowdy tunic, I’m afraid.” Hillary had barely finished speaking
when Marian scoffed, “Except for the lip rings. And nudity. You could see
everyone’s tits and bums.”

I scowled at the image Marian
conjured, and was about to ask for details when we came face to face with
Sébastien.
I tripped. He quickly grabbed me. I looked to see what I’d tripped over but saw
nothing but my feet.

“Hello… Sorry… How is your—” I
babbled breathlessly. I took a deep breath to calm down. “We were just heading
in. Would you like to join us?”

Hillary and Marian discreetly left
to join Charlotte.

Still holding me close, he grinned, clearly pleased at our
close proximity. “I would love to join you.” The way he spoke, deep and slow,
made my heart race faster, and the look he gave me made my body tingle in long-forgotten
places. Softly, he murmured, “I have been looking forward to
after
dinner all day. I
want to kiss you.”

I gently pushed away and surveyed
the room. “I’m not certain how to respond, except to say that I’m not into
exhibitionism.” When my words sunk in, his eyebrows shot up in amused surprise.
I smothered my amusement at his response.

“You definitely have my undivided
attention. I wonder what
are
you into?” He quickly kissed me just below
the ear, and I literally felt a swoon coming on.

I revealed, “Okay, enough of all
that. You’re making me… woozy.”

“Woozy is good, no?”

I got woozier. There was something
unbelievably sexy about the word “woozy” sliding off the tongue of a lust-filled
Frenchman. I gave him a look that said “yes” and “stop it!”

“All right, chérie. Shall we?” I
nodded again, noting the word “chérie” and how incredibly happy I felt.

Tiziana caught my attention as we
entered. Amidst a sea of black, gray, and white clothing, she wore a fitted
dress in burnt orange, the only color in the room, and she wore it well.
“Literally, all eyes are on her.” I grinned, but when I looked at
Sébastien,
his eyes met mine.

“Who?”

I felt pretty confident it wasn’t just flirtatious banter. I
almost tripped again. Woozy had progressed to something else. All I could focus
on was
his hand resting low on my back.

I and everyone in my group became
keenly aware that his hand remained there as we greeted them and took our
seats. After the lights lowered, I covertly glanced and found him openly watching
me. He reached over and squeezed my hand, holding on to it. The tingling
concentrated where our fingers were interlaced, making it impossible to focus
on anything but him. My mind wandered down several paths, all ending with
me
breathing hard.

When the show finished, he kept
hold of my hand, as if afraid I would let go. I wasn’t letting go. While he
talked about the collection with Hillary, who had been sitting in front of him,
I felt mystified. He had been able to observe and absorb the show, while all I
could manage to think about was every inch of him.

I tuned in as Hillary said, “It’s
a great improvement over last spring’s collection. That was hideous, taken
straight from
Pirates of the Caribbean
.”

“It was spectacularly awful! But
this was good, no? I particularly enjoyed the pieces at the beginning. Explain
to me, what were they? Bathing suits with capes?” Sébastien diplomatically
praised and criticized the designer in one breath.

Marian, clearly enjoying his
banter, added, “I particularly enjoyed the little hats! They looked like silk
stockings plopped on their heads.”

“I know what I’m getting you for
Christmas,” I informed her.

Liam and Ted joined us as Hillary
dashed off in the direction of a group of elegantly dressed men. I could only
assume that one or more of them were people she wanted to meet. “She’s
committed, you gotta give her that,” I said to Marian, who stood beside me.
“Maybe you ought to join her in a minute, let her introduce you to them.” While
I was mostly joking, I wasn’t all that startled when she took me up on my
advice and wandered over.

***

Out front
of the Gaultier showrooms, we learned that Ted’s limousine was stuck on a side
street. His brute squad, up in arms at the thought of him and Tiziana taking a
taxi, left us standing curbside while they (likely) threatened and cajoled
drivers to get out of the way. All the while, Sébastien found reasons to touch
me, pull a stray hair off my cheek, check to see if my hands were cold. My body
strained toward him more with each touch. When the behemoth vehicle arrived, I
all but pushed them inside, while Sébastien hailed a taxi for the two of us.

The driver stepped on the gas and
asked where to. Sébastien answered, and the driver grunted as the two of us settled
in back, keenly aware of each other. I wanted to toss aside my earlier
resolution to slow down and instead slide into his arms. I placed my hand on
the seat between us, instantly rewarded by his taking it and kissing my
knuckles. His eyes shimmered while he held my gaze, where I could see raw
desire. When his lips met mine, they were demanding. What he sought, I happily
offered, needing to match his desire.

The taxi stopped at the corner of
Rue de Bourgogne and Rue de Varenne and returned us to earth. Perhaps this
happened every day, because the nonplussed driver called the fare over his
shoulder.

I looked up and saw lipstick stain
Sébastien’s mouth. “You’re wearing my lipstick,” I warned him.

He smiled as he used his thumb to
wipe it away. “Better?”

I nodded. There was something I
liked about seeing my lipstick on him, some sort of primal response; I felt
disappointed when it was gone. I smoothed my hair and slowed my labored
breathing as I pulled my coat closed.

“You look gorgeous.” His
compliment made me ridiculously happy.

After paying the driver, he helped
me out onto the sidewalk in front of one of the most praised restaurants in
Paris. The façade for L’Arpège was quite understated. Light from the
restaurant’s scant windows lit the sidewalk with large rectangles and gave a
view to the inside, which resembled a well-to-do friend’s cozy dining room.

The limo arrived. “The driver must
have taken the scenic route,” Sébastien joked as he walked to the car to help
them out. One by one, they stepped out into the evening light, Hillary in a signature
piece by Karl Lagerfeld; Marian’s asymmetrical black Akris dress with a bold
gold-and-black zebra print panel competed for attention. When she emerged, Tiziana
adjusted her gown as she gushed, “Bravo! I’m so excited to try this restaurant.
I’ve heard such wonderful things.”

Charlotte sighed as she emerged
from the limo. She looked beautiful, but her eyes flitted to our designer
gowns. “Let’s go in. I need the loo.”

Jolted into action, Liam opened
the restaurant door, and Charlotte rushed inside. Sébastien cupped my elbow and
offered his other arm to Hillary, guiding us in, while Marian bemoaned the fact
that she was once again without a man of her own or even a loaner.

Hillary looked at Sébastien and
then Marian. “He’s not a car.”

Ted gallantly offered Marian his
other arm, putting an end to her complaining. She happily accepted, and her
mood immediately lifted. Her broody, mercurial nature amused me.

While we waited for Charlotte and
Liam to return, I appreciated the restaurant’s warm and traditional decor.
Pear-wood paneling covered the walls, and round tables, set with pristine white
cloths, were surrounded by chrome chairs with red leather seats. While I absorbed
its elegant sophistication, my stomach rumbled loudly!

Sébastien tightened his grip on my
elbow, kindly teasing me, “You’re always starving.”

“
Shh
!” I whispered, smiling
at his playful reminder.

“Are you talking to me or your stomach?”

“My stomach!” It growled again.
“Good Lord, that was loud! I don’t know if it’s in anticipation or
deprivation.”

“Mademoiselle, we must get you
something to eat. Otherwise, the other guests will think they are hearing whale
songs.”

I grinned at his goofy, gallant
response and relaxed.

As we were seated, Sébastien
helped me with my chair while whispering into the waiter’s ear then assisted
Hillary.

While we gabbed about the day’s
shows, Ted and Sébastien conferred with the sommelier over the wine list.
Eventually, a ‘78 Latour was uncorked and poured while dishes of perfectly
prepared vegetables in delicate sauces were served.

Sébastien smiled at me. “To change
the whale song to a symphony.”

Tiziana distracted me from my
musings by loudly clearing her throat, raising her glass, and capturing
everyone’s attention. Everyone’s! All the guests in the restaurant turned to
look at her. Being who she was, Tiziana simply projected her voice further into
the room. “To being together in Paris! As Audrey Hepburn said, ‘Paris is always
a good idea.’”

Surprisingly, Sébastien added,
“While I agree with Ms. Hepburn, King Francois said, ‘Paris is not a city, it’s
a world.’ And while he meant something very different, I’m sure, love can
transform every city into a world.”

I felt my friend’s eyes dart to
me, knowing they were thinking of me describing my time with Mikkel last night.
Melancholy tried to grip my heart, but just then, Sébastien gave me a tender
smile, and I instantly recognized this moment for what it was: the moment I cast
the past behind me and stepped into the present, embracing the future. A deep
sense of well-being settled around me as I sat beside a man I barely knew but to
whom I was incredibly attracted; and alongside my closest friends, whose lives
were also moving forward.

I invited Sébastien in,
I thought.

The waiter refilled our glasses and
then I added my thoughts. “I wanted to say that I am truly grateful to have you
all here. While this city is magical, much of its wonder has been lost upon me
until recently. So, to life. To love and friendship. May we never take anything
for granted.”

Charlotte broke down in tears.
Liam wrapped her in his arms and sprinkled kisses across her hair and over her
cheek. He assured us, “Not to worry, she’s happy. Pregnancy hormones.” When the
top of her head bobbled in agreement, everyone chuckled and reassured her.

Still smiling, I turned to
Sébastien. He gestured at my empty plate. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better. Thank you! Not only
am I no longer starving, I don’t have to worry about sounding like a mating
whale.”

“Mating whale?”

Realizing he had only mentioned
whale songs, not mating calls, my cheeks burned from embarrassment. I managed a
vague, “
Mmm
…” before sampling my wine, hoping that someone would ask me
something and save me from this conversation. I looked around; no one volunteered.
However, Sébastien gave me a breathtaking smile.

***

Laughter
bounced around the table as each person was abused playfully in some fashion:
Tiziana for her courtesan soul; Marian for her gritty views on the world;
Charlotte for being an emotional basket case. Even Hillary was relaxed enough
to take a healthy ribbing about being wound up tight as a spring. Ted was
razzed for owning everything oversized: yachts, mansions, airplanes. Marian’s
allusions to his compensating for other issues were quickly deflected by Mama
Bear Tiziana, who gave her a “too far” expression. Liam suffered for his
insatiable desire for Charlotte; not a crisis, as far as I could tell.

“Monsieur Langevin, we know very
little about you, but you can’t escape. We’ll find something, don’t you worry!”
Marian’s attack was good-natured.

Sébastien’s eyebrows slanted
upwards. Tiziana started to protest, but Ted interceded, saying that everyone
was fair game. So Sébastien was left to defend himself when Marian pointed at
his ornately tooled footwear and said, “You have a penchant for ornate shoes.”
She looked to us for support.

We all agreed, saying, “True.
True.”

She continued, “You could leave a
girl wondering if you’re gay or a tool…”

“And she wonders why no man wants
her,” Hillary said conspiratorially to Sébastien.

I cringed and wanted to defend
him.

He looked at me and quietly asked
in French, “What does ‘tool’ mean?”