Second Chance (9 page)

“Breakfast. If I hang around you any longer, I'll be the size of this table. You're too fattening. I eat too much when I'm with you.” He looked at her in amazement and relief and grinned broadly. And then sounded sheepish when he answered.

“I thought you meant it. For a minute you had me worried.” He felt vulnerable as he said it.

“I did mean it. I can't afford to get fat in my business. I'd look foolish. I mean, how chic is a two-hundred-pound editor of the world's most important fashion magazine? They'd drum me right out of the business, and it would be all your fault.”

“Okay, in that case, stop eating. I'm not going to feed you ever again, and if I see you touch lunch today, we'll call the doctor and ask him to have your stomach stapled. Personally, I think you could use a little weight, but who am I to ask you to risk your job for an omelette?”

“It's not the omelette, it's the
pain au chocolat
that went with it. I'm addicted to them.” She was smiling at him as she said it, and just looking at her, he could feel a tug at his heart.

“We'll put you in a twelve-step program when you get home. But I still think you need to eat breakfast.” And the truth was that she was enjoying every moment of eating it with him. He was good company, even in the morning, and usually she didn't like talking to anyone before she got to the office, even Sir Winston. But this was different. This was Paris, and there was an aura of ease and happiness and romance everywhere around them. Particularly at the Ritz. It was one of her favorite hotels in the world. Ordinarily, when he came to town, he stayed at the Crillon. But this time he was happy to be at the Ritz, with her.

“I have to get dressed,” she said unceremoniously and stood up, in bare feet and the pink bathrobe. And for a moment, he felt nearly married, whatever her views on the subject. They were in the living room of her suite.

“You look very pretty.”

“Like this?” She looked at him as though he had said something utterly ridiculous, as she ran a hand through her hair and tightened the bathrobe. She was wearing nothing underneath it, but he couldn't see anything, and the pale pink color looked soft and flattering near her face. “Don't be silly,” she said, dismissing the compliment, walked into her bedroom, and closed the door. He said he was going to read the paper while he waited, but instead when she returned, she found him staring out the window. He was lost in thought, and gave a start when she touched his shoulder. He had been a million miles away, and thinking of her.

“Don't you look elegant,” he said admiringly. She was wearing a black-and-white summer linen pantsuit that had been given to her the year before as a gift from Balmain, and it suited her well. She was wearing high-heeled black lizard Blahnik sandals, and a soft black leather Hermès bag known as the “Kelly mou.” Her hair was tied back in a neat knot, and she was wearing big black shell earrings by Seaman Schepps. She looked elegant and demure, and the only spot of color was her enormous turquoise bracelet on her wrist. She looked every bit the editor-in-chief of
Chic.
“Ready?” he asked as they prepared to leave the room. It was all very proper, but somehow felt surprisingly domestic, and as they walked out of the living room of her suite, they ran right into Adrian, hurrying out of his room. He raised an eyebrow at both of them and grinned.

“My, my, isn't this good news. I was hoping something like that would happen. A honeymoon at the Ritz.” It was a rather bold assumption on his part.

“Oh, shut up, Adrian,” Fiona said, looking embarrassed, as John smiled at them both. He had put on a blazer by then, and a good-looking yellow Hermès tie. “We just had breakfast together. Relax. I'm still a virgin.”

“That's disappointing to hear,” he said as they got in the elevator together. John seemed to be a good sport about Adrian's teasing. The two men chatted on the way down, and Fiona strode out of the elevator ahead of them. As it turned out, Adrian's driver was late, so all three of them rode to the Académie des Beaux Arts on the Left Bank together in Fiona's car.

And just as Fiona had predicted, the show was dignified, yet elegant and impressive, an entirely different scene than the show she'd taken John to the day before. He was vastly impressed and said he loved it. After the show, Adrian went back to the hotel to talk to the photographer. John and Fiona went to lunch at Le Voltaire. She was beginning to feel as though she were being lazy. She was more interested in spending time with John than in doing her work.

They shared a relaxing, comfortable three hours eating lunch at Le Voltaire, and by the time it was full, Fiona knew more than half the people there. Hubert de Givenchy had come for lunch, as did the Baronne de Ludinghausen, formerly from Saint Laurent. There were designers and socialites and bankers, and as they ordered coffee, Fiona chatted amiably with a Russian prince at the next table. She knew everyone, and more important, they all knew her.

They both went back to the hotel to make phone calls to New York after lunch, and met up again at four-thirty. They had agreed to take a walk down the Faubourg St. Honoré, and he followed her willingly into Hermès. By the time they got back to the hotel at six o'clock, they had spent the entire day together, and Fiona was surprised at how totally at ease she felt with him. It was so comfortable being together. She went to change, while he sent some e-mails on his computer, and when they met again an hour later, she was wearing an ice-blue silk suit. They were on their way to see Givenchy, which turned out to be slightly outrageous, and although she said she liked some of the pieces, she was disappointed in it from a professional point of view.

After that they came back to the Ritz for the
Chic
magazine cocktail party, which Adrian had in total control. Everyone who was anyone was there. Fiona made the rounds greeting people and shaking hands. It was hours later when she and John left for the last of the Givenchy party, which was a spectacular event in a tent in the Luxembourg Garden. And at midnight they went to the Buddha Bar for a few minutes, because she'd promised to meet some people there. Then they stopped at the Hemingway Bar at the hotel for a last drink. John had brandy and she had mineral water, and she realized in amazement that it was two-thirty in the morning by the time they left the bar and went upstairs. Things always started late in Paris, and as a result, the nights got late.

“Is it always like this when you come to the couture shows?” he asked as they rode up in the elevator together. He hated to admit it, but he was exhausted. She led life at a pace that would have killed him in a week. It was a lot easier, he realized, going to an office and having sedate dinners out a couple of times a week. He couldn't even begin to think of all the things they had done and seen in two days. And she didn't even look tired as she fumbled in her bag for her key.

“Yes, it's always pretty hectic.” She smiled at him. “Do you want a day off tomorrow? I'm going to Chanel in the morning, and Gaultier in the afternoon.” As though that meant something to him. She might as well have been speaking Chinese. But he liked the sound of it on her lips.

“I wouldn't miss it for anything. I'm getting an education, or something like that.” And then suddenly he wondered if it was awkward for her to be seen constantly with him. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him. This wasn't a pleasure cruise for her after all, it was a business trip. “Would you rather go alone, Fiona?” He looked worried, and she smiled at him, leaning against the doorway of her suite. They felt like old friends now, and she was astonishingly at ease with him.

“I'd rather go with you,” she said honestly. “You make it more fun for me. It's almost like doing something new.” It was a nice thing to say to him, and without saying a word, he gently touched her cheek.

“I like being with you too.” Even more than he had dreamed. It had been a memorable two days with her, and without thinking, he leaned slowly toward her, and the next thing he knew, he was holding her and kissing her in the doorway of her suite. They stood there for a long time, and the thought crossed John's mind that Adrian might happen by on the way to his room. But he didn't want to force his way into Fiona's room. So they stood there kissing, and holding each other, until she spoke in a soft, smoky voice, and whispered in his ear.

“Would you like to come in?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he whispered back, and she giggled, as they walked into the living room and closed the door softly behind them. And for a moment they both felt like two naughty kids who had given their parents the slip.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked, as she stepped out of her shoes, and stood in front of him in bare feet. She had taken off her suit jacket at the bar, and was wearing a peach satin camisole that was slipping enticingly off one shoulder. All he could think of was Fiona, the last thing he wanted was a drink. “No, my love, I don't want a drink,” he said as he took her in his arms again, and a moment later the satin camisole had slid obligingly to her waist, and all he could feel was the delicious silk of her skin.

She took his hand then, and he followed her into her bedroom. The bed was turned down impeccably, as though it were waiting for a royal couple, and as he kissed her again, he flicked off the light, and followed her to her bed. And in the darkness, his clothes disappeared as quickly as hers did, and a moment later they were in bed, lying in each other's arms for a long time, and savoring the moment, and then, as though a tidal wave had hit them, passion overwhelmed them both. It was a long, delicious night that neither of them had hoped for, or dreamed of, but if either of them had ever had a dream, the night they spent together would have been it.

Chapter 6

Fiona attempted to look
respectable and solemn as they left for Chanel the next morning. John was wearing a gray suit, a white shirt, and a midnight blue tie and looked as though he were going to a business meeting. And as if to compensate for her follies of the night before, Fiona wore a serious black Chanel suit, with a short skirt. But all she managed to achieve was to look sexier than ever. At least he thought so, as he wrapped his arms around her, and held her tightly against him as the elevator at the Ritz made its way to the Cambon lobby, and Fiona giggled.

“You're in good spirits this morning,” he teased her. They both were. With good reason. It had been a remarkable night for both of them.

“I was just thinking of the cameras in the elevator. We could really give them something to look at,” she said with another giggle, but by then the doors had opened, and there was a Japanese family waiting to get in. John followed Fiona out and straightened his tie.

They both felt as though the entire world could see what had happened the night before. It seemed so obvious to them. “Is my skirt too short?” she asked, looking worried, as one of the security men let them out through the ordinarily locked Cambon door. They opened it only for her, because then it was just a short walk across the street to Chanel. Otherwise they would have had to go all the way around the Place Vendôme, which made no sense.

“I think your skirt should be shorter,” John said in an undertone as they reached Chanel. There were crowds of people outside, waiting to get in, and the usual group of paparazzi and legitimate photographers. The House of Chanel was small, and the group that attended the couture show was select and elite. The moment they saw Fiona, they made a path for her in the crowd and let her in. She took John by the arm, and he walked in beside her, as photographers snapped pictures of both of them. “Is that all right?” he asked softly, he didn't want to create a problem for her. She was well-known after all, and he didn't know if she minded being photographed with a man. But she smiled at the camera, and then up at him.

“It's fine. You look terrific,” she said, and then walked sedately up the stairs, and a moment later they took their seats.

Unlike the other shows, Chanel started punctually, and the clothes were respectable and terrific. They played Mozart as the models made their way sedately down the designated path through the seats. Every aspect of the show was about elegance and tradition. It was like visiting a grande dame for tea. Karl Lagerfeld had designed a collection that knocked everyone off their feet. The wedding gown at the end was every bit as spectacular as Adrian had told her it would be. The velvet gown with the ermine cape caused everyone to catch their breath, and Lagerfeld himself got a standing ovation when he appeared. Fiona knew the press would go wild with the photographs, and she could hardly wait to print them in
Chic.
The wedding dress was absolutely exquisite, as the whole collection had been.

“It's a shame it has to be a wedding dress,” John said, as they wended their way through the crowd on the way out. Fiona had stopped for a moment to say hello to Karl, and she had introduced John to him. “It would look incredible on you.” Fiona couldn't help laughing as she smiled at him.

“Thank you for the compliment, and I haven't seen the prices yet, but roughly speaking, that dress probably costs about as much as a small summer cottage. And they don't give dresses like that to editors for free.”

“Too bad, it would be great on you,” he said sincerely.

They were still laughing and chatting when they were let back into the hotel by the security, and had lunch in the garden. After that they hurried to Gaultier with Adrian. Gaultier was his favorite show, and exactly his cup of tea. The entire collection was red this year, including the fur coats, and the theme of the whole collection was Chinese. It was extremely dramatic, but Fiona was less enthused.

The last collection they went to late that afternoon was Valentino's, and it was as elegant as Chanel had been. And as always, Valentino had done a lot with red too. For once even Fiona was tired when they got back to the hotel. She had a million notes and photographs to go through, but she was going to do that in the morning, after John left. For their last night, they had agreed to have dinner at a simple restaurant on a Bateau Mouche and wanted to walk around the Left Bank afterward. And the day after John left, she was going to St. Tropez. Adrian was planning to head back to New York when she did. He had a lot to do. The aftermath of the Paris couture shows always kept them busy for weeks. It was rare for her, but Fiona had decided to go on vacation for two full weeks. She hadn't taken that much time off in years, but felt she needed it.