Christmas in Paris

by Anita Hughes

  He drew her into the living room and kissed her on the mouth. He loosened his tie and thought he was acting like an oversexed schoolboy. Love had to be entered into slowly, or it became like a soufflé you left in the oven too long that suddenly exploded.

  He ran his hands through his hair and said they didn’t want to miss the opening act. Celine placed one hand between his legs and stroked the hardness beneath his slacks. He inhaled her scent of floral perfume and his last trace of willpower dissolved.

  He slipped his hand beneath her panties and felt the sweet wetness and delicious warmth. When his fingers slid inside her, he felt her press against his chest. Then she dug her nails into his back and her whole body shattered.

  They moved to the bedroom and tore at each other’s clothes. Alec remembered the joy of new sex: discovering a birthmark on her neck and an indentation in her thigh and the glistening curve of her stomach.

  She drew him onto the bed and wrapped her arms around his back. He opened her thighs and plunged deep inside her. He felt the wild rush and then the feeling of exquisite joy. She clutched his shoulders and they came together like two sprinters gasping at the finish line.

  * * *

  AFTERWARD THEY LAY against the quilted headboard and he wondered what he had done. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a beautiful, wealthy girl who had first edition copies of Balzac on her bookshelf and Prada shoes at the foot of her bed. But he gazed at her long eyelashes and full mouth and wondered how he could do anything else.

  * * *

  THE NEXT TWO months were a frenzy of delicious sex. Alec came over after Celine returned from work, and they attempted to toss a salad or boil pasta. But Celine would brush against his chest or Alec would inhale her exotic scent, and they would turn off the pot of spaghetti or put the Camembert back in the fridge and race to the bedroom.

  Sometimes they pulled on sweaters and slacks and went to the cinema or browsed in a bookstore. But what was the point of watching a romantic movie or reading a love story when what they had was better than fiction?

  The only drawback was, wherever they went, men flocked to Celine like insects to flypaper. Every time Alec collected their drinks at a bar, or lingered at a newsagent while she sat at a café, he returned to find a man in his chair.

  * * *

  “I WAS EATING my pain au chocolat when Hans insisted I read Death in Venice,” Celine explained when Alec returned from buying a packet of Mentos and found Celine sitting across from a blond tourist at Café Verlet.

  “No one pulls up a chair and discusses classical literature without an invitation,” Alec grumbled, popping a Mentos in his mouth.

  “I was reading Goethe to practice my German,” Celine said. “He must have noticed the cover.”

  “Then read Madame Figaro,” Alec suggested. “No man wants to discuss bra cup sizes or the new season’s style in cashmere sweaters.”

  “All men talk to single women, it doesn’t mean anything.” Celine shrugged. “The only way to stop them is to wear a diamond ring on your finger and have a round bump in your stomach.”

  Alec gazed at couples strolling along the boulevard and jumped up. He knew exactly how to stop men from flirting with Celine! Why didn’t he think of it sooner?

  He hopped on the metro and went to see his mother. He found her in the garden, bending over a row of butter lettuce.

  “Alec darling!” She kissed him on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Ever since you said you met a girl, you disappeared.”

  “You’d like Celine.” He suddenly remembered when he arrived home from kindergarten and declared he had a crush on his teacher. He begged his mother to let him use his allowance to buy Mademoiselle Egret a glass necklace.

  “Invite her over for dinner,” Claudia suggested. “I’ll make pumpkin soup and a summer salad.”

  “I wanted to ask you something.” Alec wiped his brow. “You said I could have Bertie’s ring when I got married.”

  “Of course you can have my mother’s ring. I’m counting on you to give me grandchildren.” She smiled. “What better reason to reread The Little Prince and the Paddington books?”

  “I’d like to have it now,” Alec continued. “I’m going to ask Celine to marry me.”

  “You want to give my mother’s antique sapphire-and-diamond ring to a girl you just met?”

  “I’m thirty and she’s twenty-seven, she’s hardly a child bride,” Alec protested. “She’s beautiful and smart and everything I dreamed of.”

  “But you’ve known her for less than two months. When you were a child you spent weeks perfecting your Christmas list and you always ordered last at a restaurant.” She paused. “Why the rush?”

  “Celine is like a jar of the sweetest honey or a bowl of the richest cream,” he said. “Men will do anything to approach her. I thought…”

  “That if she wore a wedding ring, they would think she was off the market?” Claudia raised her eyebrow.

  “Something like that.” Alec shrugged.

  “That’s not a good reason to marry someone.” His mother frowned.

  Alec pictured Celine’s clear violet eyes and long legs. He saw the way she looked in the morning, with her hair in a high ponytail and her face free of makeup and her smile that was like the Cheshire Cat’s.

  “I have a better reason,” he groaned. “I can’t live without her.”

  * * *

  ALEC SPENT THE next week in a state of giddy anticipation. It was spring and Paris bloomed with lilacs and daffodils. He spent hours debating with himself where to propose: On the Pont des Arts, with the Louvre rising like a modern pyramid. In front of the Sacré-Coeur, with all of Paris laid out at their feet. Under the Eiffel Tower, so they could look up at the steel structure and remember they were in the most romantic city in the world.

  He finally decided on Parc Monceau in the eighth arrondissement. It wasn’t overrun by tourists, and Celine loved the rose gardens and willow trees and lake surrounded by Corinthian columns.

  He packed a picnic of olive baguettes and Brie and capers. There were peaches and berries and a jar of whipped cream. He added a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and Celine’s favorite chocolate torte.

  The morning of the proposal, clouds hung low over the Seine. Alec wore a pale blue blazer and beige slacks. He felt the jewelry box in his pocket and a lump formed in his throat.

  * * *

  “IT’S NOT the best day for a picnic,” Celine said when he picked her up at her flat.

  She wore blue jeans and a navy sweater and Alec felt a twinge of disappointment. He had imagined her in a sleeveless linen dress and leather sandals. Her hair would fall loosely to her shoulders and she would smell of lavender shampoo.

  Instead her hair was wound into a bun and held back with an enamel clip. She wore low boots and an orange turtleneck under the navy sweater.

  “Why don’t we see a movie?” she suggested. “The new Mission: Impossible is playing at Cinema Le Rex and we can eat popcorn and Raisinets.”

  “The last time we saw an American movie with French subtitles, the actors sounded like chipmunks,” Alec grumbled. “It can’t rain, I bought sausages and kumquats from the outdoor market in the Marais.”

  The first drops fell as they entered the stone gates. They rushed under the rotunda and Alec gazed at the wet grass. He could hardly expect Celine to sit on a muddy blanket and eat soggy ham and cheese.

  He took her hand and suddenly had an idea. They would go to the Passage Jouffroy and eat escargot and baba au rhum at one of the elegant cafés. When he was a child, he loved visiting Boîte à Joujoux with its giant erector sets and Le Petit Roi crammed with children’s books and eating almond cakes at Le Valentin.

  They crossed the Boulevard Haussmann and entered the iron doors. Alec saw the black-and-white marble floor and glass ceiling and let out his breath. What could be more romantic than a covered passageway built in 1836 by one of France’s greatest architects?

  “Let’s go to Bo
uillon Chartier and eat carrot mousse and country terrine,” Alec suggested, picturing the quaint restaurant with its red velvet walls and steaming bowls of bouillabaisse.

  “I feel like pizza,” Celine said. “Nick’s Pizza has the best pizza margherita in Paris.”

  “Pizza?” Alec shuddered. He could hardly pull out the jewelry box with greasy fingers.

  “When was the last time we had pizza?” Celine took his arm. “We’ll share strawberry gelato for dessert.”

  * * *

  THEY SAT ON wooden chairs and Alec glanced miserably at the menu. He could propose another day, but he was so nervous, he could barely concentrate on his work. All week he had sketched a companion for Gus: a fluffy French poodle named Monique. Finally he crumpled it in the garbage. His readers wanted Gus to fight fiery dragons, not hold hands on a barge gliding along the Seine.

  * * *

  “THE WAITER ASKED you three times what you wanted to order,” Celine said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Sorry?” Alec looked up. He pointed to the pizza Napoletana and handed the waiter his menu.

  “Maybe we should go home.” Celine sipped a glass of water. “You look like you are coming down with a cold.”

  Alec studied her high cheekbones and slender neck and caught his breath. Even with her mascara smudged and hair damp from the rain, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the velvet jewelry box.

  “I wanted to ask you this with the sun streaming on the lake and the air filled with the scent of lilacs and roses,” he began. “You are elegant and stunning, like a shooting star that somehow landed on my doorstep.” He drew out the pear-shaped diamond ring. “Celine Du Mond, will you marry me?”

  “Marry you?” Celine exclaimed. “We haven’t even met each other’s families.”

  Celine was right. Alec had wanted to ask Celine’s father for his blessing, but when he called his office, his secretary said he was in Brazil until July. And he knew he should have taken her to lunch with his mother, but that would mean meeting his sister. Somehow he wanted to keep Celine away from Bettina until the diamond ring was safely on Celine’s finger.

  “We’ll visit my mother this afternoon,” he said eagerly. “She gave me her mother’s ring, she can’t wait to meet you.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you so men will stop flirting with me?” Celine asked.

  “Of course not!” He bristled. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have babies and push a pram through the Luxembourg Gardens. I want to rent a cottage in the country and play backgammon in front of the fire.”

  She studied the diamond ring as if she was debating what topping to put on her pizza. She looked at Alec and a smile lit up her face.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” Alec asked.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “You will?” Alec realized he didn’t know what to do next. Did he slip the ring on her finger or kiss her on the mouth?

  “You sound surprised,” Celine replied. “What did you expect me to say?”

  Alec glanced at the rain smudging the window and couples huddling under umbrellas and took a deep breath. The most incredible woman in Paris was agreeing to be his wife; this wasn’t the time to discuss whether they would live on his salary, or if she slept under a down duvet in the summer.

  He slipped the ring on her finger and gathered her in his arms. He inhaled her scent of jasmine and vanilla and thought he was the happiest man in the world.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I knew you were going to say yes.”

  * * *

  CELINE WAS THE easiest bride. Her father insisted on paying for the wedding, so Celine was happy to let her stepmother, Mathilde, plan the elaborate reception at the George V.

  Sometimes Alec passed boutiques filled with chiffon wedding dresses and lace stockings and wished she wanted his opinion on the flowers or strawberry meringue. But then he pictured the glorious nights in Celine’s bed and thought he was being ridiculous.

  Everyone knew spending too much time planning the wedding was the fastest way to get a divorce. He should be grateful all he had to do was slip on the gray morning suit and yellow boutonniere and show up at Cathédrale Notre-Dame at three o’clock.

  * * *

  ALEC ATE THE last bite of wheat cracker and thought if only Patrick hadn’t appeared. It seemed perfectly innocent when Celine’s boss asked her to show his Australian nephew around Paris. Alec pictured a boy with sandy hair and freckles clutching a cricket bat.

  He remembered when he arrived in the Place Vendôme at six o’clock. Celine asked him to meet them at a café and then they would take a dinner cruise on the Seine.

  * * *

  ALEC BUTTONED HIS coat and thought it really was too cold to sit on a barge at night. There was never decent heating and you could barely see out of the windows because of the fog. And why would a boy have any interest in seeing Paris after dark? Alec was sure he’d rather visit Cirque d’Hiver or to see the Christmas lights at Disneyland Paris.

  He turned the corner and saw Celine sitting across from a man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a blue cashmere sweater and gray slacks.

  Alec approached the café and wondered why Celine had her hands in her pockets. Was she hiding her diamond ring or just keeping warm? And where was Patrick? Did she send her boss’s nephew away so she could flirt with the guy who looked like he had stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog?

  “God, it’s freezing.” Alec rubbed his hands together. “I hope Patrick didn’t stop at a newsagent to buy a packet of sweets. He won’t appreciate the braised duck and sliced beets if he’s stuffed with caramels.”

  Celine looked up and smoothed her hair. She wore a teal sweater and cream slacks and Alec thought she had never looked more beautiful. Diamond teardrop earrings glittered in her ears and she resembled an angel on top of a Christmas tree.

  “This is my fiancé, Alec,” she said to the man sitting across the table. She turned to Alec and her mouth puckered. “This is Edgar’s nephew Patrick.”

  * * *

  “HOW ON EARTH can that blond Adonis be Edgar’s nephew?” Alec spluttered. “I pictured some knobby-kneed kid with bangs, not one of People’s fifty most beautiful people.”

  “Edgar is almost sixty, why shouldn’t he have a grown nephew?” Celine retorted. They had returned from the dinner cruise and were standing in Celine’s living room.

  Alec thought he’d never had a more miserable evening. The Cabernet had been off, and when the waiter placed the chocolate soufflé in front of him, it collapsed. Patrick insisted on standing on the deck to see the Christmas lights, and Alec was so cold, he almost asked the woman next to them if he could borrow her mink coat.

  “How can he be so tan in the middle of winter?” he continued. “I felt like a wax figure at Madame Tussauds.”

  “He’s from Melbourne, it’s the middle of summer in Australia.”

  “Well, someone needs to tell him to wear a hat.” He scowled. “If he stands on a cricket mound without protection, he’s going to get a terrible sunburn.”

  Celine took the ribbon out of her hair. “It sounds like you are jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Alec started. He gazed at her high breasts and small waist and felt like the Wicked Witch dissolving into a puddle. “Why on earth would I be jealous?”

  “You tell me,” she said, unzipping her slacks and letting them fall to the floor. “You were the one who was sulking like a child who didn’t receive any Christmas presents.”

  “I was not sulking,” Alec muttered. “It was freezing, and I was trying to stop my teeth from chattering.”

  She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Alec watched her unsnap her bra and forgot about the bad wine and limp dessert. He slipped his hand under her panties and thought he had discovered a hidden treasure. He pressed his fingers in deeper and watching her face open, like a flower in springtime.

  She
drew him onto the ivory bedspread and pulled him inside her. She urged him to go faster, and he felt the slow build and sudden terror of not being able to stop. He pulled her hands over her head and their legs twisted on the silk sheets. Then he collapsed on her breasts and heard her cry out.

  God, it was incredible! Like they were the only two lovers in Paris. He waited until she stopped shaking, and then he closed his eyes and for a moment he knew perfect happiness.

  “You’re not a child at all,” Celine murmured. “You’re very much a man.”

  Alec suddenly felt invincible. He tucked her against his chest and whispered, “How could I ever be jealous when I get to hold you in my arms?”

  * * *

  ALEC SCREWED THE lid on the jar of preserves and thought that if he had known that was the last time they would have sex, he would have made it last longer. How was he to know that three days later she would board a plane to Melbourne?

  And now he was alone in a honeymoon suite at the Hôtel de Crillon. He remembered Isabel stepping onto the boulevard and was glad she wasn’t hurt. It was bad enough his fiancée had deserted him; it would be terrible if he were responsible for Isabel getting run over by a taxi.

  That was the thing about life. You thought everything was moving in the right direction. And then something appeared out of the blue and changed your course forever.

  He thought of the night he and Celine checked into the Crillon. He couldn’t get over the welcoming basket of exotic nuts and fresh fruits from Mexico. He moved around the suite, examining the Armani shaving cream in the bathroom and the heated floor in the bidet closet.

  * * *

  ALEC POPPED A handful of macadamia nuts in his mouth and glanced at his watch. They were meeting Celine’s parents for dinner at Le Meurice and she had gone to the salon to get her hair done. But now it was almost six o’clock and they’d never get through pre-Christmas traffic if they didn’t hurry.

  He grabbed the key and took the elevator to the lobby. He crossed the Persian rug and approached the concierge.