by Anita Hughes
He had to convince Isabel to give them a chance. Love could be cruel and make you want to put a noose around your neck. But without it every day was as bleak as Paris in January.
The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and he fumbled for his key. He would grab a bottle of Bordeaux from the suite’s minibar and knock on Isabel’s door.
He opened the door and inhaled the scent of jasmine perfume. A woman sat on the sofa, sipping a café au lait and eating a brioche. She had blond hair and wore diamond teardrop earrings and a white pantsuit.
Alec dropped the box of chocolates and gasped. What was Celine doing in Paris, and why was she in his hotel suite?
chapter eighteen
Isabel opened her guidebook and gazed at the tall spires of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. It had twelve-foot brass doors and stone buttresses and stained glass windows. The guidebook said construction began in 1163 under Louis VII. They had to build a new road to bring building materials to the site on the Île de la Cité.
All morning she explored the Musée d’Orsay and Centre Pompidou and the Panthéon. She climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower and rode a bicycle in the Luxembourg Gardens. She paddled a rowboat in the Bois de Boulogne, clutching the guidebook as if it was a life raft.
This was what she should have been doing in Paris all along instead of looking for love and getting her heart broken. Her eyes welled with tears and she brushed them away. She couldn’t cry in the middle of a guided tour.
She sent Antoine the tiara with a note asking if they could meet to talk. He had taken her to the ball and dinner and the opera. She didn’t want to leave him a Dear John letter.
She pictured bumping into Bettina in the lobby of the Grand Hotel and her stomach rose to her throat. Did Alec really propose to stop his mother from being evicted? And even if he hadn’t, how could she trust him?
Everywhere she turned reminded her of Alec. They had gone shopping in the Marais and visited Victor Hugo’s house. They explored the Catacombs and had a picnic in Renoir’s garden. She remembered sharing cassoulet at Les Cocottes and then Alec saying he was falling in love with her.
How could she keep getting love wrong, and why did she keep trying? She was going back to Philadelphia and throwing herself into her work. Maybe she’d get a rescue dog and volunteer at a soup kitchen on the weekends.
Couples strolled along the Pont Neuf, and she wondered how it looked so easy. Could she be the only one who was unlucky in love, or did she simply not know when she found it?
But she had been in love with Alec. If she hadn’t, her heart wouldn’t pound and she wouldn’t feel like she had when she was five years old and her favorite teddy bear unraveled in the dryer.
She heard footsteps and turned around. She saw a tall man wearing an overcoat and carrying a paper sack.
“Isabel, wait,” he called after her.
“You’re Mathieu, Alec’s friend. We met at the Red Cross charity ball.” She paused and her eyes were wide. “What are you doing on the Pont Neuf? Did you follow me?”
“Not exactly,” Mathieu explained. “I saw you on the Pont Alexandre III. I tried to catch up, but you walk so fast. I had to stop and catch my breath.”
“This is my last day in Paris and there’s so much to see,” Isabel explained, sitting on a stone bench. “I want to visit Sainte-Chapelle and buy watercolors in the Latin Quarter.” She flipped the page of the guidebook. “Did you know the organ in the Cathedral of Notre Dame has seven thousand one hundred forty-three pipes?”
“You can’t leave tomorrow.” Mathieu opened the paper sack and took out two croissants. He handed one to Isabel and sat beside her.
“I have to get back to work,” she explained. “A fortune-teller said I was going to get a promotion and have a glass office with a large desk.” She stopped and her eyes were bright. “The fortune-teller might not be right about everything, but she was right about me receiving a gift and almost being run over. So I’m sure she’s right about that.”
“You can’t leave because you have to give Alec another chance.” Mathieu looked at Isabel. “He’s in love with you.”
“Thank you for the croissant, but I have to go.” She jumped up. “It was nice to see you, and say hello to your wife. Alec told me she was having a baby.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Mathieu followed her. “Just give me half an hour and I’ll explain everything.”
“Alec said you were an attorney, so I’m sure you’re used to standing in front of a jury and making them believe your client isn’t guilty. But Alec didn’t tell me the truth, so he can’t be in love with me at all.” Her eyes flashed. “The most important thing about love is being honest.”
“He should have told you about Bettina and his mother, but he also didn’t tell you something else,” Mathieu said. “He’s really a viscount.”
“What did you say?” she gasped.
“His father’s name was Alain de Gagnon. His family is a noblesse anciennes. It’s one of the oldest titles in France and was given to his ancestor in the thirteenth century.”
“Alec’s last name is Braxton.” Isabel frowned. “I saw it on the cover of Gus and the Sea Monster.”
“His British publisher thought Alec de Gagnon sounded too French,” Mathieu said. “Braxton is his mother’s maiden name.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?” she wondered. “The fortune-teller said I was going to marry a French aristocrat, that would have solved everything.”
“He started falling in love with you. And he was afraid he’d never know if you truly loved him or simply wanted to marry a French aristocrat.” Mathieu paused. “Celine hurt him quite badly. He was afraid of love, it was like a spoiled soufflé.”
“I would never have said yes unless I loved him. I used the fortune-teller as a guide because I’m hopeless at choosing men,” she fumed. “I’ve had two failed engagements and couldn’t risk another mistake. I had to look for outside guidance. It’s like when you lose almost all your money in the stock market and turn over what’s left to a financial planner.”
Isabel gazed at the Seine and wondered whether she was being accurate. Had she been attracted to Antoine, or did she make herself fall in love with him because that’s what the fortune-teller suggested? If she had known Alec was a viscount, would she have tumbled into a relationship without first discovering her feelings?
“I know what you’re doing. I saw it on an episode of The Good Wife.” Her eyes were wide. “You’re changing the angle of the case so your client looks less guilty. Perhaps I let the fortune-teller’s prediction color my actions. But that doesn’t change the fact that Alec lied to me.
“What if he wanted to get married to stop Claudia from being evicted, and never loved me at all?”
Mathieu pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and handed it to Isabel.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I’m a corporate attorney, so I’ve never been in front of a jury,” he began. “But I do have a habit of recording my conversations. I recorded a few chats with Alec. You might like to hear them.”
Isabel’s hands shook and she handed the phone back to Mathieu.
“You better press play,” she whispered.
Mathieu clicked the button, and Isabel heard Alec say he never wanted to fall in love again; it was worse than being thrown into a vat of molten lava. Isabel looked beautiful in her red Oscar de la Renta ball gown, and she had the loveliest brown eyes and wide smile.
Mathieu fast-forwarded, and Alec admitted he was falling in love with her. Mathieu urged him to tell her he was a viscount and Alec explained he would never know if she just wanted to marry a French aristocrat. Love was almost impossible, and marriage was even worse. He had to know she really loved him.
Mathieu said if Alec proposed to Isabel, Claudia could stay in the house and it would solve everything. Alec replied that he loved his mother but he could never marry just so that Bettina wouldn’t evict her.
Mathieu clicked the stop button, and
Isabel’s eyes filled with tears. He did love her! It was as obvious as the Christmas lights in the Place de la Concorde.
“Alec should have told you the truth, but he didn’t mean to hurt you,” Mathieu said. “You have to give him another chance.”
“When you fall in love with someone, you trust them with your whole future.” Isabel paused. “How do I know Alec will always love me if he keeps secrets?”
“When we were nineteen, other boys scribbled graffiti on the Pont Marie and tossed beer caps into the Seine. Alec picked up litter and helped old people navigate the cobblestones.
“He visits the children’s hospital once a month, and insists his publisher donate books to orphanages in Italy and Greece.
“When Helene found out she was pregnant, Alec was the first person we called. Helene wanted to be certain he’d be the godfather.” He stopped and smiled. “Marriage can be more taxing than sitting in a conference room of opposing high-powered attorneys. But I couldn’t recommend anyone better than Alec for the job.”
Isabel remembered the fortune-teller saying she would change directions but end up marrying a French aristocrat. This was what was supposed to happen all along! Antoine was a detour to make sure she was really in love with Alec.
She ate the last bite of croissant and wondered what would have happened if Mathieu hadn’t followed her from the Pont Alexandre III. But he had, and now she was certain she was doing the right thing. It was like the strange woman in Le Printemps and the old man in Shakespeare and Company and Alec discovering her bracelet in the vegetable garden at Versailles.
She leaned over and kissed Mathieu on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“You made me the happiest girl in the world.” She jumped up. “Thank you, I have to go.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Mathieu suggested.
Isabel’s eyes sparkled and she laughed. “I don’t think so, I’m in a hurry.”
* * *
ISABEL CLIMBED THE steps of the Hôtel de Crillon and entered the marble lobby. Her arms were full of packages, and she wore new leather pumps.
She had stopped at Le Bon Marché and bought Chanel perfume and pink lipstick. She and Alec had never gone on a proper date and she wanted to look pretty. She passed the men’s boutique and selected a navy cashmere sweater and leather belt. The end-of-the-year sales had started and she wanted to buy Alec a Christmas present.
They could stroll along the Canal Saint-Martin and have dinner at an outdoor café. She pictured climbing to the top of Sacré-Coeur and gazing at the Paris skyline. Alec would wrap his arms around her and kiss her.
She pressed the button of the elevator and couldn’t wait to tell Alec about bumping into Mathieu. She would apologize for not believing him that their relationship had nothing to do with 40 Rue de Passy, and say she understood why he didn’t tell her he was a viscount. They could get married right away and have a reception in the spring.
The elevator doors opened and she saw a woman standing in front of Alec’s suite. She had blond hair and wore a white pantsuit. She took a key out of her purse and inserted it in the lock. The door opened and she stepped inside.
There was only one person who could have the key to Alec’s honeymoon suite. What was Celine doing in Paris, and how could anyone be so beautiful? Isabel gasped, and the packages scattered all over the marble floor.
chapter nineteen
Alec poured a glass of scotch and turned to Celine. She looked exactly as she had when she left. Her hair was knotted in a loose chignon and her cheeks were lightly powdered and she wore thick mascara. But there was something different. He downed the scotch and tried to put his finger on it.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be in Australia.”
She brushed brioche crumbs from her slacks and put her demitasse on the porcelain saucer. “It’s an impossible country. They eat black spread on white bread for breakfast, and I couldn’t find L’Occitane Crème Précieuse at any department store. They wouldn’t let me take my jar on the plane and my skin dried out.”
“It’s called marmite, and it’s quite delicious once you get used to it,” he snapped. “And I’m sure they have some kind of decent face lotion at David Jones. You didn’t have to come back to Paris. What about Patrick—did you leave him at the arrivals terminal?”
“Of course not. We spent two nights in his flat in St. Kilda.” She inspected her fingernails. “All his furniture was on the floor. I felt like I was on a yoga retreat.
“It never would have worked out,” she continued. “Apparently he’s not a championship cricket player, he’s in the bush leagues. And his French was terrible; he didn’t understand the concept of personal pronouns. He kept calling a table ‘he.’”
“It seems to be a common problem,” he said and thought of Isabel. “You can’t just show up and order afternoon tea. I’m busy.”
“My father is paying for the suite.” She eyed the box of chocolates and bouquet of tulips. “When did you start shopping at Maison du Chocolat? Their truffles cost as much as gold bouillon.”
“That’s none of your business,” Alec spluttered. “We canceled the ceremony at Cathédrale Notre-Dame and the reception at the George Cinq and the Aston Martin that would have driven us to the airport. You can’t pretend nothing happened.”
“I was only gone for ten days.” She shrugged. “We’ll have a destination wedding; I’m dying to get on the slopes. We’ll get married in St. Moritz and stay at the Palace Hotel.”
“We’re not getting married anywhere,” Alec exclaimed.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt better. He remembered when he was a child and did terribly on a math test. He kept the paper in his pocket and had a stomachache by the time his mother found it. But he didn’t care what Celine said; he just wanted her to leave.
He refilled his scotch glass and realized that was what was different. Celine could have violet eyes and a turned-up nose, but he wasn’t in love with her.
“What do you mean we’re not getting married?” Celine demanded.
Alec wanted to say he was going to marry Isabel, but then he remembered she had walked out of the suite and said she never wanted to see him again.
“You left with your passport and my favorite pair of slippers,” Alec said hotly. “Did you really expect me to be here waiting for you?”
“My feet get cold on the plane.” She looked at Alec. “And I didn’t expect you to wait for me. I expected you to follow me.”
“What did you say?” Alec stammered.
“You turned me over to Patrick like a dog breeder giving away a puppy.” She ate another bite of brioche. “You should have seen your face when you appeared at the café in the Place Vendôme. You gave up in the first round.”
“Was I supposed to draw a pistol like John Wayne in an American Western?” Alec demanded. “And did you see his muscles under that white shirt? David Beckham couldn’t compete.”
“If you loved me you would have booked the first flight to Melbourne,” Celine insisted, “instead of moping in the hotel suite like a wounded animal.”
“I had a wonderful week exploring Paris,” he replied. “I visited the Catacombs and Montmartre and Versailles.”
“You visited the Catacombs?” Celine looked up. “You’re terrified of closed spaces.”
“Maybe I’m not, I just needed my eyes opened,” he snapped. “Relationships might require work, but they’re not supposed to be an ongoing battle with one person claiming to be the victor and the other waving a white flag.” He paused. “If you love someone, you spend every day making them happy.”
Celine stood up and stretched. Even her high breasts and long legs left him cold. She was like a cat that had been declawed.
“I have terrible jet lag.” She walked toward the bedroom. “I’m going to bed, we’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
“You can’t sleep here,” Alec insisted.
“What do you mean I can’t sleep here?” Celine untied her chignon. “My father paid for twelve nights in the honeymoon suite with a private butler and continental breakfast.”
“There’s only one bed and I’m tired of sleeping on your sofa. There are other suites at the Crillon, I’ll tell the valet to move your bag and I’ll pay for the room.”
He wished his shrinking bank account matched his new bravado, but he wasn’t going to let Celine push him out of the suite. He needed one more night to win back Isabel.
“I’ve had enough overripe peaches and bottles of Evian.” She picked up her suitcase and walked to the door. “I’ll go to my apartment.”
“Celine, wait,” Alec called.
“Yes?” She turned around.
God, she was beautiful with her pink mouth and slender cheekbones. He felt like Odysseus staring down the sirens.
He suddenly pictured Isabel’s bright smile, and a warmth spread through his chest.
“You forgot to return my grandmother’s diamond ring.”
* * *
ALEC PACED AROUND the suite like a prizefighter who had scored an unexpected victory. His heart raced and his brow was covered with sweat.
He wished he could replay Celine placing the sapphire-and-diamond ring on the coffee table. He had never seen her linger over a piece of jewelry before.
He thought of what she said about giving up too easily, and an uneasy pit formed in his stomach. Perhaps he should have insisted Patrick didn’t join them for dinner. But Celine and Patrick were like a blond Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. You had to know when to retreat; it was a basic rule of survival.
Should he have followed her to Melbourne? Twenty-four hours on an international flight gave him a backache, and the blanket never stayed in one place.
He remembered the way men looked at her in the street and knew he would have been setting himself up for a life of torture. He had taken the quickest escape route, like a pilot jettisoning himself from a burning plane.
Or perhaps she was right; he didn’t know how to fight for the woman he loved.