A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘You haven’t told me all the details of it yet,’ Rach reminded, taking Keeley’s arm. ‘And if we are going to be best friends as well as apartment sharers when we get back home then I am expecting all the details of everything, even more so than I normally do.’

  Sex with Ethan. Keeley’s whole body was still humming from it. It was like her skin had been lightly glossed in a golden syrup and was still softly simmering from the heat they’d made together. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Even the snowflakes that seemed to be settling – and sticking – on her eyelashes more than anywhere else weren’t as annoying as they might have been.

  ‘It was,’ Keeley began, ‘incredible.’

  ‘Give me it in a food analogy,’ Rach ordered, expression eager.

  ‘It was like… devouring the best Chinese takeaway you’ve ever had, really really slowly, and feeling completely warm and full and… the end result is not putting any weight on and ending up with the figure of Emma Willis.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Rach exclaimed. ‘That good.’

  ‘That good.’

  ‘Did he—’ Rach started.

  ‘Regarde!’ Noel all but shouted. ‘Opera Bastille.’

  Keeley looked up at the silver façade just ahead of them. It was all chrome and glass and granite. Nothing like the tiny alleyways and courtyards she had been hoping to see on this morning’s tour.

  ‘It was built in 1989 by a Canadian architect and you can take part in a tour inside if you so wish,’ Noel informed them. ‘It is approximately ninety minutes long.’

  Keeley looked at Rach and Rach looked back at her. If Keeley was honest she was enjoying the snow, the Christmas trees sparkling from business premises along their route, the sound of carols in the air, even the city traffic was oddly pleasurable today. ‘Could we carry on walking? Is there somewhere nice we can stop for coffee?’

  ‘Now you’re talking my language,’ Rach said happily.

  ‘As you wish,’ Noel replied.

  *

  Noel had led them underneath a large red canopy where patio heaters were warming the patrons sitting underneath it. He had then instructed a waiter to take their order while he disappeared somewhere else citing he would be back in an hour’s time. Keeley thought their guide seemed slightly more harassed than usual today, his mind definitely elsewhere. Their coffees having arrived, it was pleasant sitting here, the chill taken out of the air by the heaters and still very much able to people-watch, Parisian life going on around them.

  ‘So,’ Rach said, sipping at her coffee. ‘Tell me, are you still not Kidney Girl or did you tell Ethan last night while he was all over you like chow mein?’

  ‘Still not Kidney Girl,’ Keeley admitted.

  ‘Whoa! It must be a record.’

  Keeley smiled. ‘We might need to phone Guinness.’

  She couldn’t deny, despite feeling like a bubbling ball of mercury waiting to rise up the thermometer, it had been on her mind the whole time Ethan had been stripping her of her clothes in his bedroom. She was going to be naked, fully exposed, for the first time since the accident. Would he find her scars off-putting – the four almost dent-like marks at her centre and the other longer curved scars at one side of her body. Would he ask about them? And if he did ask, what would she say? In the end, this morning, while she was dressing again and wanting to leave before Jeanne awoke, Ethan had finally asked her about them and she had given him the only answer she was ready to at the moment.

  ‘He kissed my scars,’ Keeley told Rach, the memory of Ethan’s hot mouth tracing every line making her shiver all over again. ‘And this morning he asked me what had happened.’

  Rach shifted forward on her seat. ‘What did you say?’

  Keeley smiled. ‘I told him if he thought my scars were bad he should have seen the shark.’

  Rach laughed.

  Keeley knew she had to tell Ethan the truth. She also knew she wanted to tell him the truth. But telling him would mean talking about her weakened immunity, her probable need for further transplants and her shorter-than-average life expectancy. She just wanted to complete one perfect Paris night without any of those complications. That wasn’t a lot of ask for, was it?

  ‘What did he say to that?’ Rach asked her.

  ‘He said he was never going to go swimming with me,’ Keeley answered.

  Fifty-Five

  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Opera District, Paris

  Ethan had never felt so energised. Suddenly he felt he had become superhuman. Today he was the personification of organised and capable, the leader of the hotel he should have been when they went through the despair of losing Ferne. He placed a deep green velvet chair in the corner of the dining room, next to the fireplace he had got Jeanne to decorate with whimsical ornaments that looked like they might have come from the circus. Bright turquoise fir cones mingled with nickel bells and dancing fairies on strings, aged Santas on sleighs and red apples with silver centres reflected the flames flickering in the grate. An old-fashioned radio with big chunky buttons on the mantle was playing a festive soundtrack as Ethan worked, making tweaks, re-arranging, bringing in more pieces from the hotel’s garage.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  It was Louis’s voice, audible from the dining area, even above the music, but definitely coming from reception. Ethan straightened the collar of his shirt as well as his demeanour and headed out of the room.

  ‘Antoine, why are there rabbits in the reception area?’ Louis boomed. ‘And why are guests touching them?’

  Before his concierge could reply Ethan stepped up and stepped in. ‘Christmas, Louis, it is all about “birth” and “new life”. And it is also about children. The festive petting area is somewhere the kids staying here can share a hands-on experience with their family.’ Ethan smiled. ‘Happy family, Happy Christmas.’

  ‘This,’ Louis began, his cheeks turning so red Ethan wondered if the man might have an allergy to rabbits as well as penguins, ‘is a health and safety disaster waiting to happen! Animals! In a five-star hotel!’ Louis scoffed. ‘Is this a joke? Some sort of twisted payback about the animal shelter inheriting a share of the hotels?’

  ‘What?’ Antoine gasped. Ethan noticed his concierge was now wearing latex gloves.

  It was Ethan’s turn to be angry now. He put a hand on Louis’s shoulder and moved him towards the small rabbit enclosure, but away from Antoine. ‘You cannot speak of private business matters in front of the staff. It is confidential and it unsettles them.’

  Louis snorted. ‘So, now you are all about the business? Now, at the final hour, when you have been basically neglecting everything my sister built up and running the hotels into the ground for the past twelve months.’

  ‘That is not fair, Louis,’ Ethan said, narrowing his eyes. ‘You know how tough things have been for the whole tourist and travel industry.’

  ‘And I also know you have been spending your time frittering away my sister’s money while my mother has been trying to work out an exit plan from her involvement with the hotels without ruffling your feathers,’ Louis continued, pointing a finger in Ethan’s face. ‘I do not care for your feathers!’

  Ethan bent over the small wooden fenced enclosure and plucked up a baby rabbit, holding it in his hands and smoothing his fingers over its fur. ‘You do not care for anything other than money,’ Ethan said, rubbing the space behind the rabbit’s ears. ‘That has always been your way. That is why you are nothing like your sister. You lack all of her joie de vivre and passion. You left France, you left your family, to chase the cash in the US and you never once looked back. Ferne’s drive was for life. Yours, it is still for dollar signs.’

  ‘Speaks the man who is holding a rabbit in the middle of a reception area! You, Ethan, are ludicrous! And you always have been!’

  ‘And you,’ Ethan said pushing the rabbit towards Louis, ‘are terrified of anything you cannot make into a spreadsheet! Numbers! Averages! Be careful not to actually get emotional about an
ything!’

  ‘You won’t win,’ Louis told him.

  ‘And still you are so stupid! This is not about winning!’ Ethan retorted. ‘It is about taking the hotels in a different direction. A direction I know Ferne would be so proud of.’ He cuddled the rabbit to his chest. ‘Fluidity. That was what Ferne was all about. Smooth. Elegant. Adaptable. She would think always outside of the box.’

  ‘And look how that ended for her,’ Louis bit back.

  If Ethan hadn’t been holding the bunny, if a family of four with two excited children hadn’t bounded over to the pen of animals as soon as they arrived inside the hotel, he would have struck out at Louis’s careless comment and given the guy another red mark on his face.

  ‘Did you even know your sister at all?’ Ethan spat.

  ‘I knew her as well as I was able to know her, with someone else always there. Someone who always seemed to be right there in what should have been my place!’

  Louis’s comment rocked Ethan for a moment and he began to see a different look in the man’s eyes. What was hiding there? Regret? Sadness? Envy? No, it was not possible that Louis might be jealous of him. Unless this really was not about possessions and wealth… but family.

  ‘Louis, I—’

  ‘Where is your plan?’ Louis interrupted, the shutters up again.

  ‘Well, there are going to be many changes,’ Ethan told him. ‘And I am going to showcase them all at Christmas. Then I will present Silvie and the representative from the animal shelter my plan for the development of the chain over the next three years.’

  ‘You have made a three-year plan?’ Louis immediately scoffed.

  ‘It is not finalised yet but—’

  ‘As I thought! The way you always are! All of the dramatic presentation and nothing to back it up!’

  ‘You will see,’ Ethan said. ‘I am going to make the hotels even more of a success and I am going to do it on my terms and… in Ferne’s honour.’

  Ethan hadn’t expected the raw emotion to come rolling up over him but there it was, wrapping itself around him, seeping through his skin, finding its way into every cell until it found his heart. The tiny rabbit was quivering in his hands, and then Louis broke the silence.

  ‘My mother wants you to come to lunch,’ Louis said, still sounding a little stiff. ‘That is really why I am here.’

  ‘Today? Now?’ Ethan asked, checking his watch as he still balanced the bunny in his palms.

  ‘You could not make dinner at the house to meet—’

  He didn’t need to hear any more. ‘And I cannot make lunch today. I have too much to do here. Plus, a three-year plan to finish.’

  ‘Ethan,’ Louis said a little softer. ‘We cannot keep running away from the fact that Ferne has gone.’

  ‘That is where you are wrong,’ Ethan answered, pressing the rabbit to Louis’s chest and giving the man no choice but to take it. ‘I am not running away. For the very first time I am creating a future to run towards.’ He smiled then, enjoying Louis’s disgust at having to handle the animal. ‘Do not forget to wash your hands,’ he said. ‘There is also an antibacterial hand gel station by the door to the bar. Bye.’

  Fifty-Six

  I ned to see a pic. I want to no what he looks lik. Dying girl shud get wot she wants.

  The spelling was all off and that wasn’t Erica at all. There was also an emoji of a skull and crossbones that might have been funny if it didn’t have such tragic connotations. Keeley ran her fingers over the text and imagined the effort it would have taken for Erica to press the icons considering how weak she was.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Ethan asked, pressing a kiss to her temple as they walked alongside each other. They had got off the Metro only five minutes earlier, with their final location apparently a surprise for her. A new crisp layer of snow on the ground, Paris was becoming more and more festive as every day passed. It was getting to that stage where Keeley was becoming accustomed to being here, getting used to speaking a few words of French, craving the chance to have cheese without a disapproving Lizzie look and strolling along the cobbled streets discovering the tourist trail of the city as well as its hidden parts. Including the parts of Ethan she had discovered last night…

  Keeley smiled at him. ‘You’ll think it’s silly if I tell you.’

  ‘I would never think that,’ he assured her.

  ‘Well… my friend at the hospice I told you about… Erica. She… wants to see a photo of you.’ She was blushing straightaway. She might have slept with this gorgeous guy, but were they at the taking photos stage? Which one usually came first in this whole holiday romance scenario? Probably, weirdly, not the taking photos part.

  ‘What is silly about that?’ he asked. ‘Unless…’

  Then he pouted as if suddenly struck by something. How was it fair that a man had lips to-die-for like that?

  ‘Unless?’ Keeley asked.

  ‘Unless you would rather send her a photograph of… Alec Benjamin?’

  Keeley laughed. ‘Do you even know who Alec Benjamin is?’

  ‘I have had a crash course this afternoon. Jeanne hacked into my Spotify. I could probably sing you all the songs.’

  She smiled. This was a man she definitely felt so comfortable with. ‘Would you mind?’ She quickly continued. ‘The photo… not the singing. Unless you want to.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ethan said. ‘A selfie. Come on,’ he encouraged. ‘Here, with the Palais Garnier in the background.’

  The Palais Garnier was a magnificent sight. Golden-coloured effigies stood proudly at the forefront of the roof, with smaller busts in-between and a large green figure at its centre. Keeley was sure Noel would have been able to tell her the history behind it all, but this time she would have to refer back to her guidebook when she returned to the hotel. Sometimes thumbing the pages of a reference in the moment killed the magic. She took her phone from her bag and turned the screen around to capture them both, lining their faces up and eager to get some of the best bits of the statuesque building behind. She felt Ethan slip his arm around her shoulders and draw her closer, that gorgeous, wide smile, appearing on those lips…

  ‘For your friend,’ Ethan said, still smiling for the pose.

  ‘Erica,’ Keeley breathed, widening her smile too. She pressed the button and committed the picture to her camera roll.

  Ethan let a breath go then, cupping his hands together and blowing into them.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Keeley asked him. ‘You haven’t told me where we’re going.’

  He grinned. ‘You are right. I have not.’

  ‘You seem nervous,’ Keeley said. He did seem nervous, or perhaps it was more a case of nervous energy.

  ‘Maybe a little,’ he admitted.

  ‘Why? What’s all the secrecy?’

  ‘Come, I have something to show you. But first, we are going to play a game.’ He took her hand in his, squeezing it a little. It was both comforting and somehow super-sexy. A game? She hoped it wasn’t the kind found beneath the pages of an erotic novel. She might have felt liberated by the complete abandonment of her apologise-for-everything Britishness in their love-making last night but she wasn’t sure bedroom games were quite her bag this soon…

  ‘Now you look a little scared,’ Ethan remarked. ‘It is nothing difficult, I promise.’

  Keeley was trying not to think of all the ‘easy’ half-hours she had spent with items labelled ‘body contouring’. Perhaps she should have asked more questions of Rach prior to this. She had left her friend in the hotel suite, zinging between emails to a salubrious House 2 Home client she apparently had to give attention to even though she was on holiday and ringing down to reception deliberately asking for things not on the room service menu and intentionally calling Antoine Antonie.

  ‘OK,’ Keeley answered a little stiffly.

  ‘Hey,’ Ethan said, putting his arm around her and pulling her gently against him. ‘If you are not one for surprises, I can tell you. I do not want you to feel… less
than “comfortable” about tonight.’

  He had purred the word ‘comfortable’ and the happy sparks were back.

  ‘I trust you that it’s going to be a surprise I’m going to like,’ she answered him.

  ‘Je promets,’ he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. ‘I promise.’

  *

  Ethan’s heart was somewhere between his throat and his ears as he pushed open the ornate iron gates that led into the rear entrance of Perfect Paris Opera. This was one of the reasons this hotel was so popular. Its fabric seamlessly blended between being a large building fit for hundreds of guests, but also with the quaint, appealing throwback features hinting at the villages of France and the countryside. And Ethan was going to make it his mission to do the same for the internal décor going forward. Tonight he had made this garden courtyard just for them, with himself and Jeanne working hard all afternoon to get it perfect. He looked to the windows of the hotel then, imagining the girl and Bo-Bo peering out at them. There was no evidence of this yet.

  ‘Oh, Ethan!’ Keeley breathed. ‘This is… beautiful.’

  Her tone was exactly what he had hoped for. He watched her walk into the middle of the walled courtyard, the trailing ivy still present on the rough, old brick walls at this time of year, strings of tiny golden lights interwoven amid their vines. There were candles everywhere. Plain Mason jars holding tealights sat all along the path to the main building some also perfectly positioned on the small bistro table set for two – a bottle of red wine breathing in its centre – and finally there were half a dozen more marking out the perimeter of the petanque court. Lights on the wall focused their attention on the strip of sand and shining silver balls.

  ‘What is this place?’ Keeley asked. ‘Is it another part of hidden Paris no one knows about?’

  ‘Non,’ Ethan answered. ‘This is… one of my hotels.’

  Keeley turned around then, her gaze moving from the twinkling romantic garden he had made, to him. ‘Is it really?’