Indelible Love - Emily's Story

by DW Cee

  Chapter 17

  A Proposal in Paris

  The plane thumped onto the Charles de Gaulle Airport runway and my heart thumped along with it. Finally, we would reunite. Customs would not be a problem, as I brought only one carry-on suitcase barely filled with clothes and toiletries. Jake arrived earlier this morning and probably already checked into the hotel. What our sleeping arrangements would be like made me curious after what had happened our last night together. It would be an awful waste of money to get two rooms, but I knew that if we only had one room, I would not be able to resist him. We’d been apart for too long. My body now longed for him almost as much as my heart did. My willpower would crumble. I would let him choose what he thought best for us, and I would not fight his decision.

  Walking out of customs, I saw the love of my life smiling with his arms wide open. I ran into his arms and hugged him like I hadn’t seen him in years. These twelve days felt longer than the five months we were separated. Even with the webcam, I missed him very much. How different it was to feel his secure arms around me.

  “Hello, my love. Did you have a good flight over here?” Jake asked.

  I looked up at him and responded by pressing my lips against his. I kissed him more longingly than I had ever done. My body desired his touch, his warmth, his passion. Jake appeared to be a bit taken aback, more befuddled than anything else. I’d never displayed such an inappropriate public display of affection. His kiss grew more sensuous as he realized how much I wanted him and our embrace continued. I didn’t care that onlookers were gawking. All I wanted was to love Jake.

  It was Jake who pulled away for the first time. Caressing the back of my head he chuckled. “Maybe I can undo the second room?”

  I didn’t quite understand what he was saying but I held his hand out of the airport to a huge limousine that awaited us.

  “This is not our car, is it? You got us a driver too?” I seriously hoped not.

  “Yes, it is, and yes, I did.” Jake declared.

  “You have got to be kidding me. We cannot ride around Paris in this limo. How embarrassing. We’re not rock stars,” I complained.

  “Get in,” he said rolling his eyes.

  We got to the Hotel Ritz, and opulent was the only word I could think to describe this hotel. Located on the Place Vendome, in the first arrondissement, Hotel Ritz was surrounded by haute couture. Stores like Christian Dior, Chanel, and Bulgari, surrounded this architectural jewel commissioned by Louis XIV. If I remembered correctly from my last trip here, Palaise de l’Elysee, where the French president resides, was nearby, as well as the Louvre and Jardin des Tuileries. There was only one way in to this exclusive square and one way out. This was definitely not the kind of place Sarah and I had stayed in when we were in Europe.

  Extravagant and unnecessary, but a nice way to travel, I had to admit.

  Jake had already checked us in and took me up to my room. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, we had two adjoining rooms. Waiting for me in my room was a bathtub filled with rose petals with lavender scented candles lit all around it. Water fell from the mouth of a gold swan as Jake added more hot water to my bath.

  “Why don’t you unwind a bit and we’ll start our trip after your bath,” he offered.

  “Thank you, Jake. You know, you’re spoiling me. I can really get used to this,” I answered in a dreamy way.

  A girl could really get used to living in such luxury with the man of her dreams.

  “It can all be yours if you like, my love. No one is stopping you.”

  While I thought about those words, Jake started toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, waking from my thoughts.

  “Um, out to give you some privacy. Do you want me to stay?” he mused.

  Tempted, but resisting the urge, I asked, “No, I mean where will you be while I’m taking a bath?”

  “I need to stop by Boucheron. I’ll be right back.”

  “What is Boucheron?”

  “It’s a jewelry shop,” he said quickly shutting the door behind him.

  Jewelry shop? Why would he be going to a jewelry shop? Maybe he was going to propose to me in Paris? I could only dream, but we had just gotten back together. It was too soon to dream. Having been so adamant about marriage being too soon for us, I probably scared him off that idea. A proposal—no, two proposals—was what separated us to begin with. I wanted to shoot myself for turning down his proposal the first time.

  We would’ve been engaged or even married by now. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Emily, you can be so stupid! But…a jewelry shop? Why? Naw…he already has an engagement ring for me; he wouldn’t be going there for that purpose. Great! He’s got me all wound up when this bath was supposed to relax me.

  The tension only got worse, so with a quick hot shower, Jake’s favorite yellow sundress, and a little makeup on the face, I was ready for the day. Comfortable in this lap of luxury, I started flipping through French TV and patiently waited for Jake.

  Within minutes of turning on the TV, I heard the door be-beep and in walked Jake with a crepe and a cup of coffee.

  “Where did you get this? There couldn’t be a crepe vendor in this tony neighborhood.”

  “I stopped by the boulangerie.”

  “Thank you. I was getting hungry.”

  He smiled and handed me my snack.

  “Emily, tell me some of the things you want to do in Paris. We can go out of Paris as well if you like. Give me your list.”

  “Well, last time I was here, I never got to go to the Bastille opera house or Palais Garnier and watch an opera. I’d love to do that this time.”

  “You’ve been here before? It’s not your first time?”

  “Sarah and I were in Europe for a month after undergrad. I assume you have been here many times before?” I knew this was an obvious question, as I couldn’t imagine the Reids not having traveled to France.

  “My mom loves Paris. When we were younger, we used to stay at the Ritz every spring for a month. After we started school, we came during the summertime. Since I was little, they’ve had the same hotel manager here. I’ll introduce you to him when we go to the Escoffier school.”

  Jake spoke beautiful French to the driver as well as the hotel staff when we first arrived. It only made sense that he lived and perfected his French here.

  “Anything else you want to do? I promised you that this week would be your world. Whatever you like, I’ll oblige.”

  “There’s not too much else. You know, the usual…the Louvre, Musee d’Orsay, maybe a flea market. You’re the expert in this city. You lead, I’ll follow.”

  “I like this attitude,” he answered, pleased. “I’ll have the concierge send a list of what’s playing. Right now, we need to go downstairs. We have an appointment with the chef.”

  My questions ceased, and as promised, I followed his lead. There was one thing that made me pause. It surprised me that Jake hadn’t touched me since I got to Paris. Aside from my attack at the airport, we hadn’t embraced. He had been tame for his standards. It made me curious, as well as a bit nervous.

  We met Francois Garcon, the general manager of Hotel Ritz, at the Escoffier school. It looked to be a cooking school of some sort but I thought I’d wait for an explanation before asking any questions.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Reid. Ca va?”

  “Oui, ca va, Francois.”

  “Bonjour, Madamoiselle” Francois said turning to me, “Je suis Francois, le directeur de l’hotel. C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.”

  I decided to use my decrepit French and tell Francois that I too was happy to make his acquaintance.

  “Bonjour, Je suis Emily Logan. Il est très agréable de vous rencontrer aussi,” I proudly uttered.

  “Ah, vous parlez Francaises?” Francois asked.

  “You speak French?” Jake asked, quite surprised.

  “Oui, je parle un peu.”

  Telling Francois and Jake that I spoke a little was about the
extent of our conversation in French. I couldn’t keep up with the two of them as they conversed the entire time in French. Here and there, Jake would break the flow of his conversation and ask me what kind of lesson I would prefer. My choices were basic French cooking, pastry making, and even flower arranging. I chose to work with the chef de pâtisserie and learn dessert.

  We spent four hours making French baguettes from scratch, croissants, crème brûlée, strawberry savarin, mocha pot de crème, apple tarte tatin, lemon soufflé, crepes, and even profiteroles. I was so in my element in the kitchen. I loved it, and Jake enjoyed watching me have fun. What was even better than making the desserts was of course eating them. The school set up a table for us in the kitchen and we ate every dessert we made. The pastry chef packed up what we did not finish and we walked out to the square hoping to relieve our distended stomach.

  We walked quietly, hand in hand, toward the Tuileries Garden.

  Jake turned to me and asked, “What are you thinking right now?”

  “I was thinking that our private lesson at the Escoffier was about the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life!”

  “You liked it that much?” Jake seemed quite surprised that a cooking school would make such an impression on me.

  “If life would have turned out differently for me when I was younger, I probably would’ve gone to cooking school after undergrad. I feel most comfortable in a kitchen. Maybe one day when I’m retired, I’ll enroll in a cooking school just for fun. Thanks to you, I’ve checked off another thing I’ve always wanted to do. Thank you.”

  Jake stopped walking and turned to look at me. I saw that same sadness in his eyes again. He was imaging what my life must have been like after I’d lost my parents. He stroked my cheeks with the back of his two fingers and lovingly gazed into my eyes. At first, I was uncomfortable standing so still in the middle of a busy street. But with the touch of his lips, I knew that Jake would make up for me the life that he thought I’d missed.

  I broke out of our embrace and asked, “What’s next? This is so much fun! I might never want to leave.”

  Jake laughed and walked me toward Chanel.

  “What’s at Chanel?”

  “We’re going to eat at Alain Ducasse’s Le Jules Vernes at the Eiffel Tower tonight. You need to pick out a dress.”

  “What about you?”

  “I brought a suit. If you can’t find a dress here, we can go to another store.”

  I couldn’t imagine not finding something that I liked at Chanel. The only dilemma I’d foresee was the price tag.

  “Jake, I can’t buy a dress at Chanel. Let’s go somewhere else. This is way out of my comfort zone.” Spending an insane amount of money on a dress I’d wear once screamed against my common sense.

  “Love, I have one dress picked out for you already. Will you humor me and try it on? I’d like to see what it looks on you.” His encouraging words nudged me into an unapproachable shop.

  The sales gals led me to a dressing room and had me try on a modern version of Coco Chanel’s little black dress. This sleeveless black wool dress was cut above the knee with a simple buttoned belt sewn into the dress. The skirt of the dress had loose pleats that gave it a slightly bouffant feel. The dress was perfect. In addition, the sales lady picked out a pair of muted white patent leather boots with a thin strip of black patent leather at the top that came up about one inch above my knee. Truth be told, I loved the outfit. Minus the sunglasses, pearl choker, and an updo, I felt like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I stepped out of the dressing room to show Jake.

  “You look stunning!” He enunciated each of the three words.

  “We’ll take the entire outfit,” he said to the lady.

  Watching Jake pay for the dress—in addition to this entire trip—made me horribly uncomfortable. When this trip was initially planned, details of who would pay for what, never arose, as all I wanted was to be with Jake. Now that this fantasy has come true, I needed to have an awkward conversation with him and tell him I had no financial expectations from him. The Ritz, private cooking lessons, a Chanel dress, and dinner at Alain Ducasse’s restaurant did not feel right in my world. I couldn’t deny enjoying the indulgence, but the impropriety of delighting in such luxuries made me feel guilty.

  As we walked out of the store, Jake immediately sensed the change in my mood.

  “Do you not like the dress? Are you upset I didn’t give you a choice in this matter? I just thought you looked so stunning…” Jake worried too much about my feelings at times.

  “No, no. I love the dress. It’s beautiful and practical as well. I can wear it multiple times.”

  “Then why do you look unhappy?”

  “It’s just…this trip…we never discussed how we’d pay for it. Please don’t feel obligated to provide everything for me. I’d like to pay for something…”

  “Emily!” he cut me off before I embarrassed myself any further. “The word obligation does not exist in our relationship. What I do for you stems from love and desire. I don’t need or want anything from you but you. What can you possibly buy me that’s more precious than you?”

  “It’s not just the material possessions I’m talking about. You’ve showered me with love from the start. I didn’t actualize or verbalize this love till recently. You’ve taken me on trips, and brought me gifts and I feel like all I’ve done was received. I’m ashamed that I’ve only started reciprocating.” As I uttered these words, I realized how true this statement described our relationship.

  “Emily. Back in New York, when I was stupid enough to go chasing after your ring rather than stopping you from leaving, then back at home, when you left me nothing but a letter and ran off to Japan, I promised myself that if we ever got a chance to be together again, I would spare nothing of myself. Whether material or emotional, what I have is all yours. And I know that materially, if our situations were reversed, you would do the same for me. So please, let me dote on you the way I’ve dreamed of for so many months while you were away. OK? What happened to your ‘you lead and I’ll follow’ motto?”

  Could I possibly love a better man than this one?

  “All right,” I answered. “I love you, Jake.”

  “I love you too. Now let’s get ready for dinner.”

  We got ready in our separate rooms and Jake came over while I was finishing up my makeup. His naughtiness resurfaced when I asked him to help me zip up the rest of my dress. Rather than helping me, he unzipped my dress, and draped his cold hands onto my body. He hands quickly crept up the front side while kissing the back of my neck. I turned to face him and tried to loosen his grip. He had a strong hold on me as he continued to caress my neck with his lips. There was no use fighting this battle, as he was much stronger. Using this as an excuse, I gave into both our desires. His hands traced over my back while his lips traveled to my chin. My hands wrapped around his neck and I brought his head up to join our lips.

  Without a fight, my little black dress fell to the ground.

  At this point my mind waged war on my body. Should I see this all the way through or should I stop Jake now? My body quivered, “Yes!” My mind retaliated with a “No!” Ugh. What a war this was. I wanted my body to win, but my mind was still stronger. I sighed! I’d been patient up until now, what was a bit longer till I got married? My mind won.

  “Jake!” I pleaded. “Jake? Honey? Please, don’t.” My weak plea did nothing to alter his determination. My body was hoping it wouldn’t. Now that the dress was off, his lips and hands ran amok.

  I would try once more and figured if this didn’t work, I’d concede to both of our desires.

  “Jake…I’d really like to honor my mom’s wish and stay a virgin till I get married. Please?” I begged one last time.

  That stopped him in his tracks. He acquiesced grudgingly. He let me go and walked away while I got back in my dress and finished getting ready.

  He muttered something that sounded like, “I gotta get this done soon.” He
was probably trying to find some other way to woo me into bed.

  Dinner at the Eiffel Tower was almost as spectacular as the view. We could see striking views of the city with many impressions of the tower’s intricate metal latticework. It was unbelievable to think that three hundred men built this structure in one year.

  “Did you know,” I said while taking a bite of my grilled sea scallop, “that Sarah and I didn’t have time to visit the Eiffel Tower when we were in Paris?”

  “Why not?” Jake asked, while enjoying his pan-seared veal with crispy spinach.

  “Well, it was our last night in Paris, and we decided to splurge and go have a meal at Guy Savoy. Our meal took almost four hours and by the time we were done, the tower was closed. I’m glad we got to come today. We’ll have to take a picture and e-mail it to Sarah.”

  When we got back in the car the driver took us on a scenic tour of the city. We saw the tower lit up from the ground, and we followed the Seine into the Rive Gauche. Revelers sat outside cafes and brasseries on Boulevard St. Germain des Pres sipping their lattes and grabbing a bite to eat. On the way back, our driver came up the Rive Droit and drove through Champs Elysees again.

  “Today was beyond a doubt the most perfect day I could’ve imagined. I’d be content to go home tomorrow, it was so ideal. Thank you, Jake.”

  Jake looked satisfied that I was happy.

  “So what’s on tap for tomorrow?” I asked with a smile. “How could you possibly top today?”

  “You start your day with more cooking classes. In fact, there’s a cooking class every morning for you at 6:30 a.m. They’ll take you through their entire program in the week that we’re here.”

  “Are you serious?” My arms and legs flailed up and down in excitement as we walked back into the hotel. A few hotel guests turned around to see the crazy American.

  “If you want to do it, show up at the Escoffier school by 6:30 every morning.”

  We stood outside my door and I asked Jake what he planned on doing while I was at my cooking class.

  “I’ll be asleep. You can bring me breakfast every morning when you’re done.”

  “Deal!” I said. “I’m so excited, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  “Glad you like it. Go in and rest. You have an early morning,” Jake said kissing my lips.

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “I’m only coming in if you let me stay. I won’t have the willpower to leave tonight.”

  My mind fought with my body again. I sighed and let him go.

  “Good night,” I murmured, while kissing him back.

  Today was truly the most magical day, and could have only been better if Jake had proposed. With such a romantic setting as the Eiffel Tower, Jake might have been encouraged to propose again if my first rejection hadn’t scared him off. Oh well. I shouldn’t dwell on it. I appreciated what I had now.

  The alarm went off at 6:00 a.m., and without any struggle, my body gleefully got up and got ready for cooking class. I put on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and the Ritz apron I received yesterday. In class, there were two other students ready for our intensive lesson.

  Today’s lesson: French Sauces: To start, the chef had us make chicken, beef, and veal stock, which would be used today, as well as tomorrow, for our meat course. Once we got all the ingredients in the pot for the stocks, we attempted such sauces as Bearnaise, beurre blanc, and bourdelaise. French cooking definitely wasn’t easy. Chef Geurlaine also taught us to make a variety of salad dressings. We packaged all our sauces and dressings, and placed them in the refrigerator ready to be used with the meat courses tomorrow. By the end of class, I had learned a solid foundation in French sauces—another fantastic morning to an already amazing trip.

  Tiptoeing into Jake’s room, I found him dressed but back asleep on his bed. He looked just as sweet as he did back in Hawaii but this time insecurity didn’t creep into my heart. We were meant to be together, and if in the future our relationship didn’t work out, I’d be content knowing we had a chance. I placed breakfast on the table and slowly crept into his bed and snuggled into his body. He smiled and cradled his arms around me.

  “Hi Beautiful. How was class this morning?” he asked half asleep.

  “Excellent,” I replied with a jubilant voice. “I have breakfast for you if you like.”

  “I am hungry…but am enjoying laying here with you in my arms.”

  “Why are you dressed but asleep?”

  “I got an early phone call so I got ready for the day but felt so groggy I decided to go back to sleep. Jet lag must have caught up with me last night.”

  “Do you want me to leave so you can sleep some more?”

  “No.” He cut me off and let go of me. “I’m ready to get up. We have an appointment with Henri at Boucheron this morning. We should get going.”

  Boucheron? Wasn’t this the jewelry store Jake visited yesterday? Why would we have an appointment?

  Asking Jake what was going on was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t want to seem presumptuous and I didn’t want to pressure him into proposing.

  As thoughts of Boucheron wouldn’t leave my mind, no different scenarios, aside from a proposal, played in my head. Jake stared at me with a smug gaze. Once again, Jake piqued my curiosity.

  We left the hotel and walked to Boucheron. It was excruciating waiting for an explanation that never came. Jake talked about the day and told me that we were going to the Louvre and then to a soccer game after lunch.

  “You can’t come to Europe and not watch these nationals go crazy over their soccer team. France is playing Italy today. It’ll be a great match up. We’ll have a car take us to the stadium.”

  “Will we ever take the Metro here?”

  “Why do that when you have a driver at your disposal?”

  I let out a chortle and thought what a silly question to ask.

  Henri was a delightful elderly gentleman who took us to a small private room upon entering this stunning jewelry shop. I didn’t realize regular people actually shopped in stores as glamorous as this one. Gawking around the main room, I looked for movie stars or some famous person, but to my disappointment, there were no sightings. Henri and Jake spoke in French the entire way into our room. They spoke so quickly I couldn’t catch any of their conversation. I was rather hoping to figure out why I was here. After a few minutes, I finally got an explanation, but this was not the scenario I had spun out in my head.

  After all introductions were made, Jake explained he was here on Gram’s request to get her mother’s ring reset.

  “Oh. How’s Gram doing? Can we call her after this errand?” I asked. “I miss her.”

  “Should we go see her after Paris?”

  “I’d love to do that! Do we have time? By the way, do you have a grandfather as well?”

  “No he passed away two years ago, and she’s been living on her own since. She and Gramps retired in London back in the late nineties.”

  I wanted to ask more questions, but I thought it rude since Henri was waiting for us.

  “So, Gram is about to hand down her mother’s diamond to my mom. It was my great grandmother’s desire to see this ring handed down from daughter to daughter. Gram wants Henri, our family’s favorite jewelry setter, to reset this ring so she can pass it down to her. Neither Gram nor Mom will have anyone touch her jewelry except Henri.”

  Not the explanation I wanted, but I was still a bit puzzled.

  “So I assume the ring is ready and we are here to pick it up?”

  “No, it’s not ready yet. We need your help.”

  “What could I do?” I wondered aloud.

  “You and Mom have the same ring size and I was wondering if you could try on the ring so we won’t have to resize it. Gram thought since we were here in Paris, might as well get it done right.”

  I kept playing twenty questions hoping for a favorable answer but it never came.

  “How do you know your mom and I have the same ring size?” I
asked, with a last hope that maybe I might be the beneficiary of good news.

  “She was the one who tried on your eternity band. That’s how I know,” were the final words that made me stop the inquisition.

  Jake and Henri looked at each other and said something furtively in French and chuckled. I was obviously missing out on their inside joke.

  I abandoned the rest of my theories and waited for the ring. When Henri came back from the safe, he asked me to take off my eternity band and told me he would check it to make sure none of the diamonds were loose and he would clean it as well. I unenthusiastically took off my band while Henri handed the other ring to Jake.

  Jake walked over and held out my left hand. His hands trembled and my heart began thumping wildly. He forced a casual smile and slowly pushed an enormous square cut diamond. I felt a chill go down my spine as he placed this dazzling jewel onto my ring finger. I knew it didn’t belong to me but the glow on Jake’s face suggested this ring was meant to bind us as one. The sheer magnitude and brilliance of the ring made me feel a lump of jealousy as well.

  While I reveled in Sandy’s borrowed moment, Jake abruptly pulled off the ring and handed it back to Henri.

  “Bon! Merci, Henri”

  I had to walk out of the room so Jake wouldn’t notice the tears in my eyes. I knew the ring wasn’t mine, but in my heart, I so intensely wished for a proposal that didn’t happen.

  Jake walked out after some time and led me outside, and we left, just like that, for the Louvre.

  “Jake. What about my ring?” I asked.

  “Huh?” His answer was a bit flustered. “How did you…oh! We’ll pick up the band before we leave.” I was in too much of a haze to comprehend his incoherent thought.

  Francois from the hotel had arranged a private tour of the Louvre for us. The docent led us around the entire museum, and even took us into rooms forbidden to the public. The “fix-it” room was the most interesting of these rooms. There were specially trained men and women repairing paintings and sculptures damaged during a move or from natural wear and tear.

  Though the Louvre was fascinating, my mind couldn’t leave that private room at Boucheron. My thoughts kept drifting back to the ring, Jake’s glow when he placed the ring on my finger, and a picture of the ring on my finger. Jake noticed my preoccupation at lunch.

  “Emily…”

  I heard him call me, but wasn’t paying attention.

  “Emily!”

  “Huh? Yes? Did you need something?” I asked in a fog.

  “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been zoned out all morning since Boucheron. Is something wrong?”

  Ugh! He noticed.

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” I lied.

  “What’s on your mind? You haven’t been yourself. Your body is here but your mind is somewhere else. You can’t even concentrate on your lunch, which is a first.”

  It was true. Jake brought me to a gorgeous tea salon nestled in an old green very French-looking building in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The server explained to us that this establishment first opened in 1862. This was the type of beautiful but unattainable storefront Sarah and I would visit and purchase a macaron or two. A stunning window display filled with colorful cake plates and fun pastry boxes showcasing cakes and chocolates and tartes greeted us. Inside, a delicious smell of sugar presented in the shape of millefeuilles and éclairs and cream puffs and biscuits, paralyzed me initially.

  This place was famous for their pastries, namely my favorite—macarons. These were their “emblem.” At around thirty euros for an array of macarons, I should have enjoyed them more than my French Laundry meal but I still couldn’t focus. Not my monkfish carpaccio with lemon marmalade or the tray of pastries—just about one of every goody the store had to offer—took me away from that ring.

  What to say? Surprisingly, I came up with a legitimate excuse. “I think jet lag caught up with me as well.” I lied again.

  I couldn’t explain the obsession with a ring that didn’t belong to me, and a proposal that never transpired.

  “OK. You’re being awfully strange.” Though there was a smirk on his face, I couldn’t process beyond our immediate conversation. “You want to go back to the hotel instead of the soccer match?”

  “No. I’m fine,” I promised. “Let’s enjoy our lunch and go watch futbol.”

  Jake wasn’t kidding when he said that Europeans were fanatical about their futbol. We sat with the French nationals and regretted not having worn the French tricolor—blue, white, and red. We saw half-naked men with their national flag painted all over their bodies, and long plastic horns called vuvuzela blew every third second, and the Europeans, too, had a chant or a song for each play. Even with such a spectacle, I couldn’t get into the game. I was still in a daze.

  Maybe it was because I didn’t understand the game.

  Maybe it was because the men next to me were drunk and obnoxious.

  But, most likely it was because my head was still wrapped around that little, correction—huge—diamond ring.

  Who would have thought I’d be so consumed with a ring.

  Around midnight, we found ourselves in front of my room, entangled in a kiss good night.

  “I guess we have to separate, huh?” I murmured.

  “We don’t have to. You choose to. Good night, my love,” was all he said as he walked into his room.

  Today’s lesson: Viande et Poisson—Meat and Fish: We used the stock we made yesterday and cooked many classic French fare. Beef Bourguignon, a beef stew, seared Foie Gras, which tasted amazing even at 8:00 a.m., frog legs, Coquilles, and Loup au fenouil, sea bass in a creamy fennel sauce. All of this was a bit overwhelming to taste so early, but again, I enjoyed every moment of the lesson.

  Rather than going straight to Jake’s room, I headed back to my room to give Sarah a call. We had only spoken once since she got back from her honeymoon and I missed her, and wanted to get an update on married life. It was midnight her time, but I thought I’d give it a try.

  “Hello?” answered a sleepy voice.

  “Sarah!” I answered back cheerfully.

  “Emily. Hi! Are you still in Paris?”

  “Yeah, it’s our third day here.”

  “Is life with Jake as wonderful as you dreamed it would be?”

  “Yeah, it’s been incredible. I’m having so much fun. I’m even taking cooking lessons here at the hotel. Jake’s thought of everything for me.” My bipolar mood surfaced with each answer.

  “That’s great, but why do you sound like that? Let me guess…he hasn’t popped the question yet.”

  “No,” I moped. “What if he decides he doesn’t want to marry me after all?”

  “Emily, are you kidding me? This is a man who flew all the way to Japan to reconcile with you. You told me yourself he was miserable without you the past five months. Just be patient and be happy. You’re in Paris, the most romantic city in the world! Being with Jake is what you’ve dreamed of for the last six months. You guys are finally together. Even if a proposal doesn’t happen this week, he’s not going to let go of you ever again. When the time is right he will ask again.” She consoled me the best she could.

  “I know. Thanks, Sarah,” I tried to say in a more cheery way. “How’s married life?”

  “Incredible!” she answered.

  “You two have dated for nine years. Is it really that much different?”

  “Married life is more amazing, more intimate, more…everything!”

  “All right, I get the hint. I’m sure I’m interrupting something very important. I’ll call when I get back home. Bye.”

  Sarah started cracking up. “Bye, Emily. Have a great rest of the trip.”

  We hung up and I promised myself that I would change my attitude. My sour disposition wasn’t fair to Jake. When he’s ready, he will ask again.

  Jake caught me as I was about to walk out of my room.

  “Why are you here by yourself?” His brows creased with worry. “Is everythin
g all right?”

  “It’s perfect! I came in to call Sarah. I was just heading your way. Did you get the breakfast I sent over?”

  “Yes,” he said with a good morning embrace. “Thank you.”

  “What’s on the itinerary today, Dr. Reid? Speaking of, don’t you miss being at the hospital?”

  “Nope. Not when I’m with you.” He smiled. “Today, how about we do a little shopping, and then go to the Opera House? Francois sent over a list of specialty shops. There are two large flea markets we can visit.”

  “Sounds great!” My chipper face was back on.

  Today was a day where I was grateful to have a loaner car and driver from the hotel. At the Saint Ouen flea market in the 18th arrondissement, it took us almost four hours to walk around the entire marketplace. For Sandy, I bought an antique clock, and for Bobby I found an old ink pen. There wasn’t anything to my liking for Nick and Jane so we got in the car and visited numerous antique shops, clothes shops, and shoe and accessory stores in Porte de Vanves in the 14th arrondissement. I had better luck there and found a frighteningly racy lingerie for Sarah and Charlie, which Jake begged me to keep for myself, and a cool hat for Jane at a vintage shop.

  Next, our driver took us to a most charming group of bookstalls known as Les Bouquinistes. Set against the edge of the River Seine, rows and rows of green metal boites, or boxes, sold old and used books, magazines, prints, posters, and pictures. Over two hundred vendors set up shop across the Seine from the iconic Notre Dame Cathedral.

  Upon first glance, every stall looked an identical green color, like the kind one would see in old train cars. We stopped at several bouquinistes before learning that with patience and careful scouring, valuable first edition tomes could be discovered at any random stall. At one particular vendor I found a tattered, leather-bound copy of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities from the early 1900’s while Jake chatted with the owner in mellifluous French. I also discovered Julia Child’s first cookbook that she wrote while living in Paris, and an architecture book of Paris with schematics of all the historical buildings.

  This Dickens’ book caused some consternation as I contemplated first, the price, and second, Jake’s reaction to the receiver of this gift. Julia Child’s cookbook, of course, would make a wonderful gift for Nick; Charlie would love the book of buildings. Knowing I would regret not buying these books I brought all of them up to the owner.

  Jake broke from his conversation with the vendor, and placed his arms around me. “Love, are those books for you?”

  “Um, no.” I dragged my answer.

  “Who are you buying them for?”

  I gave Jake a timid look. “The cook book is for Nick, the architecture book is for Charlie, and the Dickens book is for Max.”

  If I looked tentative, Jake looked unsettled.

  “This is Max’s favorite book and I’d really love to get his for him,” I explained apologetically.

  Jake quickly changed his hurt expression to an approving nod. He accepted my desire to include Max in my list of close friends, and even offered to pay for the book.

  “Let me get this for him,” he said. “I need to thank him for helping us get back together. I might still be looking for you if it weren’t for him.”

  “Jake, that’s not necessary. Max helped us both. He’ll feel weird if you pay for this. Let me get it for him. You allowing me to do this is appreciation enough from both of us.”

  We both looked at each other and I hugged him reassuringly.

  “You are the only man I love. This will never change, no matter what happens. Now…can we go have lunch? I’m starving!” Hungry from a lack of breakfast and way too much walking—the driver had spoiled me—we stopped in a tourist trap and ate moule et frites. I polished off every last mussel and fry, then asked the driver to take us into Ile Saint-Louis, one of the two islands in the river Seine so we could eat at the most famous ice cream shop. Sarah and I had visited this shop the last time I was here. They made their ice cream only from milk, sugar, cream, and eggs. Any other flavor added to the base was derived from natural sources such as cocoa or vanilla. Two scoops of chocolate chip ice cream later I was content to go back to the hotel. We had accomplished much.

  Back at the hotel, the bellhop helped us carry all our presents up to my room. I sorely needed a nap, but instead got changed for dinner and an opera. I dressed as quickly as possible so I would not be in any compromising position like we were the first night. When Jake came in the room, he looked disappointed that I was ready to go. I chuckled to myself.

  “Honey, before we leave, I want to give you something,” I said.

  “Oh?” he asked in a naughty way.

  I ignored his comment and said, “Put out your left hand.”

  I took out a watch from my clutch and placed it on his left wrist.

  “What’s this?” he asked in a surprised voice.

  “I saw this at the jewelry shop and I had to get it for you. It’s a vintage Patek Philippe circa 1944. I noticed that you were partial toward Patek Philippes, and I thought it would look nice on you. You like it?”

  “Emi.” He sounded shocked, appreciative, and above all, touched.

  The look on Jake’s face stirred another layer of emotion I’d never experienced before with him. Sadly, I’d never really given anything to Jake. I’d always been on the receiving end. How selfish of me. I could see why Jake fancied giving me presents. His expression of love and appreciation gave me goose bumps. The old adage of it’s better to give than to receive rang true right now.

  “When did you get this? I don’t think I ever left your side. Also, this could not have been cheap. Why’d you spend so much money on me?”

  He had many more questions but I cut him off and said, “Let’s go or we’ll be late.”

  Our dinner was located in the first arrondissement. This two Michelin-starred restaurant was located in an exquisite townhouse of a late duke. This historic location produced the best meal we’d had so far, although it was a quick meal, as we were running late. Our server rushed a rustic risotto with frog’s legs that we shared because we were so full from lunch. I deeply regretted having had so many mussels! For our main course, we both ordered the langoustines in an interesting green tea sauce. Both dishes were divine. I could see why they had earned three Michelin stars since 1973 up till recently.

  We rushed out of the restaurant and got to the opera house just in time to watch La Donna del Lago. Being in Paris, there were no English supertitles. It was hard to follow. From time to time, Jake leaned over and whispered the plot to me. After the show was over, we walked over to a local bistro to have an espresso and dessert.

  “I didn’t like this opera as much as Carmen. I think I’ll have to study some more French when I get back to the States. I couldn’t understand anything.”

  Jake laughed at me. “When did you learn French in the first place?”

  “In high school,” I answered.

  “You really can’t fluently learn a language unless you live in that country. You want to live in France for a while?”

  What an odd question, I thought. Why would I want to live here while Jake was back in the States?

  “No. If I were to live anywhere else for an extended time, I’d like to live back in Japan, maybe this time in Tokyo. But, I don’t think I can live too far away from you now so it’s a moot point.” Jake shook his head and laughed at me again.

  Today’s Lesson : Legumes—Vegetables: The French made all their food delicious but heavy. My stomach churned at the thought of eating anymore 81 percent pure fat butter. I couldn’t intake so much fat this morning. I participated but didn’t taste test. An espresso was my breakfast instead.

  Jake was ready to go when I got up to his room. He wasn’t quite his casual self and seemed a bit on edge. I thought about asking him what was wrong, but instead waited to see what he had planned for the day. All I’d hoped was that we weren’t fine dining today. A salad and Perrier for the rest of
the day suited me fine.

  My body felt nauseous when I saw Jake pick up a picnic basket full of food from the main kitchen. The chef packed enough food to feed an army. We walked toward the Tuileries Garden and found a peaceful spot surrounded by flowers. I guess Jake was checking off another one of my bucket list—picnic in the Tuileries Garden with someone I was madly in love with. Jake definitely qualified. He laid out an unusually large blanket and placed the basket in the middle. I followed his lead and sat on the blanket and waited for him to break his silence. He didn’t say a word the whole walk over to the garden.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand the silence.

  “Jake.”

  No answer.

  “Did I do something wrong? You know I don’t like it when you turn mute on me. I thought you promised not to do this anymore.” I spoke cautiously.

  I apparently woke up him up from whatever he was thinking about because all I got was, “Huh? Did you say something?”

  “Jake! What is going on? You promised not to go silent on me anymore. You haven’t said a word since I got to your room this morning. Last time you did this, I didn’t see you for six months.” I was a bit frustrated, but more worried than anything else. I didn’t understand the sudden change in his mood.

  “I’m sorry, Love. I’m just trying to figure out all this stuff that the chef packed. I don’t know which is which.”

  Sounded strange, but I accepted the explanation.

  “Jake, I’m sorry but I don’t really want to eat any more French food. Can we just skip to dessert?”

  Whatever I said brought a frantic look on Jake’s face. He began digging through the entire basket and brought out six beautifully packaged small boxes about 1 1/2 x 1 1/2 x 2 inches in size.

  “What’s in all these fun boxes?” I inquired.

  “The chef made petit fours and placed them in here. They go sequentially. Here is the first one. Open it.” He finally put a smile on his face when he handed me the first box.

  In the first box laid a petit four in the likes of a Captain Crunch cereal box. I shook my head a bit trying to find meaning in this dessert, but was a bit lost. Jake saw my blank expression and began revealing his intention.

  “I guess you don’t remember how we first met?” He sounded a bit disappointed.

  “Oh! Of course. This was the cereal I was reaching for when I bumped into you. Oh, this is so sweet. Do all these boxes contain a memory?”

  I took a bite of the dessert and then gave Jake a bite.

  “Yum!” we both said.

  “It tastes just like Captain Crunch cereal. How fun! OK, I want the next box.”

  “Demanding,” Jake said, while reaching over for the next box. He positioned himself in front of me and handed me the next memory.

  I opened this one to find a petit four in the shape of a taco. This represented our first official date at a Mexican restaurant. I took half a bite of the taco and put it back in the box.

  “Why are you leaving half the taco in the box, and don’t I get a bite?”

  “No. Don’t you remember? You had to leave halfway through our dinner because you got called away by the hospital. The story of our life!” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “This one doesn’t deserve to be eaten beyond the halfway mark. I should’ve known then you were a workaholic…next!”

  Jake just stared at me so I added, “Please?” along with a sweet smile.

  The third box was just an ordinary slice of thinly layered chocolate cake.

  “No memory on this one?” I inquired.

  Then it dawned on me. “Oh, I get it. This is an opera cake. This must symbolize the opera we saw in San Francisco, right?”

  “Ding, ding, ding.” He rang an invisible bell.

  “This is loads of fun!” I exclaimed, while feeding both of us the cake.

  I looked no different than a child opening up presents on Christmas morning. Love and satisfaction filled his gaze as I reveled in each gift.

  The fourth box was an easy one to figure out. The pastry chef cut the dessert to look like waves in the blue ocean with little orange fish everywhere.

  “This must be Hawaii. Too easy. Let’s see what this one tastes like.” We polished off number four.

  The fifth petit four was an intricate Eiffel Tower. It looked too good to eat so we saved it for later—on to the last box.

  I was bummed that this was the last one. Jogging through our memories was so much fun.

  “Thank you, Jake, for coming up with such an elaborate trip down memory lane. And thank you for crossing off another item on my bucket list. You are just too wonderful.”

  There didn’t seem to be enough adjectives to describe the awe I felt for this man.

  “OK, I’m ready for the last one.”

  Box number six, in my right hand, was quite heavy, so I gathered up the other five into my left hand. Using my hands as a scale, I measured one against the five. This last one was definitely heavier than the other five combined.

  “Maybe a pound of butter to symbolize the cooking classes I’ve been taking?” I guessed.

  Jake cracked up, nervously.

  As this was the last surprise, I slowly opened the box. Jake was peering into my face as I saw another box inside this box. My heart started racing, as I knew that this was another jewelry box—like the kind a girl received when a man got down on one knee, about to propose to the woman he loved. I tried to tell myself that it could be a pair of earrings just as easily as it could be a ring. Even if it were a ring, there was no guarantee that it was an engagement ring.

  Then it dawned on me. Oh. It was my eternity band coming back to me. My heartbeat flat-lined immediately with this revelation. Jake must have picked up the band and was going to place it back on my finger. Bummer! I casually opened the box not putting much thought into it, and to my surprise I found Sandy’s ring in there.

  I looked at Jake a bit puzzled. “Why is your mom’s ring here? Where’s my eternity band?”

  Jake took the ring out of the box and declared, “Emily, I can’t imagine anything I would like more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” Simple as that, he proposed.

  It took me a millisecond to replay what he just said to me. It took me another millisecond to answer, “YES!” as I flung my arms around his neck. Jake hugged me back just as fervently. He eventually tried to pry me off so he could place the ring on my finger but I wouldn’t let go.

  “Why’d you take so long?” I asked in a petulant and whiny voice. “You know I’ve been waiting!”

  “Have you been waiting? I hadn’t noticed.” He began laughing. “I rather liked the disappointment on your face each time you thought I might propose but didn’t. Your anticipation put me on an emotional roller coaster every time.” His laugh turned into a guffaw.

  “I can’t believe you did that! How mean are you? You knew I was waiting, but you kept it from me purposely and poked fun at me in the meanwhile?” I pulled myself away from him hoping this would serve as retaliation.

  “No, of course not…well, kind of.” He said, pulling me down onto the blanket for a passionate embrace. Finally letting go, he explained, “Many times I wanted to propose, but I kept thinking of reasons why it wasn’t the right moment.” Facing each other he continued. “I wanted to ask you to marry me at the Japanese restaurant, but it was a bit too soon after we had reconciled. I wasn’t sure you were ready, and we still had too many issues to resolve. Then when we were at the park, I thought about proposing with the eternity band, but I knew that if you had said yes, I wouldn’t have let you stay in Japan, not even for two weeks.”

  “Yeah, I probably would’ve had a hard time leaving you if you had asked that day. But, I was sorely disappointed when you didn’t.”

  “I know. I wish I could have taken a picture of your expression when I put the ring on your finger without much else than a warning for you not to take it off.” He fell back on the blanket laughing at the thought of my churlish expression back a
t the park. “Although I did feel terrible I didn’t propose.”

  “But Tuesday was the most difficult. I desperately wanted to propose to you at Boucheron. The look on your face when I placed this ring on your finger was magical. You absolutely glowed. I used every ounce of self-control not to ask you to marry me that day.”

  “But why? You could’ve asked at Boucheron. That’s why I was so sad that day. I couldn’t get this ring and your would-be proposal off my mind. I was so bummed out. I even called Sarah to grumble.”

  “I didn’t go through with it because I had this picnic in motion already. Also, I didn’t want to give you another haphazard proposal like the one in the car on Christmas morning. I planned a deliberate expression of my love and forced myself to wait another few days. I was actually going to wait till tomorrow, but I couldn’t hold out any longer.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t wait till the last day. You would’ve pushed me into depression if this didn’t happen soon. As it was, I was giving myself pep talks in the morning.”

  Jake gently slid the dazzling ring onto my finger. I couldn’t believe that we were finally engaged to be married. This elation was far superior to how I imagined I would feel. Our connection was finally complete.

  “Wait. Why am I wearing a substitute ring? Did you not bring my ring with you?”

  “This is your ring, my love.” His face beamed as he said this.

  “What do you mean? What about this whole story about your grandma’s ring? Did you make it all up?”

  “No, it’s all true. This ring belonged to my Gram’s mother, and she told her to pass it down from daughter to daughter. As you know, my dad does not have any sisters, so there’s really no designated heir to this ring. It probably would’ve gone to my mom and then to Jane. But, Gram offered it to us. When I talked to Gram in Kyoto, she asked me to wait on the proposal till we got to Paris. She wanted you to have this ring. She was most impressed with our love for each other and is elated to welcome you as her granddaughter.”

  Teardrops percolated. Jake wiped them off and placed his hand on my cheek before kissing me.

  “Gram loves you too.” He comforted me. “Let’s call her. She’s been waiting to talk to you. I wouldn’t let her talk to you, because I didn’t think she could keep my secret.”

  We sat up and Jake dialed his gram’s number and gave her the good news.

  “Hi, Gram. I’m calling to let you know that Emily accepted my proposal, and we’re getting married.” Gram spoke for a long time, and Jake nodded his head to everything she said. “Of course we can. Thank you for everything, Gram. I love you.”

  He just hung up the phone. “How come I didn’t get to talk to her?”

  “She wants us to Chunnel into London right now. Do you mind if we cut Paris a day short?”

  “Of course not. I can’t wait to finally meet Gram.” I said. “But, Jake, shouldn’t this ring be handed down to a Reid?”

  “Sweetheart, you were a Reid the moment I laid eyes on you. You just went about in a circuitous way of becoming one. Mom and Dad have known for a while that Gram had plans to give me this ring. They were pleased it would be handed down to you. And as for Jane, she won’t care that she didn’t get the ring. Her future husband can buy her a new ring. But…this does mean you need to bear a daughter so you can pass it down to her. Speaking of, how many kids are we going to have?”

  “Five.”

  “Five? I’ll be paying college tuition the rest of my life. I’d like to retire one day.”

  We laughed as we headed back to the hotel to pack up our belongings.

  Emily Reid—I reveled in that thought.