Well. She and her husband at least spends millions.
After much deliberation, I end up buying the bracelet—gulp, thanks to my credit card—and Manon purchases the earrings. We make our way out of the store twenty minutes later, the both of us swinging our white Dior shopping bags to and fro.
“That girl was so rude to you,” Manon says with disgust.
I didn’t think she noticed. “Yes, she was.”
“Yet you didn’t bother telling her who you were.” Manon pins me with a questioning look. “Why not?”
“Who am I supposed to say I am? Alexander Wilder’s fiancée?” I ask incredulously. I would never throw his name around to get something I want. Besides, would they even care? Maybe back in California.
“Of course, that’s what you say,” she snaps indignantly. Like she can’t believe I wouldn’t use Alex’s name wherever I go. “You are an important woman now, engaged to be married to a very powerful man. You must use his status to your advantage.” She glances over at me once again, a shrewd expression on her face. “Or do you have your own status to use to your advantage?”
I laugh at the thought. “Unfortunately no. I am not anybody special.” You know, I really shouldn’t downplay myself like that. I might not matter to anyone here in Paris, but back home, plenty of people know who I am. I may not be rich and powerful, Manon’s two favorite attributes, but I think I’m respected by those that do know me.
And that’s really all that matters.
“You’re special enough to get Alex Wilder,” she points out.
Not really, I want to tell her. He’s not mine, not in the real sense. We’re just pretending to convince you we’re worthy.
Why are we even bothering, especially now that Alex got the deal? This shopping esxcurison feels like a waste of time.
Yet…it’s also been a realization. I don’t need a lot of money to make myself happy. Look at Manon. It appears she has everything, but does she really? Her energy is frenetic. Almost like she’s constantly on edge. Is maintaining that perfect lifestyle becoming a burden? No one’s perfect, least of all me. But I’m not striving for that.
I’m just trying to be happy.
“I guess,” I finally say, hesitating. Should I tell her what’s really on my mind?
Yeah. I’m going for it.
“But am I special only because of the man I’m with?” I ask her.
Her thin brows rise. “Look at you, Miss Independent Woman. What are you, a—feminist?”
She says feminist like it’s a dirty word. I consider myself one. Not that I go around proclaiming it to the world, though maybe I should…
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I am most definitely a feminist.”
Chapter 32
We check out a few more stores before Manon finally announces she’s through shopping. We make our way to the Plaza Athenee for lunch, and the La Galerie restaurant is breathtaking. Floor to ceiling windows, elegant white columns and the most beautiful tables and chairs to sit at. It’s like we’re not even at a restaurant. The tables are low and long, like a coffee table, and the chairs are incredibly soft.
“This is beautiful,” I say to Manon once we’re seated in the dead center of the restaurant.
Manon smiles, quite pleased with herself. “I told you. They’ll make you feel like a princess here.”
We give the server our order quickly—Manon has to be home within the next two hours for her children—and once we have one of their signature champagne cocktails to drink, Manon leans forward, her expression inquisitive as she studies me.
“Tell me. How did you and Alex meet?”
I launch into the same story I told her mother-in-law last night. He was my brother’s best friend, my first kiss, blah blah blah. Skip over a few details, don’t mention the ex-fiancée, the end.
“And now we’re getting married,” I say with a faint smile.
She says nothing, her gaze sharp.
I reach for my glass and sip from it, suddenly wishing I were anywhere but here.
“He seems very taken with you,” she finally says.
“Oh, you think so?”
“Yes.” She nods, sipping from her glass. “He can’t seem to stop staring at you.”
I never noticed. I mean, yes Alex and I engaged in conversation last night, and there was definite chemistry bubbling between us, but I didn’t realize he was constantly staring at me. From what I saw, he was chatting with Alain most of the evening.
“And he’s so generous toward you,” she continues. “All that gorgeous jewelry from Chanel. That must’ve cost him a fortune.”
“It was costume,” I say in defense of the purchase. I can’t imagine it costing too much? Silver plated and rhinestone jewelry, right? I’m sure he spent a few hundred euros. Okay, a thousand euros.
Manon laughs, a delicate, tinkling sound, and dread twists my stomach. “Costume? Oh no, darling. All of the jewelry you wore last night is from the Camellia collection. 18 karat white gold and diamonds. I would guess he spent around seventy thousand euros on you with that little set.”
I blink at her, setting my glass on the table. The base hits the edge of my sad, empty bread plate, making a loud clinking noise. “Seventy thousand euros?”
She nods, her expression smug. “Close to eighty thousand US dollars, I believe. Makes me wonder how much that diamond you’re wearing is worth.”
I glance down at the engagement ring on my finger, and I clutch my hands together, hiding the diamond from her view. “It belonged to Alex’s mother. It was her engagement ring when his parents got married.”
“So it has sentimental value then.” Manon smiles, though it’s more like a baring of teeth. As if she’s a feral animal, ready to sink them into my skin. “Absolutely priceless.”
The bread basket has been tempting me since the server set it on our table, and I give in, grabbing a roll and tearing it open before I set both pieces on my plate and reach for my butter knife. There is nothing better than French butter. And French bread. I was resisting because of Manon, who’s bread plate remains empty. She’s extremely thin, so I’m guessing she doesn’t eat much. I didn’t really notice her eating at all last night.
Manon watches me with thinly veiled disgust as I slather the butter on my roll and take a giant bite.
Oh, it is so good. I deserve this indulgent pleasure after hearing how much Alex spent on the jewelry for me. And how stupid I must look to Manon for not realizing what he gave me was made of real gold and diamonds.
God, I’m such an idiot.
To keep her talking, I ask questions about her children. But her answers are brief and I assume my questions bore her. So I ask about Louis.
She quickly changes the subject.
I decide to ask her about being a muse for Karl Lagerfeld, and that is the one thing she latches onto.
I guess Alex was right. She loves being the center of attention.
She keeps talking about Karl, and Chanel, dropping all sorts of celebrity names as she describes where she’s been and who she’s met. Some of the names I recognize, some I don’t know who they are, but they must be important. She keeps going until the server arrives with our lunch. I ordered a lobster club sandwich. Manon ordered a tiny salad.
Of course, she did.
I eat my sandwich and the delicious homemade potato chips while Manon merely picks at her salad and orders another champagne cocktail. I worry about her driving, even stating my worry out loud, but she makes a dismissive noise, reassuring me she’ll be fine.
But she’s not fine. I can tell. She has another drink, gulping it down, not eating any of her lunch, and I realize she’s drunk.
“Manon,” I tell her once the server discreetly drops off the bill before dashing away. “I’m not sure you should drive.”
“Please. Do you think I’ll let you drive my car? I don’t think so.” Her French accent becomes thicker the more she has to drink.
“Maybe you can leave your car here. Speak with
one of the valets and see if you can pick it up later today? Or maybe Louis can come get it?”
“I don’t want him to drive my car,” she says hurriedly, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
Panic races through me and I grab my purse, opening it so I can check my phone. “You should already be on your way home. Let me pay for lunch and we’ll go.”
“I’m paying for lunch.” She reaches into her crossbody bag and pulls out a matching red wallet. “I invited you, so it’s my treat.”
“Thank you.” How am I supposed to ensure this woman makes it home when I don’t even know where she lives? And how am I getting back to the hotel? There’s no way I’ll go with her in that Porsche considering how drunk she is. She’ll kill us for sure.
Manon composes herself enough to pay for the lunch bill and I help her stand, slipping my arm through hers to escort her out of the restaurant. She leans against me, murmuring something in French that I can’t understand. She’s acting like she’s in her own little world, and people are staring as we walk past them.
Not good.
We make our way to the hotel lobby, and I steer her over to the front desk, thankful they’re willing to assist Manon with her car situation. They will keep it for twenty four hours, one of them tells her, and she can come pick it up tomorrow.
They also arrange a cab for each of us, one taking Manon to her home, and the other taking me back to the Ritz.
“Thank you for shopping and lunch today,” I tell Manon, trying my best to remain polite. If I could I’d hide out in that cab and beg the driver to get us out of here. But I’m trying to leave a lasting impression on her.
I know she’s definitely left a lasting impression on me.
“Ah, merci beaucoup my darling. I’m so glad you tolerated me during my liquid lunch.” She laughs and drapes herself over me in a sloppy hug. “You are a very mysterious woman. I long to find out more,” she murmurs in my ear.
With those final words, she kisses my cheek, pulls away from me, and climbs into the taxi. The hotel bellman shuts the door for her and she waves at me, her eyes bright as the taxi pulls onto the street.
“Mademoiselle?”
I turn to find the bellman watching me, concern in his eyes. “Did you still want the taxi to the Ritz?”
“Yes please.” I follow him to the cab, thanking him when he opens the door for me. I slip him a couple of euros and his smile grows.
“Perhaps we’ll see you here at the Plaza Athenee next time you come to Paris, instead of the Ritz.”
I laugh. “Perhaps.”
He shuts the door and offers me a wave, and I return it before leaning my head against the seat back, breathing a sigh of relief.
That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but the last few hours with Manon definitely left me feeling exhausted.
By the time I make it back to our suite at the Ritz, I’m surprised to find Alex in the sitting room wearing a silvery gray button down shirt and black trousers, the jacket and tie long gone. As usual, he’s working on his laptop, and the look of relief on his face when he sees me entering the room makes my heart trip over itself.
“I thought you were in a meeting,” I tell him as I set my purse on a nearby chair. I flop onto the couch next to him, closing my eyes.
“I came back about an hour ago. I’ve been texting you.”
“You have?” I open my eyes to find him watching me.
He nods. “You didn’t get them?”
“My phone is in my bag, and the ringer is set on silent.” I wince. “So yeah, I probably didn’t hear them.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You were gone a long time.”
Aw, he was concerned about me. I love that. “It was the never ending shopping excursion and lunch.”
Now it’s his turn to wince. “Was it that bad?”
“Not terrible. Not wonderful either. Manon drank too much at lunch. Like she got really drunk. She didn’t eat her lunch either, which helped her get drunk that much faster.” I shake my head with a sigh. “And she drove us there in her Porsche, so there was no way she could get behind the wheel and bring me back. The woman drove like a maniac sober, I can only imagine how terrifying it would’ve been with a few drinks in her. So she ended up leaving her car there and we each took a taxi.”
“Sounds fun,” Alex says sarcastically, closing his laptop and setting it on the nearby coffee table. I’m surprised, considering usually he keeps up conversation while working at the same time. He’s a multitasker. “Did she ask you a lot of probing questions?”
“Not too many. Though she did let me in on some interesting information,” I tell him, irritation filling me when I remember. I sit up straight, ready to lay into him.
“What did she say?”
“She told me how much the Chanel jewelry was.” I press my lips together, going for the stern, how dare you look.
His expression doesn’t change a bit. Though I do think he’s trying to put on an innocent act. “I thought you knew.”
“I had no idea! I thought you were buying me costume jewelry.” I’m tempted to grab one of the nearby throw pillows and toss it at his head.
He chuckles. “Definitely not costume jewelry.”
“Alex. You shouldn’t have spent that much money on me.” I sound like I’m scolding him, and guess what? I am. “I’m not even your real girlfriend or fiancée or whatever. I don’t deserve any of that jewelry.”
“Of course you do. You loved it.” His voice softens and his eyes grow dark. “And it looks beautiful on you.”
“It’s worth about two years of my salary!” I glare at him and at least he has the decency to appear embarrassed. Or shocked that I make so little compared to him. “Plus, I’m sure Manon thought I was an idiot when I insisted the jewelry was fake.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his expression solemn. “I didn’t mean to make you look like an idiot.”
I know he didn’t mean to but…
“Well, you did,” I say grumpily, crossing my arms and angling my body away from his so I don’t have to look at him. That was the worst moment of the day, and if that was it, then I guess it wasn’t so bad, right? Watching Manon drink her way into oblivion made me feel sad for her. Life can’t be that great if she has to dull it with alcohol.
Alex’s fingers hook around my upper arm and he pulls me in close, despite my verbal protests. So close, I’m practically in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my hair, his deep voice making me shiver. He wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands resting on my stomach, and I realize what an intimate position we’re in. “I should’ve told you the cost from the start.”
“Yes. You should’ve.” He’s in such a good mood, but then again, so am I. And I can’t believe we’re sitting like this, like a real couple snuggling on the couch. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to wear that jewelry again.”
“You have to,” he says as he rakes his finger through my hair slowly. Again and again. It feels so good, my eyelids grow heavy and I snuggle even closer to his chest. “It cost too much for it to just sit in a box and gather dust.”
I pinch his arm, making him yelp. “And who’s fault is that?”
“Mine I guess.” He grumbles something under his breath that I can’t quite make out. “Never knew a woman to complain about a jewelry gift before.”
“I wouldn’t complain if you actually meant to give it to me, versus buying it for your fake fiancée,” I tell him.
Oh man. I shouldn’t have said that.
His fingers go still in my hair and my heart starts racing. I totally just overstepped. “Caroline. I meant to give you that jewelry.”
The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn’t mean it.
Does he?
I look over my shoulder so I can meet his gaze. “No, you really didn’t.”
“Yes, I really did,” he mimics.
“You bought me jewelry from Chanel so I would
fit in. So I would look like the fiancée of a wealthy man,” I remind him. “You told your dad that’s what you did.”
He’s frowning. “I didn’t tell him that.”
“Yes, you did.” I sit up and maneuver myself so I’m facing him. I can’t have a serious conversation like this when I’m sitting in his lap. “I overheard you tell him that on the phone, when I came to tell you that room service arrived.”
Realization dawns, I see it in his eyes and he slowly shakes his head. “I told him that because yeah, it’s true. I bought you jewelry and a bag because I wanted you to look the part. But I wouldn’t have spent that much money on someone I don’t care about. I would’ve bought you the bag and been done with it.”
“Okay,” I say the word slowly, wondering what he means. Is he saying that he cares about me?
“You told me Manon made you feel like an idiot,” he says. “I’ve been feeling like an idiot since we arrived in Paris. I didn’t want to tell you how I really felt because you’d say I was crazy.”
“How do you really feel?” I ask, bracing myself for his answer.
“I care about you. A lot. More than just the friendly feeling I should have toward someone who I knew when we were kids.”
“Alex, that’s crazy,” I start but he interrupts me.
“See? I told you that you’d say that,” he says with a chuckle and I clamp my lips shut, annoyed that he did just that. “Look, I just ended my engagement, and we haven’t spent much time together, but sometimes, you just—know.”
“Know what?”
“When you’ve met the right person.” He takes my hand and links our fingers together. “And I believe you’re the right person for me.”
Chapter 33
Alex
My heart feels like it’s going to seize up as I wait for Caroline to say something. Anything. My confession was probably too soon, but I had to get it out there. We’ll leave Paris tomorrow night so that I can get some rest on Sunday and be in the office early Monday morning.
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