Christmas in Paris (26 page)

“She sounds overdressed for rabbit stew.” Mathieu perched on an armchair. “What happened next?”

“We took a taxi back to the Crillon.” He rubbed his brow. “I couldn't stop myself, I told her I was falling in love with her. I kissed her and she kissed me back. And then…”

“You didn't?” Mathieu glanced through the bedroom door at the four-poster bed.

“Of course not! I wouldn't dream of it until we know each better,” Alec spluttered. “She thanked me for the casserole and said she'd be sure to see me tomorrow.”

“You should open a bottle of Dom Pérignon!” Mathieu congratulated him. “Ask the Hôtel de Crillon to pack a picnic and rent a hot air balloon. There's nothing more romantic than nibbling chocolate-covered strawberries high above the Pont des Arts.”

“Even if Isabel has feelings for me, she won't do anything about them,” Alec explained. “She visited the fortune-teller again and the woman told Isabel she's going to marry a French aristocrat and have three beautiful children. I wouldn't be surprised if Isabel was at Cartier picking out silver rattles.”

“But
you
are a French aristocrat,” Mathieu reminded him. “Now is the time to tell her. Claudia can stay at 40 Rue de Passy, all your problems will be solved.”

“Isabel would never speak to me again if she knew I lied.” Alec shook his head. “And I still wouldn't know if she said yes because she loved me or because of my title. It's useless, Antoine is going to propose and I'll be invited to the wedding.” He tore open a packet of peanuts. “Maybe I can regift the Limoges soup tureens Celine's aunt gave us as a wedding gift.”

“You must tell Isabel sometime,” Mathieu insisted. “There's only one thing you can do. You have to ask Isabel to marry you before Antoine proposes.”

“Ask Isabel to marry me after one kiss?”

“Romeo was willing to give his life for Juliet.” Mathieu looked at Alec. “Do you love her?”

Alec sank onto the sofa and wished the word “love” could be stricken from the dictionary. But could he imagine a world without Isabel's sparkling eyes and bright smile? He pictured her saying good-bye and his heart turned over.

“Yes, I love her,” he whispered.

“If you think Antoine is going to propose, you have to act fast,” Mathieu began. “You are staying at the most exclusive hotel in Paris. Litter the floor with rose petals and order room service sautéed scallops and mimosas. You can propose on the balcony overlooking the Champs-Élysées.”

“You should have a second job as a wedding planner,” Alec muttered.

When had he ever risked anything? Even proposing to Celine wasn't a risk because he had been certain she would say no. She had to repeat herself before he realized she was agreeing to marry him.

But he couldn't make Gus fly World War I airplanes forever if he wasn't willing to take a chance. At some point he had to take control of his own life or the children who read about Gus the Cocker Spaniel would realize he was a fraud.

He wiped his brow and nodded. “I'll do it.”

“Now you need a ring.” Mathieu beamed. “Your grandmother's sapphire-and-diamond ring is perfect. Do you have it, or did you give it back to your mother?”

Alec rubbed his brow. “I think Celine took it to Australia.”

“You let your ex-fiancée leave the country with a family heirloom?”

“You know how careless Celine is about jewelry.” Alec shrugged. “She probably forgot she was wearing it. I'm sure she'll send it back, Patrick probably gave her a diamond the size of a cricket ball.”

“My guy at Van Cleef and Arpels is on vacation until January.” Mathieu hesitated. “Run down to Chopard's and ask the salesgirl to pick out something.”

“My bank account is almost empty and my credit card couldn't afford a silver dessertspoon.”

“The Crillon's gift shop must have an emerald-cut diamond on a platinum band,” Mathieu suggested. “You can charge it to the suite.”

“Celine's father can't pay for Isabel's engagement ring!” Alec spluttered.

“She owes it to you for pain and suffering,” Mathieu insisted. “You can't propose without a ring. Isabel won't think you're serious if you whisper ‘Will you marry me?' over chocolate soufflé.”

“I know the perfect ring.” Alec jumped up. “You stay here and make sure Isabel doesn't leave her suite.”

“She's not here, I ran into her in the lobby,” Mathieu said. “We had a nice conversation. She was on her way to Galeries Lafayette to buy a ball gown. She's attending the Imperial Ball at the Grand Hotel; it's quite the event. Even Helene couldn't get an invitation.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Alec demanded. “Antoine must have invited her. I'm sure he's going to propose.”

“What are you going to do?” Mathieu asked.

Alec grabbed his jacket and opened the door. “I'm going to stop her.”

*   *   *

ALEC CROSSED THE
Boulevard Haussmann and opened the double glass doors of Galeries Lafayette. Ivory columns reached the ceiling and the counters were littered with gold and silver boxes.

When he was a child, his mother brought him every year to see the giant upside-down Christmas tree with its jeweled ornaments. It was like a pharaoh's tomb transported to a Paris department store.

He remembered riding the escalator to the basement and selecting his favorite Alain Ducasse chocolate. It was impossible to choose between hazelnut nougat and orange marzipan. He thought he was the luckiest boy in the world until his mother asked what flavor Bettina would like and he was reminded of his sister.

Now he took the escalator to the fourth floor and felt like Clark Kent becoming Superman. He was going to find Isabel and ask her to marry him. He pictured telling his mother she could stay in her house and his heart swelled. That would be the icing on the wedding cake.

He searched the aisles and his heart raced. What if Isabel had already picked out a gown and was back at the Crillon?

God, Paris really had the most amazing women. You needed a seven-figure bank account and private island to just talk to any of the shoppers with their blond chignons and diamond teardrop earrings.

“Alec, what on earth are you doing here?” a female voice asked.

He turned around and saw Isabel holding a silver silk dress.

“How nice to see you.” Alec smiled. “Galeries Lafayette is my mother's favorite department store. I came to buy her a present.”

“Isn't it magnificent?” Isabel gazed up at the blue mosaic dome and stained glass windows. “It opened in the late 1800s and was the most luxurious department store in Paris. The grand staircase was modeled after the Palais Garnier and the Duchess of Windsor was a regular customer.”

“I don't want to buy anything elaborate,” Alec said, loosening his collar.

He never shopped at Galeries Lafayette—what if he couldn't afford a bottle of cologne? He should have waited for Isabel outside and asked her to visit the Christmas markets.

“The first anniversary of my father's death is coming up,” he explained. “My mother has had a difficult time and I wanted to give her something special.”

“It should be something that reminds her of her husband but doesn't make her miss him,” she suggested. “Sort of like when you watch
Titanic
so many times, you don't cry at the sad parts.”

“Every Sunday my mother served brunch with French onion soup and veal sweetbreads and legumes from the garden. My father was gone all morning and she was always afraid he'd be late. But every week he appeared with a dessert from the bakery at Galeries Lafayette: a tarte tatin or crepes or chocolate
religieuse.
”

“That's what you should get her,” Isabel exclaimed. “It's impossible to be unhappy when you are eating meringue and chestnut cream.”

“There are so many pastries to choose from.” Alec rubbed his brow. “Maybe you can help me.”

“You want me to help?” she asked.

“The central heating in the suite made my sinuses act up and I can't taste a thing,” he implored. “I don't want to buy crème brûlée if it's too rich or a lemon tart if it's bitter.”

“I suppose I have a little time. I didn't tell you what happened,” she said and her eyes sparkled. “When I woke up this morning, there were two dozen yellow roses and a note from Antoine. He took a client to Provins and there was a spillage and the road was blocked for hours. His phone ran out of battery and he didn't get home until midnight.”

“Surely he could have used the phone at a gas station,” Alec said and stopped. He wasn't going to try to win Isabel by belittling Antoine, like a politician running a smear campaign.

“He didn't know my number,” Isabel laughed. “These days we plug a phone number into our phone and don't memorize it.” She paused. “But he called and said he was terribly sorry. He's taking me to the Imperial Ball at the Grand Hotel, I have to find the perfect ball gown.”

“The dress you're holding is exquisite,” Alec suggested. “Ask the salesgirl to wrap it up and we'll take the escalator to the bakery. The scent of fresh baked bread and chocolate is intoxicating.”

“I could use a café au lait and croissant,” Isabel sighed. “I've been shopping for hours.”

“About last night—” he began.

“You don't need to say anything,” she interrupted. “It's Paris at Christmas, it's impossible not to talk about love.” She looked at Alec. “I know you're going to be happy for me when I marry Antoine, and we'll always be good friends.”

Alec opened his mouth, but he was hardly going to propose surrounded by salesgirls in shiny jumpsuits and red lipstick. He would wait until they strolled down a cobblestone alley or sat at an outdoor café.

“I'll wait here.” Alec smiled. “And don't let the salesgirl overcharge you.”

*   *   *

THEY TOOK THE
escalator to the basement and entered the bakery. Alec glanced at the trays of pistachio macarons and raspberry clafoutis and was suddenly nostalgic.

Christmas was a wonderful time when you were a child. All you had to worry about was whether the train set was under the tree and how to eat multiple cream puffs without getting a stomachache.

“I don't know how Frenchwomen stay so slim,” Isabel mused. “Everything looks delicious: the French butter cookies and gâteau Basque and cherry
bûche de Noël.
”

“Frenchwomen don't have a heart, they probably don't have a stomach either,” Alec mumbled.

“I thought you were over Celine.” Isabel raised her eyebrow.

Alec wanted to say he was thinking about his sister. But this wasn't the time to tell Isabel that Bettina would only be happy when his mother was sleeping in a dining alcove and sharing walls with boisterous students.

“People say the British aren't demonstrative, but the French can be worse,” Alec said, changing the subject. “My father spent so much time in his study, I thought he forgot he had a family. But he would return from a business trip with a new dress for my mother and a doll for Bettina and the book I wanted.” Alec paused and his eyes were moist. “He died on his sixty-fifth birthday parasailing in Majorca.”

“My parents have been married for thirty years and they still spend hours discussing books and music,” Isabel said. “Every Sunday night my father cooks dinner and they always travel together.”

“The problem with marriage is there are no happy endings,” Alec said. “My mother was twenty when they met, and now she lost the only man she loved.”

“Think of everything she has,” Isabel replied, sampling a cognac truffle. “A son and a house full of wonderful memories.”

Alec thought of 40 Rue de Passy and grabbed a raspberry charlotte wrapped in clear cellophane.

“This is perfect, the pastry is light and the raspberry cream is delicious.”

*   *   *

THEY WALKED ONTO
the Boulevard Haussmann and Isabel looked up at the sky.

“It's such a beautiful day, I'm going to feed the ducks in the Bois de Boulogne.”

“Come with me to my mother's house on the Rue de Passy,” Alec suggested. “You must see the sixteenth arrondissement, it's one of the most beautiful sections of the city.”

Suddenly he couldn't think of anything more important than Isabel meeting his mother.

“The guidebook says it's full of leafy streets and private driveways.” Isabel smiled. “The architecture is stunning, and Gwen Stefani and Bono have homes there.”

“I can't promise you'll see them.” Alec took her arm. “But the gardens and parks are breathtaking.”

They walked up the gravel drive of 40 Rue de Passy and Alec wondered what he was thinking. He should never have invited Isabel to visit his mother.

What if Claudia mentioned that Bettina was going to evict her or Isabel discovered he was a viscount? But his mother would never discuss family matters with a stranger, and she was as likely to mention their title as swim the English Channel.

“Oh, what a gorgeous garden,” Isabel said as they approached the porch. “It's like a Cézanne painting.”

“The house is a little tired, but the grounds are beautiful.” Alec felt a warmth spread through his chest. “Bettina and I used to play hide-and-seek for hours, until I realized she had no interest in finding me.”

“Alec!” Claudia opened the front door. “What a lovely surprise, I was about to visit my cabbages.”

“This is Isabel,” Alec introduced them. “We brought you a present.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.” Claudia took the cellophane package and smiled. “I'll inspect the vegetables later, let's all eat cake.”

“How did you meet?” Claudia asked when they sat in the grand salon. The coffee table was set with a silver coffeepot and porcelain demitasses.