the godfather who shows up with a football and lacrosse stick.â
âYou hate organized sports.â Mathieu grinned. âYou said at school you spent all your time doodling in your math book.â
Alec glanced at Celineâs diamond teardrop earring on the sideboard and grimaced. âI wonât let my godson make the same mistakes. If Iâd learned to play cricket, everything might be different.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
ALEC SCOOPED UP a handful of Brazil nuts and picked up his colored pencil. It had been nice of Mathieu to stop by, but he didnât want to think about Bettina and the house on Rue de Passy.
He washed the nuts down with soda water and decided he really should go for a walk. He could stop in a café and have a plate of ratatouille and a bowl of café au lait.
But he had bought Isabel the glass of cognac, and even an espresso was ten euros on the Champs-Ãlysées. He thought fleetingly of giving up the suite and returning to his flat. But then his feet touched the white carpet and he remembered the steaming hot shower and wondered why he would trade a four-poster bed and marble bath for a fifth-floor walk-up.
He sat at the desk and drew Gus standing next to a guillotine. He sketched the wood scaffolding and pale faces in the crowd.
âYouâre drawing for bloody six-year-olds.â He tossed it in the garbage. He selected a fresh sheet of paper and tried again.
Â
chapter four
Isabel inhaled the scent of dark coffee and fresh croissants and thought the Hôtel de Crillon really was beautiful. Everything about her suite was wonderful: the satin slippers she discovered in the closet and the wooden hairbrush on the dressing table and the silver platter of pastries and fruit salad that arrived at the door.
But she had woken up feeling slightly odd. As if sheâd had a dream she couldnât remember. Now she picked up the phone and put it down. She was in Paris; there was no point in calling Neil to ask if he found his warm socks or took down the Christmas tree.
She opened her leather-bound journal and ran her fingers over a photo of an ivory satin wedding dress. The bodice had pink pearls and the veil was Venetian lace. She sat on the upholstered love seat and began to read.
Dear diary,
Today I wished we decided to run off and get married in a chalet in Switzerland. Just a minister and Neil and me wearing fur boots and saying, âI do!â Afterward we would drink schnapps by the fireplace and think we were so clever to skip the church with the huge urns of pink and white roses and the reception with five different entrées and a band that played long after you felt like dancing.
Weâve only been engaged for three months, but already I feel like weâre behind in choosing the caterer and cake and flowers. And the date is more than a year away: we finally settled on a Christmas wedding!
This afternoon I was supposed to meet my mother at the Bijou bridal salon in Ardmore. Models would show us the latest designs by Nicole Miller and Yves Saint Laurent and there would be French champagne and hazelnut truffles.
But my presentation ran late and I couldnât break away to leave my mother a message. It would take weeks to get another appointment and I knew sheâd be terribly disappointed.
I finally sent her a text and went home to the condo. Neil was working late, so I expected to heat up a bowl of pumpkin soup and flip through Martha Stewart Weddings .
But when I opened the front door, I smelled garlic and butter and roasted chicken. I entered the dining room and the glass table was set with a white linen tablecloth. There were flickering candles and a silver breadbasket.
âYouâre home.â Neil appeared from the kitchen. His dark hair was brushed over his forehead, and he wore navy slacks and a white collared shirt. âI was afraid the spinach salad would wilt.â
âWhatâs this?â I waved at the
âYou hate organized sports.â Mathieu grinned. âYou said at school you spent all your time doodling in your math book.â
Alec glanced at Celineâs diamond teardrop earring on the sideboard and grimaced. âI wonât let my godson make the same mistakes. If Iâd learned to play cricket, everything might be different.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
ALEC SCOOPED UP a handful of Brazil nuts and picked up his colored pencil. It had been nice of Mathieu to stop by, but he didnât want to think about Bettina and the house on Rue de Passy.
He washed the nuts down with soda water and decided he really should go for a walk. He could stop in a café and have a plate of ratatouille and a bowl of café au lait.
But he had bought Isabel the glass of cognac, and even an espresso was ten euros on the Champs-Ãlysées. He thought fleetingly of giving up the suite and returning to his flat. But then his feet touched the white carpet and he remembered the steaming hot shower and wondered why he would trade a four-poster bed and marble bath for a fifth-floor walk-up.
He sat at the desk and drew Gus standing next to a guillotine. He sketched the wood scaffolding and pale faces in the crowd.
âYouâre drawing for bloody six-year-olds.â He tossed it in the garbage. He selected a fresh sheet of paper and tried again.
Â
chapter four
Isabel inhaled the scent of dark coffee and fresh croissants and thought the Hôtel de Crillon really was beautiful. Everything about her suite was wonderful: the satin slippers she discovered in the closet and the wooden hairbrush on the dressing table and the silver platter of pastries and fruit salad that arrived at the door.
But she had woken up feeling slightly odd. As if sheâd had a dream she couldnât remember. Now she picked up the phone and put it down. She was in Paris; there was no point in calling Neil to ask if he found his warm socks or took down the Christmas tree.
She opened her leather-bound journal and ran her fingers over a photo of an ivory satin wedding dress. The bodice had pink pearls and the veil was Venetian lace. She sat on the upholstered love seat and began to read.
Dear diary,
Today I wished we decided to run off and get married in a chalet in Switzerland. Just a minister and Neil and me wearing fur boots and saying, âI do!â Afterward we would drink schnapps by the fireplace and think we were so clever to skip the church with the huge urns of pink and white roses and the reception with five different entrées and a band that played long after you felt like dancing.
Weâve only been engaged for three months, but already I feel like weâre behind in choosing the caterer and cake and flowers. And the date is more than a year away: we finally settled on a Christmas wedding!
This afternoon I was supposed to meet my mother at the Bijou bridal salon in Ardmore. Models would show us the latest designs by Nicole Miller and Yves Saint Laurent and there would be French champagne and hazelnut truffles.
But my presentation ran late and I couldnât break away to leave my mother a message. It would take weeks to get another appointment and I knew sheâd be terribly disappointed.
I finally sent her a text and went home to the condo. Neil was working late, so I expected to heat up a bowl of pumpkin soup and flip through Martha Stewart Weddings .
But when I opened the front door, I smelled garlic and butter and roasted chicken. I entered the dining room and the glass table was set with a white linen tablecloth. There were flickering candles and a silver breadbasket.
âYouâre home.â Neil appeared from the kitchen. His dark hair was brushed over his forehead, and he wore navy slacks and a white collared shirt. âI was afraid the spinach salad would wilt.â
âWhatâs this?â I waved at the
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