29

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Gabi.”

Eric took Gabi’s gloved hand in his as they followed the maitre d’ to their white-linen table in the sky. A single-stemmed pink rose in a glass bud vase had been placed in the center of the table.

They had taken the private elevator inside the Eiffel Tower’s south pillar to the landmark’s second level, where Le Jules Verne restaurant reigned over the alluring city. The sleek contemporary décor, with striking views of the cityscape and impressions of the tower’s intricate metal latticework, was several levels up on the refinery scale. An aide on General de Gaulle’s staff had secured a reservation for Eric—a difficult endeavor since tonight was the grand reopening following the departure of the German occupation force.

The tuxedoed maître d’ deftly pulled out Gabi’s chair and reached for her cloth napkin as she settled in. In one seamless motion, he unfolded and set the napkin across her lap.

“Welcome to the Jules Verne. A waiter will be with you shortly,” the maître d’ said in a clipped manner before departing.

Eric blew out a breath. The relief of the moment hit him, releasing tension that had been building ever since they had set out for Paris before Libération. Now finally relaxed, he wasn’t looking over his shoulder for the first time in nearly a week.

This promised to be quite a night—dining high above Paris’s darkened skyline just days after the city renewed its love affair with freedom. Gabi looked elegant, chic, and smart on this perfect summer evening. She had brought up her shoulder-length tresses to create a more formal chignon hairstyle by coiling her blonde hair into a classic bun and inserting hair sticks in a crossed design. Hair strands curling next to her ears softened her look. She was the most beautiful woman in Paris and he was the luckiest man alive.

Gabi had borrowed the long black evening dress from Colette’s closet. The V neckline and draping, along with glittering sequins, gave the black satin gown a sophisticated feel. Eric almost felt underdressed in a black suit, white shirt, and pencil-thin black tie.

A waiter appeared with leather-bound menus. Eric looked across at Gabi and embraced her smile, lingering in the warmth he felt within. Never happier or more in love.

“Everything looks delicious. What about this one—Cervelles Au Beurre Noir?” Eric said enthusiastically.

Gabi had a wide grin. “Are you sure? Veal brains cooked in dark brown butter?”

“Ah . . . no thanks.” Eric returned to the menu.

“I think I’ll have the Supreme de Volaille—flambéed chicken breasts in a cream sauce. That’s an entrée that will hit the spot after a rather amazing day.”

“I’ll have the same.”

Eric closed the menu, happy to now focus completely on Gabi. He reached across the table and held her hand.

“It’s wonderful that we have this moment together. More than once, I was afraid that I might lose you. You are the brightest light in Paris.”

Gabi blushed but held Eric’s gaze.

Eric’s heart skipped. Everything felt like fireworks.

They smiled into each other’s eyes, then Eric squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy to be alive and here with you.”

Gabi returned the squeeze. Then she looked out past the panoramic view of the enchanting city. “I imagine that Kristina is home and snuggled up in bed with her mom about now. I’m so thankful she’s safe.”

“She was one brave girl,” Eric said.

“The last person I expected to save her was that Swiss banker.”

“He saved our lives too. But running off with the Mona Lisa wasn’t the best idea.”

“But Wessner thought he had the real Mona Lisa in his arms, just like we did,” Gabi said.

“That’s true. Did you feel duped after finding out we put our lives on the line for a reproduction?” Eric asked.

“I’ll admit it was a shock to find out about the copy, but as Colette explained this morning, to protect the real Mona Lisa she was forced to keep absolute secrecy and those who knew of the painting’s exact location to the barest minimum. Even Colette didn’t know about the reproduction until she confessed to Rambouillet that Heller had forced her to reveal the location of La Joconde in order to save Bernard’s life.”

“Yeah, that was interesting,” Eric said. “Rambouillet earned his keep, working with the Count to hide the real Mona Lisa down in the wine cellar for safekeeping. Even Kristina never knew a reproduction was mounted above her bed.”

“Their plan worked,” Gabi said. “But what’s amazing to me was how the Countess handled this. The Countess knew the Germans would have taken the girl anyway to ensure a safe escape. So to answer your question—Did I feel duped? No, not really. I put my life on the line to save Kristina.”

With an almost imperceptible nod, Eric took a deep breath. “You’re right. It really didn’t matter, I suppose. We had to save Kristina. We can always console ourselves with the thought that if the Germans hadn’t kidnapped her, Colette would have stopped us from chasing the reproduction. Even the best plans are unpredictable, especially in times like these.”

Gabi switched from Swiss-German to French. “C’est la guerre.”

“Oui. C’est la guerre.” That’s war.

From their lofty perch, Eric looked toward the bejeweled city and thought about the irony of those who had died yesterday in a vain effort to steal a copy of the famous painting. He and Gabi had put their lives on the line as well.

Few, if any, would know of their shared sacrifice. Certainly, the French people would never be told how close they came to losing the Mona Lisa. Whatever the reason, the outcome was what he had hoped for, and he was thankful that he and Gabi had survived.

The dinner had been sumptuous, the view beyond description, but Eric’s genteel companionship helped Gabi glow with a luminescence of inner contentment.

When the waiter presented her with the dessert carte, Gabi initially demurred, but Eric playfully urged her to order her favorite dessert—mousse au chocolat.

“C’mon,” he prodded. “We’re in Paris, atop the Eiffel Tower, celebrating . . . everything.”

“Okay.” She raised her hands in mock surrender and ordered the chocolate mousse.

“And a dessert for the gentleman?”

“Nothing for me,” Eric protested. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”

Gabi stared back, mouth agape. “What?”

Turning back to the waiter, she lifted two fingers into the air. “Bring two spoons. We’ll share.”

Five minutes later, the serveur returned, bearing a plate covered by a silver dome. He set the covered plate before her, and with a flourish, lifted the silver cover.

Instead of mousse au chocolate, Gabi saw an oval-shaped navy blue jewelry box poised in the middle of the ceramic dish. She looked back at Eric, her eyes glistening.

Eric moved from his chair onto bended knee. “Will you marry me?” he asked earnestly.

Gabi looked at him, sincerity and love written all over her face.

“Of course, I will. I’m so in love with you!”

Eric rose to his feet and took her hand. Gabi stood and stepped away from her chair. They embraced as the sound of applause rippled through the restaurant. Gabi blushed from embarrassment as well as happiness.

“Can I be the first to offer congratulations?”

Gabi turned toward the voice.

“Colette! What are you doing here?”

Gabi reached for her with one arm, and the three shared an embrace.

“Woman’s intuition.” She winked at Eric. “Aren’t you going to open the box?”

“The box?” Gabi was puzzled.

Colette nodded toward the table.

“Oh, the ring.”

Gabi put her head on Eric’s shoulder and held him tight. “I’ve got all I want, right here.”