Isabel glanced in the full-length mirror and couldn’t believe she was seeing her own reflection. Her eyes were coated with sparkly eye shadow and her cheeks were lightly powdered and she felt like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina.
She had returned from Versailles and walked past the boutique in the lobby. The emerald Balenciaga gown in the window was so perfect, she felt like it had her name on it. She entered the store and admired the crepe bodice and full skirt. The salesgirl suggested pairing it with jeweled pumps and Isabel handed over her credit card.
Now she fiddled with diamond earrings and knew she had been right. It was a gorgeous dress and Antoine would be pleased. She glanced at the bouquet of yellow roses on the end table and thought she was in a fairy tale. She was going to one of the most famous opera houses in the world and falling in love!
The afternoon at Versailles had been lovely; Alec was so easy to be with. But she felt at times something was bothering him. Maybe he needed someone to talk to and didn’t know how to ask.
Antoine was meeting her in the lobby in thirty minutes; she had plenty of time to see Alec and make sure he was all right. She would insist he order a bowl of tomato basil soup and side of vegetables. He couldn’t get better on a diet of crackers and strawberry jam.
Her phone rang and she answered it.
“Isabel, darling,” her mother’s voice came down the line, “I’ve been calling you, but your phone goes straight to voice mail.”
“I’m sorry, it never seems to hold a charge.” Isabel bit her lip. “I’ve been meaning to call, I’ve been busy.”
“I’m glad you’re getting out and exploring.” Adele’s voice was soft. “I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to stay in the honeymoon suite at the Hôtel de Crillon. I thought you might wish you were there with Neil.”
“I am the one who called off the wedding,” Isabel reminded her. “I actually called Neil yesterday. It’s so strange, you can spend more than a year with someone and then not know what to say on the phone.”
“It can’t be easy for either of you, but I’m sure you made the right decision. You couldn’t get married if you had any doubts.” She paused. “I am concerned about you being alone in Paris. Your father and I went once at Christmas and everywhere you turned there were couples holding hands and kissing. It seems everyone who is in love goes to Paris at Christmas.”
“I was a little lonely, but now I’m having a wonderful time,” Isabel said. “I ate dinner at Tour d’Argent and visited Versailles.”
She considered telling her about Antoine, but it wasn’t something you discussed over the phone. There would be plenty of time to explain after he proposed.
“I ran into Peggy Danford at the florist,” Adele continued. “Rory married a Flemish girl and is living in Brussels.”
“Rory!” Isabel exclaimed.
“It might not be the best time to tell you, but I thought you should know,” Adele said uncertainly.
“I haven’t talked to Rory in years,” Isabel replied. “I’m very happy for him.”
“Whoever thought Rory would settle down,” Adele mused. “You think you’re never going to meet the right person, but eventually you do.”
“I’m not sure Brussels is settling down,” Isabel laughed.
“It was very brave to call the wedding off three days before the ceremony,” Adele continued. “You are bright and beautiful and you will find the right person.”
“Don’t worry.” Isabel glanced in the mirror at her diamond pendant and red lipstick. “The next time I fall in love, it will be forever.”
* * *
ISABEL HUNG UP and remembered when her mother would watch her do precalculus homework in high school. Adele laughed she could conjugate a French verb and reel off the names of British poets, but trigonometry reminded her of Chinese takeout menus. Isabel replied there was nothing simpler than math; you just had to approach it logically.
How could she explain to her mother she was trusting her future to a fortune-teller? She snapped the glass bracelet around her wrist and knew she was doing the right thing. The fortune-teller had been correct about the bracelet and about almost being killed, and now she was right about Antoine.
And who wouldn’t want their daughter to marry a French comte! Perhaps her parents could come to Paris in the spring or she and Antoine would fly to Philadelphia. She glanced at her watch and realized talking on the phone and daydreaming about Antoine had made her late. She would have to see Alec after the opera. She spritzed her wrists with floral perfume and hurried to the elevator.
* * *
ISABEL SHIFTED IN her seat and peered at the stage. The velvet chairs weren’t as comfortable as they looked, and the heating in the opera house seemed to be malfunctioning. It had been so cold in the foyer she wished she’d brought a wrap, but now it was so hot, she might faint. And the orchestra was just below them, so every time a trumpet blared, she was afraid she’d burst an eardrum.
She glanced at Antoine sitting beside her and took a deep breath. He looked so handsome in a white dinner jacket and tan slacks. It wasn’t his fault the curtain went up half an hour late and now Isabel was desperate for a sparkling water.
She should be enjoying it more; she was sitting in a box at the Palais Garnier watching Rigoletto. But the performers traipsed around the stage shouting at each other in Italian, and the female singers wore so much makeup, they looked like they were made of plaster.
The curtain came down and Isabel stood up. It was intermission and they could go to the bar and drink a glass of Dom Pérignon. She followed Antoine down the circular staircase into the grand foyer.
“I read about the Palais Garnier in Fodor’s,” Isabel said. “It was designed for Napoleon III by Charles Garnier and it took fourteen painters and seventy-three sculptors to complete the exterior.” She sipped a glass of champagne. “It was the most expensive structure built in the Second Empire and every opera company wanted to perform here.
“These days people build whole communities online and they can watch operas on Netflix.” She gazed at the baroque columns. “But in four hundred years, what will they have to show except a bunch of websites and phone apps?”
Isabel glanced at Antoine and blushed. The French aristocracy grew up surrounded by priceless art and marble statues. She was acting like a tourist seeing the Mona Lisa for the first time at the Louvre.
He leaned forward and kissed her.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“I love being with you, you make me see things in a new light. I’ve attended the Palais Garnier since I was a boy, but I never noticed the gold leaf on the floor or the cherubs in the murals. I was too busy wishing the program was over,” he whispered in her ear. “To be honest, I still think it’s a little boring.”
Isabel felt a little shiver, as if there was a fan at the back of her neck. Antoine said he loved being with her and she felt the same!
“How could you say that?” she laughed, and her shoulders relaxed. “It’s Rigoletto!”
Antoine went to the bar to get a selection of canapés and a blond woman kissed him on the cheek. She had blue eyes and high cheekbones and a wide pink mouth. He took her arm and led her across the foyer.
“This is my dear old friend Jacqueline L’Hermitte,” he said to Isabel.
“You make me sound like I’m one hundred,” Jacqueline laughed. “Antoine and I attended school together in Switzerland. He was terrible at following rules, he insisted on visiting the female dorms after dark.”
“We were fourteen, we wanted the girls’ supply of chocolates,” he explained.
“You weren’t always fourteen,” she said, and Isabel noticed the heart-shaped mole on her cheek. “At the last school dance you looked so handsome, the other girls whispered that you were going to be a movie star.”
“Jacqueline has a selective memory.” Antoine grinned. “I remember a bad haircut and shaving nick on my chin.”
“We must catch up, I haven’t seen you the whole holidays,” Jacqueline continued. “Are you coming to Chamonix? Pierre and Gustav rented a chalet for the month of February.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Antoine nodded. The bells chimed and he turned to Isabel. “Shall we go inside? The second act is beginning.”
Jacqueline kissed Antoine on both cheeks, and Isabel inhaled Chanel No. 5. She gulped the rest of the champagne and wondered who Pierre and Gustav were and how Antoine could take a month off from the bank.
The bells chimed again, and Isabel thought she couldn’t worry about that now. First she had to get through the last act of Rigoletto.
* * *
ISABEL SAT IN the floral booth and sipped a Kir Royale. She gazed at the hanging potted plants and red velvet wallpaper and felt impossibly Parisian. She had attended the opera, and now she was having supper at one of the most famous cafés in Paris.
She had read in the guidebook that Café de la Paix opened in 1862 across from the Palais Garnier. Patrons lingered over French onion soup and almond sponge cake and glasses of Campari. Oscar Wilde had been a regular, and Marlene Dietrich had her own table.
The third act of Rigoletto was mesmerizing, and when Rigoletto collapsed over his dead daughter’s body, Isabel brushed away tears. Antoine clasped her hand and she smiled and moved closer.
Now she glanced at women in glittering cocktail dresses and remembered Antoine’s friend Jacqueline. She was the kind of woman who slipped on a turtleneck sweater and loafers and ran into the street looking like a supermodel.
Antoine probably knew countless Jacquelines and Aimées and Chantals. Isabel had never been jealous, but she didn’t live in a city where all the women had smooth chignons and pouty lips and smoky eyes.
“Jacqueline is charming.” She ate a bite of veal kidney. “What does she do?”
“Jacqueline doesn’t do anything besides buy lipsticks and handbags,” Antoine laughed. “Her family is a noblesse de cloche and their title dates back to the fourteenth century.”
“She must do something,” she insisted.
“She skis in the Alps and sails on the Riviera and squeezes in cooking classes.” He shrugged, nibbling oysters on the half shell. “I’m sure she would say she is terribly busy.”
“It sounds refreshing, but I’d get bored if I spent all my time on the ocean or tossing vegetables into a skillet.” She paused. “I’ve wanted to be an analyst since high school.”
“I dreamed of being an Olympic skier after I graduated from Le Rosey,” he said. “But I broke my leg and spent an entire season reading detective novels. The surgeon said I’d never be able to race and my father asked me to join the bank.”
“Does your father work at the same bank?” Isabel asked.
“It’s the family bank,” he explained. “My great-grandfather opened the first office on Place Vendôme. I’m the client liaison. I have a pleasant secretary and paneled office and healthy expense account.”
“You don’t actually work with numbers?” She felt something hard press against her chest.
“My job is to make sure the automaker from Munich leaves Paris with a stack of postcards and bottle of eau de cologne for his wife.” He smiled. “It’s quite enjoyable, though too many dinners of cheese soufflé makes you fat.”
Isabel ate new potatoes and her thoughts swirled in her head. Antoine had never said he was an analyst; she just assumed they held similar positions.
And what did it matter if his family owned the bank? He wasn’t like Rory, who flitted from one interest to the next, or Neil, who was ready to give up his career for bundles of hay and a bucket.
She had to trust the fortune-teller. Antoine was perfect and she should relax and enjoy herself.
They ate chocolate with praline for dessert and talked about the French Alps. Every year a group of school friends rented a chalet in Megève or Courchevel. They skied off piste and spent the evenings eating fondue and complaining about their knees.
“I bought you a gift,” Antoine said, reaching into his pocket.
“You took me to dinner and the opera,” Isabel protested. “You don’t need to get me a present.”
“It’s Christmas and I’m with a beautiful woman.” He placed a red velvet box on the table. “How could I not buy something special?”
Isabel gazed at the square jewelry box and gasped. Was Antoine going to propose? Everything about her stay in Paris had been magical; now the fortune-teller’s last prediction was coming true.
“Are you going to open it?” he interrupted her thoughts.
“Of course.” She snapped it open and discovered a pair of silver earrings. She looked at Antoine and her voice wavered. “Oh, they’re lovely.”
“They’re silver snowflakes. I saw them in the window at Cartier.” He noticed her expression and faltered. “If you don’t like them, I can exchange them.”
“I’m just overwhelmed,” she said quickly. “I’m sitting at the Café de la Paix eating Belgian chocolate and raspberries.” She looked at Antoine and her face broke into a smile. “There’s nothing else I want, and I’m having a wonderful time.”
* * *
THEY STROLLED ALONG the Champs-Élysées, and Isabel thought Alec was right; she had to invite Antoine to her suite. What could be more romantic than gazing at the Christmas lights on the Place de la Concorde and sipping aged cognac?
“See that star in the sky?” He pointed at the night sky. “When I was a child, I received a telescope for Christmas and spent all my time studying the stars and the moon. I thought the stars were made of precious jewels and wanted to launch myself in a rocket ship and grab them,” he continued. “Then I got older and put the telescope away and concentrated on tennis and skiing.” He took her hand. “When I met you at the Red Cross charity ball, I realized I didn’t need to go to space to find a treasure. It was right here on earth. You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.”
“When I was six I saw a rainbow from my bedroom window and followed it into the garden,” she began. “I discovered a birds’ nest and was sure the leprechauns left eggs filled with emeralds and rubies. Magic is everywhere if you let yourself believe in it.”
Antoine drew her toward him and kissed her. His lips were warm and he tasted of praline and almonds.
“That’s the wonderful thing about life,” he whispered. “Sometimes the greatest gift shows up when you least expect it.”
She kissed him back and a shiver ran down her spine. She pressed against his chest and suddenly thought the world was spinning.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I have to go,” Antoine sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I promised a client I would take him to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and I can’t get out of it.”
“Of course.” Isabel kept the disappointment out of her voice. “I had a wonderful evening.”
“I’d like to see you tomorrow night,” he said, kissing her again. “Perhaps we could take a boat cruise down the Seine.”
She kissed him back and her chest expanded. “I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”
* * *
ISABEL TOSSED HER purse on the coffee table and sank onto an ivory love seat. The oysters at Café de la Paix were delicious and the walk along the Champs-Élysées was like being in a Cary Grant movie. And everything Antoine said had been so romantic. He was honest and warm, and when they were together she felt as if she was a glass of sparkly champagne.
Then why did she feel wobbly, like when she went outside for the first time after a bad flu?
Did she really belong in a chalet in the French Alps or on a yacht on the Riviera? Could she learn European customs and chat with Antoine’s friends as if she’d attended a Swiss boarding school? And was she ready to give up her position at JPMorgan Chase and Sunday brunches at her parents’ estate in Ardmore?
But then she remembered the empty feeling when she canceled the wedding. She couldn’t bear eating a carton of Greek yogurt and Caesar salad for dinner. And what was the point of going apple picking if you had no one to share it with?
It didn’t matter if she had to learn to use the Paris metro and negotiate with the butcher. Even if her children grew up with French accents and a hazy knowledge of American history, she would have a husband and family.
Antoine was the man she was going to marry; she just had to figure out how to get him to propose. She glanced at the red Cartier box and suddenly her heart beat faster. How was Antoine to know she would consider moving to Paris unless she told him?
She remembered when they were at Musée Rodin and she laughed that she would move to Paris in a minute. But all tourists said that; it was like saying you wish you could spend every day at Disneyland when you arrive in Los Angeles. Tomorrow night she would tell him she always had dreamed of living in Paris.
A bowl of fruit sat on the coffee table, and she wondered if Alec was feeling better.
“I hope it’s not too late to take him an orange and bunch of grapes,” she said aloud. She walked to the window and peered at his balcony. “His light is on and I can’t wait to tell him my good news.”
* * *
“YOU CAN’T KNOCK on someone’s door at midnight,” Alec said when he answered the door. “I could be half naked and asleep.”
“You don’t look half naked, you’re wearing a suit.” Isabel placed the fruit basket on an end table and looked at Alec. He wore a navy suit and white shirt and red tie. “I didn’t mean to intrude, are you going out?”
“Where would I be going in the middle of the night? I’m not a Midwestern tourist who has to see the lights on the Arc de Triomphe,” he asked. “I put on a suit when I get blocked. I pretend I’m sitting in an office, and if I don’t finish my illustrations, my boss is going to breathe down my neck.”
“I thought authors get writer’s block.” She ate a bite of a peach. “I’ve never heard of artists suffering the same thing.”
“It took Michelangelo six years to paint the Sistine Chapel,” he replied. “Creating art isn’t like building a house, it doesn’t come with a set of blueprints.”
“It looks like you’re still blocked.” She picked up a sketch of Gus leaning over a princess lying in a coffin. The princess had long black hair and Gus kissed her on the mouth. “Isn’t this a scene from Sleeping Beauty?”
“There are only so many stories in the world.” He snatched the paper. “Everyone relates to fairy tales. How many family situations remind you of Cinderella, and how many women think they need to be rescued by a handsome prince like Rapunzel was?”
“I don’t need rescuing,” Isabel said sharply. “I just want to fall in love.”
“Ah, yes,” Alec said. “How was the opera?”
“We ate chocolate pralines at Café de la Paix and saw Rigoletto at the Palais Garnier.” She paused and her eyes were bright. “The men wore elegant tuxedos and the women were dressed in jeweled evening gowns and it was like a scene in Casino Royale.”
“Then why aren’t you drinking Drambuie with Antoine instead of eating a peach with me?” he asked, walking to the bar and filling two snifters with brandy.
“He had a prior commitment and I couldn’t wait to tell you my good news.” She paused. “Antoine gave me silver snowflake earrings from Cartier, and I was disappointed they weren’t an engagement ring. I realized if I want him to propose, I need to give him a hint.” She fiddled with her bracelet. “Tomorrow night we’re taking a cruise on the Seine. It will be bitterly cold, so we’ll sit in a dark corner and watch the lights on the Pont Alexandre III. I’ll say I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, I wish I could pick up and move.” She sipped the brandy. “He’ll laugh that I can’t be serious, and I’ll reply I’ve never been more serious about anything. Paris is like diamonds; a girl could never refuse either.
“He’ll take that as his cue and get down on his knee and ask me to marry him. He’ll say he wanted to give me his grandmother’s emerald ring but it’s in a safe-deposit box, so would I accept a token?” She paused. “Then he’ll take off his pinkie ring and slip it on my finger.”
“He wears a pinkie ring?” Alec frowned.
“It’s gold with a red coat of arms.” Isabel nodded. “We’ll have a civil ceremony at the Hôtel de Ville. After the ceremony it will start raining and Antoine will murmur that’s good luck. The wedding luncheon will be at the George Cinq and we’ll take a short honeymoon to Venice.”
“Don’t you want your family to be here?” Alec cut in. “Your parents just spent months planning your wedding to Neil. I don’t think they’d appreciate receiving a postcard with your new name and address.”
“You’re right, but I know they want me to be happy.” She bit her lip. “We’ll have a reception at Antoine’s château in August! My mother can help plan it and we’ll have so much fun picking out the menu and choosing the flowers.”
Alec refilled her brandy snifter and she bumped his arm and brandy spilled down the front of her dress. He blotted it with a napkin and she felt his hand press against the chiffon.
“I’m terribly sorry, I’ve ruined your evening gown,” he gasped. “I’ll pay to get it cleaned.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll send it to the hotel cleaners and they’ll get it out.” She looked down at the gold stain. “But I should go take it off.”
She glanced at the coffee table and saw a sketch of Gus kneeling in front of a young woman in a red satin dress. Gus wore pantaloons and a gold cape and held a purple velvet cushion. The woman had dark hair and diamond earrings and was wearing a jeweled slipper.
“I like this one.” She picked it up. “Is it Gus and Cinderella after the ball?”
“Cinderella is one of Grimm’s best fairy tales,” Alec grumbled, pointing to the drawing. “But my story is completely different. Cinderella is a blonde, and she’s a brunette.”
* * *
ISABEL ENTERED HER suite and unzipped her Balenciaga gown. It wasn’t Alec’s fault he’d spilled brandy on the dress and it was nice of him to offer to pay to remove the stain.
She folded it over a chair and thought she’d send it to the hotel cleaner in the morning. She had so many things to think about: she had to pick out the perfect outfit to wear tomorrow night and brush up on French history. And should she update her résumé if she was going to look for a job in Paris?
She selected a cotton robe and noticed the red satin gown she’d worn to the Red Cross charity ball. It looked so familiar, perhaps she saw a woman wearing it at the Palais Garnier.
She climbed into bed and remembered where she had seen it; it was the dress that was in Alec’s illustration. She pulled the sheets over her shoulders and fell asleep.