Isabel stood at her closet and gazed at the pink tulle gown. She found it at Le Bon Marché and it was perfect for the cruise on the Seine. It was early evening and she was meeting Antoine in two hours. She slipped on a cashmere sweater and wondered why she suddenly felt chilled.
Ever since she returned from Montmartre, she had felt slightly strange. She wanted to read a paperback book, but she had left it on the metro. All the magazines in the suite were in French and she didn’t feel like battling pronouns. And when she went to pour a cup of hot cocoa, the silver pot was empty.
Now she glanced at the brochure on the Catacombs and pictured throwing her arms around Alec’s neck. He took her hand and led her into Renoir’s garden. They sat on the bench eating berries and whipped cream, and she never wanted to be anywhere else.
Suddenly she caught her breath. She couldn’t be falling in love with Alec! But she remembered him finding her glass bracelet at Versailles and appeasing the artist in the Place des Abbesses. He always seemed to appear when she needed him, and there was something about him that made her feel secure. Like when you were sitting inside during a snowstorm and didn’t have to worry about catching cold.
She thought about the first time she saw Rory at Saks. His blond hair curled around his ears and his eyes were the color of emeralds. And Neil was so handsome in his Ralph Lauren suits. He was well educated and confident and was going straight to the top.
She had been certain Rory was the love of her life, and their romance fizzled like an expired aspirin. And Neil gave up his stock options and 401(k) plan without asking her opinion. If she was wrong about Alec, she would be back where she started.
Everything that had happened since she arrived in Paris was magical. The woman at Le Printemps who picked out the satin ball gown and the man at Shakespeare and Company who found the book on French aristocracy and the store in the Marais where she discovered the Hermès bag for her mother. She would be breaking the spell if she ignored the fortune-teller’s predictions.
Antoine was handsome and charming, and when she was with him she almost felt French. Tonight he would propose and her whole life would be like a sparkly Christmas ornament. There would be elegant dinner dances and summers on the French Riviera.
She knew the fortune-teller was right; it was like watching Google stock surge and knowing she had predicted it all along. But why did she keep thinking about Alec when she should be choosing a lipstick?
And Alec was still getting over Celine. Even if he developed feelings for her, he might not want to get married for years. How could she give up becoming Comtesse de Villoy with a château and two towheaded children for someone who was allergic to love? The fortune-teller said she was going to fall in love and marry a French aristocrat, and that’s what she was going to do.
The fortune-teller! Maybe she had meant something else. She had to see her and make certain she was following her instructions. She wouldn’t ask anything specific, like was she sure she was going to marry a French aristocrat and not a man whose mother was British and father was French and who drew illustrations of a cocker spaniel named Gus.
She would just ask her to repeat her prediction to be certain she had heard her correctly. It had been noisy, with taxis honking and bells ringing and children demanding nougat.
She wrapped her scarf around her neck and wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
“I will do whatever the fortune-teller says,” she said, opening the door and hurrying to the elevator.
* * *
ISABEL STROLLED ALONG the Champs-Élysées and admired the twinkling lights. There was the wooden chalet where Alec had bought a bag of gumdrops and the stall selling glass ornaments. She searched for the fortune-teller and her stomach rose to her throat.
Why did she think the fortune-teller would still be here? She was a gypsy; she could be at the Christmas markets at the Place du Trocadéro or have moved on to Vincennes.
A thick fog settled over the Place de la Concorde, and she wrapped her arms around her chest. She bought a cup of hot apple cider and bag of Pont Neuf fries and sat on a wooden bench.
She had a business degree from Wharton and was a respected financial analyst; she couldn’t panic because a woman in a patterned scarf and felt coat had disappeared. But if she couldn’t find her, how would she know whether she was supposed to marry Antoine?
The fries with béarnaise sauce looked delicious, but now she couldn’t eat a bite. Tonight was the most important night of her life and she didn’t want to get it wrong.
A little girl sat on the next bench clutching a doll. She had dark hair and wore a corduroy smock.
“Voudriez-vous mes frites?” Isabel asked.
“Yes, please,” the girl said in accented English. “You are a very pretty American.”
“How did you know I’m American?” Isabel asked, joining her on the bench.
The girl popped a French fry in her mouth and shrugged. “Because your accent is terrible.”
“When I studied in Paris, I was almost fluent, but now I am a little rusty,” Isabel laughed. “Where did you learn English?”
“My mother says it’s important to be able to talk to tourists,” the girl explained. “Especially Americans, they always have extra chocolate drops.”
“We tend to buy more than we need,” Isabel said and smiled. “That’s a pretty doll.”
“My mother said if my brother and I were good, Santa Claus would bring us presents,” she replied. “I didn’t believe her—Santa Claus has never visited us before. But on Christmas night he left this doll and a racing car for my brother!”
“You are very lucky.” Isabel paused. “Is your mother here? You’re too young to be alone.”
“My mother is working. She reads people’s palms and they give her money.”
“What did you say?” Isabel gasped.
She remembered the fortune-teller saying she couldn’t afford Christmas presents for her children.
“She reads people’s palms,” the girl repeated. “She sent me to buy dinner. I had a bag of warm chestnuts and a candied apple.”
“I would love her to read my palm.” Isabel’s face broke into a smile. “Could you show me where she is?”
They crossed the Place de la Concorde and Isabel saw a dark-haired woman wearing a felt coat and velvet slippers.
“I’m glad I found you, I thought you disappeared.” She approached her. “I met a little girl and we struck up a conversation.” She stopped and her eyes sparkled. “She said her mother was a fortune-teller and I knew it was you.”
“I’m sorry, I meet so many people.” The woman shrugged.
“You said I would receive a gift and almost get killed.” Isabel reached into her pocket and took out a twenty-euro note. “You made one more prediction and I have to make sure I heard you correctly. It’s going to decide my whole future, it’s the most important thing in the world.”
“Ah, yes, the pretty American.” She put the note in her pocket.
“I knew you wouldn’t forget.” Isabel beamed. “You said I was going to fall in love with a French aristocrat and get married at an elegant château.”
“Let me see your hand,” the woman took her palm. “You have been busy. I see new clothes and dinners at intimate bistros.”
“Paris at Christmas is everything I dreamed of,” Isabel sighed. “The department stores are decorated like a six-tier wedding cake, and I could spend all day eating escargot at an outdoor café.”
“There is more,” the fortune-teller interrupted. “You met a man and you are falling in love.”
“Antoine is a comte and we met at the Red Cross charity ball. Tonight we’re taking a dinner cruise on the Seine and I think he’s going to propose.” She paused and her eyes were huge. “But what if I’m in love with the wrong man?”
The fortune-teller turned over her hand. “There will be obstacles in the path and a sudden change in direction.”
“There will?” Isabel asked.
“But in the end you will marry the French aristocrat.” She dropped Isabel’s palm. “I see a mansion and three beautiful children.”
“You see, I met someone else, but he’s not an aristocrat at all. He lives in a fifth-floor walk-up in the Marais and draws illustrations for children’s books.” She bit her lip. “So it was very important I see you again. Everything else you predicted came true and I know you are right about the man I’m going to marry.”
“If you follow my instructions you will have a life filled with happiness,” the woman replied. “For another twenty euros I can tell you the sexes of your children.”
“I’d like it to be a surprise,” Isabel said and laughed. “Though I never imagined I’d have three!”
* * *
ISABEL SAT AT her dressing table and had never been so excited. She imagined all the monuments they would see from the boat: Napoleon’s tomb and the Île de la Cité and Pont Alexandre III lit up with gold and silver lights. She couldn’t wait to eat lamb semolina and cooked cherries with pistachio ice cream for dessert.
Antoine had sent a bouquet of pink roses with a card saying he was eager to see her. She debated showing them to Alec and changed her mind. She’d tell him all about the cruise when she returned to the Hôtel de Crillon.
She was so glad she had visited the fortune-teller. Antoine might be part of the French aristocracy, but Isabel had grown up on the Main Line with some of America’s oldest families. They both attended debutante balls and loved fine wines.
His boarding school friends seemed so sophisticated and spent their time flitting between ski resorts, but she had studied at the Sorbonne and skied in Vermont. She’d brush up on her French and buy a few chic sweaters and pairs of boots.
She remembered the picnic in Renoir’s garden with Alec, and something caught in her throat. It had been nothing. She was nervous about Antoine, and Alec was there at the right time. Alec thought of her as a friend anyway; he had no interest in love.
She rubbed her lips with red lipstick and spritzed her wrists with floral perfume. She grabbed her satin clutch and closed the door behind her.
* * *
ISABEL STOOD AT the base of the Eiffel Tower and gazed up at blue and gold lights. The postcards didn’t do it justice. It really was spectacular, with its wide arches and iron latticework reaching up to the sky.
It was Isabel’s idea to meet under the Eiffel Tower instead of in the Crillon’s lobby. She wanted Antoine to catch sight of her standing on the grass bank in her pink tulle dress and silver stilettos.
But she had been waiting for twenty minutes and the damp air settled on her shoulders. She should have worn a sensible coat, but she couldn’t bear hiding the luminous fabric under thick wool. And anyway, she wouldn’t be cold when they sat at a candlelit table eating tarte flambés and sipping Veuve Clicquot.
She remembered reading in an article that nothing kept you as warm as the way you felt in a gorgeous dress. The writer had never been to Paris in December. Her lips were turning blue, and she couldn’t stop shivering.
Now she understood why Parisians disliked tourists; they made the streets so congested. It took thirty minutes to drive from the Crillon to the Champ de Mar. When she paid the taxi driver, he muttered that Americans were lazy and she could have walked there faster.
Isabel slipped the tip she was going to give him back in her purse, and almost blurted out that if all the tourists walked he wouldn’t have employment.
Perhaps Antoine had left a message or sent a text that he had been delayed. She opened her purse and realized she’d left her phone in the hotel suite.
She fleetingly wondered if he had decided not to come, but that was impossible. He sent her roses and said he couldn’t wait to see her! She had to go back to the Crillon and retrieve her phone; there must be a simple explanation.
But she couldn’t navigate the metro in her stilettos and the line at the taxi stand stretched around the Eiffel Tower. She started down the Rue Saint-Dominique and thought she’d give anything for a bowl of hot soup and a baguette.
She peered into a café and saw a familiar-looking man. He wore a red sweater and she realized it was Alec.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, opening the door.
“I’ve been waiting under the Eiffel Tower for thirty minutes,” she began. “But I must have got it wrong because Antoine didn’t show up. I left my phone at the Crillon and I have to go back and get it. It’s impossible to get a taxi, so I decided to walk.”
“You’re going to walk two kilometers in those shoes?” Alec raised his eyebrow.
“I’ll be fine,” Isabel said doubtfully. “I don’t have a choice, I can’t keep Antoine waiting.”
“He’s the one keeping you waiting. And you won’t do him any good if you get pneumonia,” Alec replied. “Join me for a bite and we’ll go back to the hotel together. I know the owner of the restaurant, he can call a taxi.”
Isabel peered inside and inhaled garlic and oregano.
“I could have a quick bowl of soup.” She hesitated. “I haven’t eaten since our picnic.”
“You can’t just have a bowl of soup.” Alec steered her to the table. “We’re at Les Cocottes, they make the best casseroles in Paris.”
“I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” Isabel said when Alec ordered a salad with poached eggs and bacon. There was a casserole of rabbit and chanterelle mushrooms. “But what if I mixed things up entirely and Antoine is waiting at the Crillon?”
“You’re the most precise person I know.” Alec dipped a baguette into tomato bisque. “Maybe he came down with the flu or had an emergency. You can’t flit around Paris wearing something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“I love this dress, and I’m sure Antoine would have lent me his jacket.” Isabel ate baby peas and carrots. “What are you doing here? I thought you avoided trendy restaurants that charge twenty euros for a bowl of leeks.”
“Les Cocottes is a Paris institution,” Alex explained. “All the main courses come in iron pots and the chocolate torte is delicious. Besides, I needed to clear my head.”
“Are you still having trouble getting inspiration?” Isabel asked.
“Not exactly. I left Gus in a diamond mine in South Africa. The walls caved in and he’s trying to save the other miners before they all run out of oxygen.”
“I shouldn’t have suggested visiting the Catacombs,” she laughed.
“I enjoyed it and it cured my fear of heights. I realized I’d rather fall from a five-story building than be buried under thirty kilos of dirt.” He looked at Isabel. “Aren’t you afraid of anything?”
“What’s the point?” She shrugged. “Fear only holds you back, life is about moving forward.”
“It saves you from dying,” Alec pointed out. “God invented it so we wouldn’t sail into a typhoon or swim with sharks.”
“I’ve never gone skydiving and I don’t like thunder and lightning.” Her eyes clouded over. “But the only thing I’m afraid of is not falling in love and being alone forever.”
“Isabel…,” Alec began.
“I don’t know why I said that,” she interrupted. “Of course I’m not going to be alone, I’m going to marry Antoine. I visited the fortune-teller this afternoon; I needed a tune-up. She knew everything I’ve been doing in Paris. She said I bought new clothes and dined at wonderful restaurants.”
“Every tourist leaves Paris with a suitcase of new clothes and you can’t walk half a block without discovering a café,” Alec spluttered.
“I searched the Place de la Concorde and couldn’t find her. I was quite upset, and then I met a little girl and it turned out to be her daughter,” Isabel explained. “Magical things keep happening and it’s because of the fortune-teller. She said I’d have a wonderful life as long as I follow her instructions.”
“The only magical thing that happened is she convinced you to pay her twenty more euros,” Alec grumbled.
“She didn’t ask for money, I wanted to give it her,” Isabel corrected. “Aren’t you afraid you won’t find someone? I know Celine broke your heart and you have your illustrations, but Gus can’t be good at conversation. Don’t you want someone to share baby photos and first dances and high school graduations with?”
“No one looks at photo albums, they click through images on their phones.” Alec shrugged. “And if I had a son or daughter, I’d tell them to skip school dances. Being in an overheated room makes your skin break out and the fruit punch gives you diabetes.”
“But don’t you see, it’s not enough to spend all day in an office and travel once a year to Morocco or Crete. You have to have someone to share it with or you’re like a hamster on a treadmill. You’re not building anything, you’re just running in circles.”
“I don’t mind being alone. I can spend hours drawing and there’s nothing I enjoy more than sitting on my fire escape with a brandy and watching the sun set over the rooftops.” He put down his fork. “What’s worse is finding the person you can’t live without and discovering they belong to someone else.”
“But you have to try again,” Isabel said and looked at Alec. “If you don’t have love, you don’t have anything at all.”
* * *
ALEC SUGGESTED SHARING a chocolate torte for dessert, but Isabel said she had to get back to the Crillon. They sat cramped in the backseat of the taxi and she felt slightly off. Like when you step off an airplane after an international flight and the ground still feels shaky.
They took the elevator to the fifth floor and Isabel fumbled with her key.
“Thank you for seeing me home.” She turned around. “I’m sure Antoine left a message on my phone. Maybe he decided it’s too cold and made a restaurant reservation at the George Cinq.” Her face lit up in a smile. “That’s the wonderful thing about Paris, everywhere you go is romantic. He could propose at the Grand Palais or Les Invalides. Wherever it happens, I’ll never forget it.”
“Isabel.” He touched her shoulder. “What I said at the restaurant, I wasn’t talking about Celine.”
“Of course you were,” she replied. “It must have been dreadful when Celine ran off with another man less than two weeks before the wedding. Neil and I didn’t agree on anything, but he didn’t cancel the wedding. Though when I called him, he didn’t sound too upset.” She paused. “If I hadn’t decided to stay at the Hôtel de Crillon, I wouldn’t have met Antoine. Now I’m going to be a comtesse with a château and three beautiful children!”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I was talking about you.”
Isabel dropped her purse and bent down to pick it up. She smoothed her skirt and looked at Alec. “I don’t understand.”
“When Celine left, I swore I’d never fall in love again,” he began. “I couldn’t stand the pain, it was like sticking needles in my back. But then you threw a shoe on my balcony and everything changed. You’re beautiful and smart and your optimism makes the world a better place.” He stopped and looked at her. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“That’s impossible, you don’t believe in love at first sight.” She shook her head. “You’re probably still getting over a fever. Once I had the flu and thought I wanted to become an astronaut.” She paused. “You mustn’t fall in love with me. I’m in love with Antoine.”
“How do you know you’re in love with Antoine?” he asked.
“He’s good-looking and charming and his family dates back to the fourteenth century,” she continued. “He might not work with numbers, but someone has to entertain the clients, or they’ll take their money somewhere else.” She fiddled with her bracelet. “The fortune-teller said I was going to marry him, and she’s been right about everything.”
Alec leaned forward and kissed her. His mouth was warm and for a moment she kissed him back.
“I have to go,” she gasped, pulling away. “The casserole was delicious and you saved me from getting frostbite.” She opened the door. “I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
ISABEL PACED AROUND the hotel suite and caught her breath. Antoine hadn’t left a message and his phone went straight to voice mail. She remembered when the dry cleaner lost her phone number and Antoine called every five-star hotel in Paris. He’d call any minute and it would all be straightened out.
She walked to the balcony and thought about Alec. He’d rush over in the morning and apologize. It had been the red wine and casserole and the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. Of course he wasn’t in love with her; that was ridiculous.
The fortune-teller said there would be obstacles; she didn’t mean to kiss him. It was like when you ate a bite of nougat and couldn’t help wanting to finish the whole piece.
For the first time since she’d arrived in Paris, tears spilled down her cheeks. She closed the silk curtains and walked to the closet. All she had to do was follow the fortune-teller’s instructions and everything would be perfect.