Alec pulled back the curtains and gazed at the blue sky and high white clouds. It was midmorning and the Place de la Concorde was filled with men and women wearing bright scarves and patterned sweaters.
He couldn’t believe he’d followed Isabel to the Eiffel Tower last night without telling her. He was like Gus unable to resist a juicy T-bone steak. But he was glad he did. The casserole at Les Cocottes was delicious and the taxi ride back to the Crillon was magical. Isabel had sat so close that he could inhale the scent of her floral perfume.
But now he wished it was pouring rain or even snowing so he could curl up on the brocade sofa with a stack of magazines. He only had two more nights at the Crillon; he was entitled to enjoy the heated marble floors and Egyptian cotton sheets.
But in three weeks Bettina would evict his mother from 40 Rue de Passy. He pictured the grand salon with his father’s ivory cigar box and bottles of cognac and knew he had to find a way to stop her.
He picked up a sketch of Gus perched on a flying carpet. Gus wore a purple velvet hat over his floppy ears and clutched a genie’s bottle. If only he could stuff the fortune-teller into the bottle. Or maybe Gus could cast a spell so Isabel never met her.
He poured a cup of café au lait and thought he really had to stop drinking coffee. It was putting him on edge, and that wouldn’t solve anything. He added sugar and pictured Isabel in her pink tulle gown. God, she was beautiful, like an angel on top of the Christmas tree.
Kissing her had been even better than he had imagined. And she kissed him back! For one moment he allowed himself to be happy. Then she hurried into her suite and something hard pressed against his chest.
This is why he was promising himself to never fall in love again; it was as uncomfortable as sitting in a public sauna. He was sure Isabel had feelings for him, but she was determined to listen to the fortune-teller. She was as likely to change course as he was to fly on a magic carpet.
He was tempted to go down to the Christmas markets and talk to the fortune-teller himself. How could she make Isabel believe she was going to marry a French aristocrat and live in a château?
But that was what was wonderful about Isabel. She had a childlike trust that made him want to wrap his arms around her. He pictured her dark eyes and never had wanted anyone more.
There was a knock at the door and he answered it.
“You look worse than I do, and I got up at five AM to find Helene seaweed mustard.” Mathieu entered the suite. “I found lemon mustard and horseradish mustard, but not a single boulangerie carries seaweed mustard.”
“You might try Japan,” Alec mumbled. “This is why love is impossible. You are a successful attorney who can afford a wardrobe of Paul Smith suits, and you look like you slept in your clothes. We should save ourselves the trouble and join a monastery.”
“Isabel?” Mathieu asked, surveying the empty coffee cup.
“She was supposed to meet Antoine under the Eiffel Tower, but he didn’t show up. I was sitting in Les Cocottes and she walked by wearing a tulle gown and diamond necklace. We ate tomato bisque and cassoulet and it was the best meal of my life.”
“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.
The sun streamed through the French doors, and Alec thought how much he loved the Oriental rugs and faded velvet wallpaper. How dare Bettina think she could refinish floors and knock out walls and replace the furniture!
“I was locked out of my suite and threw my shoe at Alec’s window. If he hadn’t rescued me, I would have spent my first night in Paris on the balcony. I was supposed to be here on my honeymoon, but the wedding was canceled.” She sipped her coffee. “It’s a bit of an epidemic, I wonder how many engaged couples never make it to the altar.”
“Isabel is a financial analyst,” Alec told his mother. “She works for one of the biggest banks in America.”
“In my day, not all women were so accomplished. Alain thought my job was to have his martini waiting and hang up his overcoat.” Claudia paused. “I loved being a wife and mother, but now I wish I had a career.”
“When I was a child I’d rather practice my multiplication tables than read bedtime stories,” Isabel began. “And there’s nothing more exciting than analyzing spreadsheets and feeling like you discovered a map to buried treasure.
“But you can’t hang a photo of a stock trade over the fireplace or sit down to Sunday brunch with clients from Hong Kong.” She looked at Claudia. “What could be better than being married to the man you love and having a beautiful home and two children?”
“You’re right,” Claudia said and sipped her coffee. “I was very happy.”
* * *
“ISABEL IS CHARMING, I approve,” Claudia said, rinsing cups in the sink.
Isabel had gone to explore the vegetable garden, and Alec offered to help his mother in the kitchen. He remembered sitting next to Isabel on the brocade sofa and something shifted inside him. God, she was lovely! Her hair was glossy and her eyes sparkled and she smelled of expensive lotions.
When he was with her, he felt confident and alive. He pictured Gus in a blue cape, flying over the Eiffel Tower. A girl was stranded on the ledge and Gus swooped down and saved her. He set her down in the Place Vendôme and the crowd cheered.
“Approve of what?” Alec pulled his mind away from Gus. Even though he’d wanted his mother to meet Isabel, he couldn’t admit he was in love with her. If Isabel turned down his proposal, his mother would be devastated.
“You’re madly in love with each other,” Claudia explained. “It was as clear as the revolving glass doors at Le Bon Marché.”
“We barely know each other and I’m still paying off Celine’s wedding ring,” Alec spluttered. “I’m hardly looking for love.”
“I came to Paris to sit in smoky cafés and dance in discotheques and kiss cute boys under thousand-year-old arches. Instead I fell in love with a cantankerous Frenchman who was ten years my senior.”
“That was different,” Alec insisted. “Isabel has a good job and family in Philadelphia. Just because she admired your Renoir and enjoyed the raspberry charlotte doesn’t mean she’s ready to move to Paris.”
“When I met your father, my favorite food was Yorkshire pudding and I thought French was an impossible language.” Claudia stacked silverware on the counter.
“If you think I can marry Isabel and save the house, I don’t—” Alec began.
“This has nothing to do with me,” Claudia interrupted. “You’re the only thing I have left, and I want you to be happy. Love can be difficult and painful, but really nothing else matters.”
“I had enough pain with Celine to last decades,” Alec said, suddenly flustered.
Why did he think things would work out with Isabel? He should go back to his flat in the Marais and be content with Gus and the tomato plant in the window box. But he pictured Isabel’s wide smile and knew he had to try. He didn’t want to live without her.
“Let’s go out to the garden, I was just picking snow peas.” Claudia took Alec’s arm. “And thank you for bringing Isabel, it’s wonderful to meet my future daughter-in-law.”
* * *
“WHAT A SPECTACULAR boulevard,” Isabel said. “It’s like Fifth Avenue but with even bigger houses and so much history.”
Isabel wanted to stroll down Avenue Foch and Alec agreed. It really was beautiful with its chestnut trees and creamy stone mansions and elegant boutiques. The Arc de Triomphe stood on one end and the Porte Dauphine was on the other, and Alec felt a sense of pride.
“Your mother’s story is so romantic.” Isabel stopped in front of a window filled with bonbons. “She was a young au pair living in a foreign country. She fell in love with an older man whose wife deserted him and left him with their three-year-old daughter,” she continued. “It couldn’t have been easy, children that age think their parents were created just for them. It’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel.”
“More like a Stephen King novel,” Alec mumbled.
Now was the time to tell Isabel about his family. But what if Isabel thought he wanted to marry her to stop Bettina from evicting his mother? Being in love was like the Phantom Manor at Disneyland Paris. Everywhere you turned there were trapdoors and quicksand.
“But true love conquers everything,” Isabel mused. “Antoine sends a dozen roses every day! It won’t be easy being away from my family, but you can’t expect to find love next door.” Her eyes were bright. “If your mother stayed in England, you would never have been born.”
“My mother is quite Parisian. She might still have a British accent and like her tea with lemon and honey, but she adores French fashion and macarons.” He paused. “And she loves 40 Rue de Passy. It’s like living in the country in the middle of Paris.”
“It reminds me of my parents’ home in Ardmore.” Isabel nodded. “I had no idea that you—”
“Grew up in a large house?” Alec cut in. “You thought because I live in a fifth-floor walk-up and illustrate children’s books, I was raised in a three-room flat in the twentieth arrondissement.”
“Not exactly.” Isabel flushed.
“My father was successful, but I have to live on my own salary,” Alec explained. “My sister might be content living on the allowance my father provided her and having Édouard take her to dinner at Le Meurice. But I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I didn’t pay rent and buy my own groceries.”
“That’s what I said to Rory!” Isabel exclaimed. “His family has piles of money, so he just wanted to have fun. But none of this would have been built if the great architects were satisfied with what already existed.” She waved at the elegant mansions and tall apartment buildings. “And what if Thomas Edison thought gaslight was perfectly adequate or Henry Ford was happy riding horses? We all have to make a contribution, there’s nothing more important.”
Alec looked at Isabel and wanted to kiss her. She was so enchanting, like a young girl collecting shells at the beach. But she might get cold feet and he’d miss his chance.
“I have to go back to the Crillon and get ready for tonight.” Isabel glanced at her watch. “Antoine is meeting me in the hotel lobby at seven thirty.”
“You have plenty of time,” Alec said. “We haven’t explored the Place du Trocadéro or visited the galleries on the Rue de Rivoli.”
“I loved meeting your mother, but I have to take a bath and do my hair and makeup,” Isabel said and smiled. “You can’t prepare for an Imperial Ball by zipping up a dress and rubbing on lipstick.”
Alec had intended on proposing on the balcony of his suite. But what if they arrived at the Crillon and Isabel insisted on going straight to her room? He pictured the room service bottle of Veuve Clicquot and platter of duck foie gras and sighed. Love was so expensive; he couldn’t wait until they were married and could stick to a budget.
But if he dropped to his knees on the pavement, she probably wouldn’t hear him over the honking cars and chattering tourists. Instead of realizing he was asking her to marry him, she might think he’d lost his wallet.
He took her hand and led her down a narrow passageway.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We must visit the Marché de Passy,” he explained. “It has the best organic fruits and vegetables in the city.”
Alec glanced at the baskets of tomatoes and trays of asparagus, and his shoulders sagged. Could he really ask Isabel to marry him surrounded by leeks and artichokes? But at least it was quiet and the smell of cooked sausage was quite pleasant.
He bought a packet of olives and bag of chestnuts. He took Isabel’s hand and led her to a bench.
“You have to try one.” He handed her the bag of chestnuts. “There’s nothing more Parisian than warm chestnuts wrapped in newspaper.”
Isabel put her hand in the newspaper and gasped. She drew out a black velvet box and looked at Alec.
“Ever since you tossed your Ferragamo on the balcony, my life has changed.” He took the box and held it in his palm. “You’ve made me see the world in a new light, and when I’m with you, I don’t want the day to end. I love you and want to spend the rest of our lives together.” He opened the jewelry box. “Isabel Lawson, will you marry me?”
“You can’t propose!” Isabel exclaimed. “I’m going to marry Antoine.”
“I know you’ve made mistakes and think you have to listen to the fortune-teller,” Alec implored. “But you’re beautiful and smart and this time you’re making the right decision. I will spend every day making you happy.” He paused. “You make me believe I can do anything and it’s the best feeling in the world.”
“We don’t know anything about each other, we’ve only had one kiss.”
Alec leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were warm and she tasted like raspberry and cream.
“Now we’ve had two,” he said, suddenly feeling cocky. “If you want, we can have more.”
“The kisses are lovely, but I’ve put everything into choosing the right husband.” Isabel twisted her hands. “The fortune-teller said I was going to fall in love and marry a French aristocrat, and I met Antoine the next day. I can’t ignore the magical things that have happened since I arrived in Paris.” She paused. “If I listen to the fortune-teller, everything will be perfect.”
“You’ll get a good job and with our combined incomes we’ll rent a garden flat in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. We’ll buy a little car and visit the cathedral in Rheims on the weekend.” He paused. “Then we’ll come home and eat chocolate soufflé in bed.” He took Isabel’s hand. “Everything is perfect. You just have to give us a chance.”
“I do have feelings for you…” She hesitated. “I promised Antoine I would go to the Imperial Ball and I can’t go back on my word.” She looked at Alec. “Can I give you my answer tomorrow?”
Alec rubbed his brow and wished he’d learned how to pray. Could he ask God for the most important thing in the world, the first time he needed help?
“Yes,” he breathed. “You can give me your answer tomorrow.”
* * *
ALEC TOLD ISABEL he had to run some errands and would see her tomorrow. He sat at Café Carette and ordered café au lait and brioche. God, that kiss! It was like a movie where the couple kisses in the final frame and the screen erupts into fireworks.
He pictured Isabel attending the Imperial Ball with Antoine and his chest tightened. It didn’t matter if Antoine presented her with the Hope diamond; he was certain she loved him. All he had to do was make it through tonight, and tomorrow she would say yes.
He felt in his pocket and realized he still had the jewelry box. He forgot to give her the ring! He couldn’t run after her now—she was preparing for the Imperial Ball.
Why didn’t she ask to see the ring? Maybe she wasn’t in love with him; she just wanted to let him down slowly. Being in love wasn’t like the Phantom Manor at Disneyland Paris; it was more like Space Mountain. One minute you were looking at the stars, the next you dropped so fast your stomach stayed in your mouth.
He pushed aside the café au lait and signaled the waiter. What he needed was a large scotch.