Alec fiddled with his bow tie and sank onto the blue velvet love seat. It had been the most disastrous day, and now he had to dress for the Red Cross charity ball.
Why on earth had he said yes? He’d as soon visit the dentist. But Isabel had been determined and he felt somehow responsible for her. Isabel wouldn’t have met the fortune-teller if they hadn’t explored the Christmas markets.
He thought briefly of calling the front desk and asking for a suite on the sixth floor. There would be no answer when Isabel knocked on his door. But what if she searched the whole hotel until she found him? He couldn’t explain why he’d switched suites without lying or hurting her feelings.
He scooped up a handful of pistachios and thought about Mathieu’s visit. He knew he should tell Bettina the wedding was canceled, but every time he pictured her smug smile a pit formed in his stomach.
He picked up a sketch of Gus wearing scuba gear and thought if only it was as easy to solve his own problems as it was for Gus to discover a treasure chest. He could beg Bettina to let Claudia stay in their father’s house. But she was as likely to do as he asked as Santa Claus was to land in the Place de la Concorde.
Mathieu said he should find someone else to marry, but that was impossible. Celine had broken his heart and wounded his pride and depleted his bank account. He would as soon go down that road again as lie under a guillotine.
The first time Celine and Bettina met was at the house on the Rue de Passy. Celine insisted she meet his whole family and he grudgingly set up a luncheon. It was early summer and he wore a blue blazer and tan slacks. He drove through the iron gates and saw Bettina’s Jaguar in the driveway and shuddered.
* * *
“DARLING,” HIS MOTHER called, standing on the stone steps. She wore a floral dress and held two bottles of wine. “I was just down in the wine cellar. I can’t decide whether to serve a Pétrus Merlot or Château Latour Bordeaux.”
“I’ll drink them both,” Alec grumbled, opening Celine’s car door.
Celine and his mother had met over afternoon tea at the Ritz and hit it off. Celine admired Claudia’s vintage Hermès clutch, and Claudia gushed over Celine’s taste in shoes.
“Don’t be silly, it’s going to be a lovely afternoon.” Claudia kissed Alec and Celine on both cheeks. “I made boeuf bourguignon and summer squash and apple flan for dessert.”
“I’m not concerned about the food, I’m worried about the company.” Alec followed his mother into the foyer. “Did Bettina bring Schatzi, her miniature schnauzer, or does she plan on doing the biting and snapping herself?”
“Your sister is excited to meet Celine.” Claudia straightened a vase of calla lilies. “She and Édouard are waiting in the grand salon.”
Alec ran his hands through his hair and thought Édouard was part of the problem. He and Bettina had been dating for four years, but he was no closer to proposing than he had ever been. Bettina always had an excuse: he’d just completed his residency; he worked twenty-four-hour rotations at the hospital.
But now Édouard was an established neurosurgeon with a practice in the eighth arrondissement and an apartment near the Palais Bourbon. He took six weeks’ annual vacation and bought Bettina sapphire earrings for her birthday.
Alec walked to the bar and poured a glass of scotch. He downed it quickly and thought he would go to church every Sunday if they made it through the entrée without Bettina offending Celine. He pictured Celine tossing the diamond ring on her salad plate and wished he were home eating a bowl of cereal.
The grand salon was scattered with paisley sofas and Louis XIV chairs. Oriental rugs were stretched over wood floors and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.
Claudia kept the bar stocked with the finest liqueurs and the cigar box filled with cigars, as if Alain would appear any minute and hand her his briefcase and demand a glass of sherry.
His father had been loud and sometimes rude, but he loved his family. Alec remembered admitting he wanted to go to art school instead of following his father into the business and his father examining his sketches and saying who was he to judge what would make his son happy. He was halfway down the hall when his father called out to him.
“The sketches are very good, you must get your talent from your mother.”
* * *
NOW ALAIN WAS dead and had left his family in a mess. His mother would have to leave the ornate dining room with its mahogany table and faded tapestries. The kitchen had never been remodeled, but Claudia loved drinking creamy coffee in the breakfast nook and filling the enamel vases with cut flowers.
If only he had accepted his father’s offer of an allowance when he turned twenty-one. He didn’t want to be like Bettina, living in a chic apartment he couldn’t pay for himself. But he could have saved that money and offered it to his mother now. How was he to know that Alain would write in his will that 40 Rue de Passy went to his children and Claudia would have nowhere to live?
“There you are,” Bettina said. Her brown hair was cut in a pageboy, and she had long red fingernails. “You’ve grown your hair, I thought you were the pool boy.”
“Celine likes it.” Alec touched his hair. “And it saves money at the barber.”
“I’ve always thought long hair was for boys.” Bettina nibbled a mushroom quiche. “Like in that book your mother read when we were children. It was so silly, but you adored it.” She paused and looked at Alec. “No wonder you grew up to be an illustrator.”
“Peter Pan is one of the most beloved children’s books,” Alec spluttered. “I’d give anything for Gus to affect children the way I was influenced by Tinker Bell and Captain Hook.” He took Celine’s hand. “Celine, this is my sister Bettina and her boyfriend, Édouard.”
Bettina studied Celine’s blond chignon and high cheekbones. She wore a yellow crepe dress and silver sandals.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Alec never mentioned you and now he’s engaged.” Bettina looked pointedly at Celine’s small waist. “Unless there’s a reason for a hasty wedding.”
“I didn’t mention Celine because we rarely see each other besides Christmas and birthdays.” Alec refreshed his drink. “And the wedding won’t be until Christmas. At which time Celine will wear a wedding dress with a twenty-six-inch waist.” He downed the scotch. “If you’ll excuse us, I promised I’d show her the rose garden before lunch.”
* * *
“YOU DON’T HAVE to speak for me as if I’m a department store dummy,” Celine said as they strolled through the garden. “And I’ve seen your mother’s roses.”
“We’ll go back inside, I just needed to cool off.” Alec loosened his collar. “Bettina makes me feel like a schoolboy.”
“You’re acting like one,” Celine retorted. “It’s not very sexy.”
“I was afraid…” Alec glanced at Celine’s violet eyes and full lips, and his voice trailed off. How could he tell her he was terrified Bettina would say something to threaten their engagement?
He ran his hands through his hair and thought he was acting like a frightened puppy. The most spectacular woman in Paris had agreed to be his wife and nothing was going to stop them.
“I was afraid she’d ask to be your maid of honor and you wouldn’t know how to refuse,” he said weakly. “I’m sure you have your own idea for attendants.”
“Your sister would be as likely to stand behind the bride as the prime minister would be to attend our wedding.” Celine’s face softened and she kissed him. “Now let’s relieve your mother of that bottle of Pétrus Merlot.”
* * *
THEY SAT AT the long table and ate leek soup and Nicoise salad. There was a Limoges platter of potato salad and creamed cauliflower.
“You hardly need a full set of china,” Bettina mused, cradling her wineglass. “You should sell some pieces at Sotheby’s. They would fetch a good price.”
“Your father loved giving dinner parties.” Claudia buttered a baguette. “I would never part with the china.”
“It will be hard to find an apartment big enough to fit twelve soup tureens,” Bettina continued. “And the style is so old-fashioned, the whole house needs to be updated. One of Édouard’s patients is an interior decorator. I’ll ask him about replacing the carpets, they’re quite dusty and I’m prone to hay fever.”
“It’s only June,” Alec interrupted. “Claudia can live here until January and then…”
“We can discuss this later.” Claudia stood up and turned to Celine. “I made ratatouille with tomatoes from the garden. Perhaps you can help me bring out the plates.”
* * *
“PERSONALLY I THINK a spring wedding is nicer,” Bettina said when they were all eating cream of potato soup. “You can take photos in the Luxembourg Gardens and drive away in a Bentley convertible.”
“Celine’s father’s sixtieth birthday is New Year’s Eve,” Alec explained, wishing the lump in his throat would disappear so he could enjoy the mushrooms in wine sauce. “We’re going to have a double celebration.”
“We’ll have to cancel our vacation.” Bettina turned to Celine. “Every year Édouard and I go to Mustique the day after Christmas. Paris can get tedious with the tourists trampling through the Place Vendôme. Mustique has white sand beaches and colorful restaurants. Basil’s Bar is built on stilts and serves a delicious rum punch.”
“We used to go to Mustique every January,” Celine replied. “My parents have a house overlooking Britannia Bay. It’s not elaborate like Mick’s, but you can see the tortoises and coral reefs.”
“Mick?” Bettina asked.
“Mick Jagger. He and my father play checkers.” Celine smiled. “He says he lets Mick win, but my father has always been a terrible loser.”
“Alec never told me how you met,” Bettina said, suddenly changing the subject.
“At a gallery opening.” Alec squeezed Celine’s hand. “My publisher sent me to rub elbows with the upscale clientele.”
He wished he’d made up a secret code with Celine—her cat was ill and they had to go home and give her medicine—so they could leave. A silver coffeepot stood on the sideboard, and Alec thought they’d have to get through dessert and, if they were really unlucky, a glass of his father’s aged cognac.
“How interesting.” Bettina studied Celine’s long eyelashes. “Are you an artist’s model?”
Celine’s eyes darkened and Alec wished he could crawl under the table.
“Celine is a translator for the United Nations. She’s trying to teach me Afrikaans.” Alec drained his wineglass. “But I’ve always been all thumbs when it comes to languages.”
* * *
“BETTINA TALKS TO Celine as if she were one of those wedding Barbies you see in the children’s section of Le Bon Marché,” Alec groaned, taking a bowl of whipped cream from the fridge.
Claudia had asked for help with the apple flan and Alec jumped at the chance. Celine was in the powder room, and Alec was afraid if he was alone with Bettina and Édouard he would do something drastic.
“It went fine, they even have something in common.” Claudia sprinkled powdered sugar onto white plates. “They both have vacationed on Mustique.”
“How could she ask if Celine is an artist’s model?” Alec demanded. “Just because Celine has a body Degas would have loved doesn’t mean she spends her days draped in velvet and eating grapes.”
“You thought she was a model when you met,” Claudia reminded him.
“I’m a man, we’re born to make mistakes. Bettina has a degree in medieval history from the Sorbonne,” he sighed. “Not that she’s ever used it except to boast about her knowledge of the Crusades.”
“Bettina thinks it is silly to have a career when they are going to get married and start a family,” Claudia replied.
“Somebody better inform Édouard,” Alec muttered and his eyes were serious. “I don’t know why you defend her. She treats you like an unwelcome guest in your own home.”
“She was a child when her mother left.” Claudia shrugged. “And she is right. The house belongs mainly to you and her.”
“If Celine and I get married by January third, you won’t have to leave,” Alec said slowly. “Alain’s will says that whichever child gets married first has control of the house.”
“Of course I’ll leave—40 Rue de Passy is the perfect place for a family,” Claudia insisted. “You’ll fill the nursery with Enid Blyton and the Hardy Boys mysteries. On weekends you’ll cook strawberry crepes and the children will bring in daffodils and get mud all over the wood floor.” She paused. “You’ll start to say ‘When will you learn to wipe your feet?’ and then you’ll inhale the scent of baby shampoo and fresh cut flowers and realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You belong here,” Alec insisted. “Celine’s father gave her an apartment on the Rue Saint-Honoré that is steps from the Tuileries Gardens. If we run out of bedrooms we’ll buy a flat on a leafy street in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”
“I do love this house,” Claudia sighed. “When I sit in the library, I can still hear your father yelling at the politicians on the television. No matter who was elected prime minister, he always wanted someone else…” She hesitated. “I hope your sudden marriage has nothing to do with Bettina and me.”
“Of course not. Marriage is the most impossible institution,” Alec scoffed. “What chance does love have when every day you are presented with land mines: When are you supposed to take out the garbage? Did she ask you to pick up a jar of mustard or salad dressing? Who would want to spend their life with the person they want to please most?”
“Then why are you getting married?” Claudia asked.
Alec pictured the way Celine ate spaghetti without getting sauce on her napkin. When she stepped onto the boulevard, taxis lined up to pick her up. And when he caught sight of her reading a magazine at the newsagent, he wondered who this exquisite creature was until he moved closer and realized she was his.
Alec clutched the bowl of whipped cream. “Because I can’t do anything else.”
* * *
THEY RETURNED TO the dining room and ate apple flan and berries and whipped cream. Bettina and Celine discovered they both got their hair done at Christophe Robin on the Rue de Rivoli and had the same art history professor at the Sorbonne.
Alec glanced at his watch and thought they could say their good-byes. Édouard looked like he needed a nap and his mother enjoyed watching the BBC on Sunday afternoons.
“I really don’t understand,” Bettina said, stirring cream into a Limoges demitasse.
“Don’t understand what?” Alec asked.
Bettina turned to Celine and her lips were pursed. “What you could possibly see in Alec.”
* * *
“HOW DARE SHE say that?” Alec bristled, taking off his blazer.
It was early evening and they were standing in Celine’s living room. Alec had walked straight to the bar and poured a large sherry.
“Say what?” Celine slipped off her sandals.
“That she doesn’t know what you see in me. I may not perform cerebrovascular surgery like Édouard, but Gus influences the lives of children in sixteen countries,” Alec replied. “Yesterday I got a letter from a boy in Guam who wasn’t allowed to have a dog so he named his hamster Gus. He’s teaching him how to play fetch.”
“A hamster can’t play fetch,” Celine laughed.
“That’s the point, Gus isn’t just a children’s book. It’s a springboard for their imagination.” His eyes flickered. “They read about Gus fighting bulls in Pamplona or parasailing in the Maldives and realize they can do anything.”
“I’m going to bed,” Celine announced. “I have to be at work early.”
“But it’s only seven PM,” Alec protested, watching her take off her diamond earrings.
He clutched his glass and thought Bettina wasn’t the only one acting like a child. He behaved as if she still had the power to deprive him of the last vanilla custard. It didn’t matter what Bettina said; he and Celine were madly in love.
He followed her into the bedroom and closed the door. He walked over to her and kissed her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“That dress has a difficult zipper,” he whispered. “I’m going to help you take it off.”
He unzipped her dress and slipped the other hand around her waist. His fingers explored the warm flesh at the top of her thigh, and suddenly Bettina and 40 Rue de Passy disappeared like a genie’s bottle. God! She was sweet and wet, and when he slid his fingers inside her, her whole body shuddered.
He caressed her, pulling her against his chest. Celine cried out and he lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his thighs. She leaned down and kissed him and he thought any minute he would explode.
“I love you,” he whispered. “You’re the only thing that matters.”
“I love you too,” she murmured, a small moan escaping her lips.
He laid her down on the floral bedspread and unbuttoned his shirt. She unsnapped her bra and her breasts were two golden pieces of fruit. Alec slipped off her silk panties and slid inside her and she clung to his back. He slowed his rhythm until Celine whispered his name and then he picked up speed and they came together in one dizzying thrust.
The sky outside the window was pink and purple, and Alec draped his arm around Celine’s waist. Was there anything as terrible and magical as love? And once you found it, could you ever live without it?
* * *
NOW ALEC ATE another handful of pistachio nuts and wondered why he was even thinking about Celine; she was in a different hemisphere. But if he called Bettina, he would have to explain why Celine left. Bettina would purr like a kitten with a warm bowl of milk.
He straightened his bow tie and heard a knock on the door. He opened it and saw an unfamiliar figure in a red satin gown. Her hair was knotted in a chignon and she wore long white gloves.
“Hello,” he said uncertainly.
“That’s not a very enthusiastic welcome.” Isabel smiled, entering the room.
“It’s you,” Alec gasped. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“Were you expecting another woman to go dancing with?” Isabel glanced at his white dinner jacket and tan slacks.
“Of course not, I don’t want to go dancing at all.” Alec bristled, studying her slender shoulders. “You just look different, like a movie poster.”
“Do you think the gloves are too much?” Isabel asked and laughed. “The woman was right. The price tag on this dress was less than the ones in the window, so I thought I was getting a bargain. The gloves are Italian silk and were only an extra fifty euros. I felt like I came out ahead.”
“What woman?” Alec walked to the desk.
“I met a strange woman in the couture section of Le Printemps. She said no one buys the designs in the window. They’re overpriced and the styles are outrageous,” Isabel explained. “She showed me the dresses in the back and said this Oscar de la Renta was perfect.”
“It is lovely,” Alec admitted.
“She was like a fairy godmother.” Isabel’s brown eyes sparkled. “I looked in the mirror and knew I couldn’t wear anything else.”
“First you believe in fortune-tellers and now you have a fairy godmother.” Alec frowned. “You’re the most unlikely financial analyst.”
“Being an analyst is all about hunches and superstitions.” Isabel fiddled with her diamond clip. “I know an analyst who wore a striped tie on the day the stock market crashed, so he refuses to wear a striped tied again.” She paused. “It’s only the numbers that are constant. How they end up on the screen is a combination of magic and voodoo.”
“I’ll remember that if I ever hire a stockbroker,” Alec laughed.
“Is this your latest drawing?” Isabel stood at the desk. “Gus looks very pleased with himself.”
“He just discovered a treasure chest and he’s going to give the jewels to the local children.” Alec picked up the drawing. “Except to the boys who play cricket, they have their pressed white slacks and shiny black balls. They don’t need anything else.”
“Not all cricket players go around stealing other men’s fiancées,” Isabel laughed.
“A friend was here and reminded me I haven’t told my sister, Bettina, that the wedding was canceled,” Alec said. “It brought up old memories, like a toothache that won’t go away.”
“Why don’t you call Bettina?” Isabel asked.
“She thought I wasn’t good enough for Celine.” Alec poured a glass of scotch. “She didn’t know why she was marrying me.”
“Why would she say that?” Isabel wondered.
“Celine does look like the female lead in a James Bond movie, she could stop traffic by stepping out of a taxi.” He rubbed his brow. “But it’s more complicated. A bit like those nighttime American soap operas you see on television with French subtitles.”
“It sounds fascinating.” Isabel perched on an ivory love seat.
“Bettina’s mother left my father and ran away with a farmer when she was three years old,” he began. “She never forgave my mother for marrying Alain, she wanted him all to herself.”
“But she was a child,” Isabel murmured. “Surely your parents made her behave.”
“My mother was determined for Bettina to feel loved, and my father was more comfortable with his newspapers and boxes of cigars.” He sipped his drink. “When Bettina was four, she marched into my father’s study with her favorite Madeline doll. She said he could have it as long as he sent me back wherever I came from.”
“Older sisters are often jealous of little brothers.” Isabel grinned. “But that was ages ago, you’re both adults.”
“Bettina has a memory like an elephant. And it doesn’t help that Celine and I were engaged after three months and she and Édouard have been together for four years,” he sighed. “Édouard seems as eager to propose as Queen Elizabeth is to give up the throne.”
“You have to tell her,” Isabel insisted. “She won’t be happy if she shows up at an empty cathedral with a set of Villeroy and Boch demitasses.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow.” He put his glass on the sideboard. “You paid a fortune for these tickets, we don’t want to be late.”
“We’re going to have a wonderful time.” Isabel rubbed her lips. “I read an article about the ball in Paris Match. It’s attended by ducs and marquises and viscounts.”
“It sounds like a chapter from The Three Musketeers.” Alec grimaced, walking to the door. “I’ll be happy with a glass of Dom Pérignon and a plate of veal sweetbreads.”
“Wait,” Isabel called.
Isabel walked toward him and put her hands around his neck. He inhaled her scent of jasmine perfume and felt slightly dizzy.
“Your tie was crooked.” She stepped back and her face lit up in a smile. “Now it’s perfect.”
“Thank you,” he said, and realized he had been holding his breath. “I’ve always been hopeless at tying my own tie.”
* * *
THEY CROSSED THE Place de la Concorde and Alec felt a rush of pride. Paris in the winter could be damp and bitter, but the Christmas tree glittered like an elaborate charm bracelet, and the obelisk was a shimmering beacon, and the stone facade of the Petit Palais took his breath away.
“It’s magnificent.” Isabel gazed up at the wide columns and gold inlaid doors. “It’s like a scene from The Arabian Nights.”
“The Petit Palais was built for the world’s fair in 1900,” Alec explained. “It was designed in the Beaux Arts style and takes up a city block. The columns are pink Vosges granite and the mosaic floors were imported from Italy.”
The interior courtyard had a domed cupola and sweeping murals and a glass bar lined with crystal bottles. There was an ice sculpture and platters of black-truffle brioche and smoked eel and pork rillettes.
“I thought the Red Cross was all about thick bandages and those little white hats.” Alec whistled. “This looks like a scene from the Decameron.”
“Parisian women are so sophisticated.” Isabel glanced at women wearing sapphire pendants and shimmering cocktail dresses. “How am I supposed to compete with baronesses wearing emerald brooches inherited from the Duchess of Montpensier?”
“You’re an American, it’s the most competitive race on earth.” Alec took a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Is that the way you behave before a client presentation?”
“That’s different. When I walk into a conference room, it’s like one of those sand puzzles that you shake and it falls into place,” Isabel said. “No matter how nervous I am, I relax.”
“Getting a viscount to ask you to dance is easier than predicting the consumption of chia seeds in Japan,” Alec insisted.
“Picking the right husband isn’t easy at all…” Isabel’s voice wavered. “I thought Neil and I were in love. He looked handsome in a tuxedo and we enjoyed doing the fox-trot and the waltz.” Her eyes were huge. “Until a month before the wedding, when he decided to quit his job and insisted we move to his grandparents’ farm so he could spend his days in cowboy boots.” She smoothed her skirt. “I didn’t expect to attend black-tie galas every week, but it is nice to get dressed up and feel young and pretty.”
“You’re going to do fine.” He pointed to the circular foyer. “All you need to do is hold a glass of champagne and stand over there.”
“Why should I do that?”
Alec studied her brown eyes and dark eyelashes and slender neck.
“Because you’ll be the first thing a man sees when he hands his wool overcoat to the coat-check girl.” He paused. “And he won’t look anywhere else.”
* * *
ISABEL SIPPED CHAMPAGNE under a framed Pissarro, and Alec’s shoulders relaxed. She really was striking in the red satin gown, like a ballerina on one of Bettina’s music boxes. He really had to stop thinking about his sister; she was like Maleficent at Aurora’s christening.
The sideboard was filled with silver platters of caviar dumplings and baked sea bass and onions au gratin. He looked up and saw Isabel talking to a blond man in a silk tuxedo. She caught Alec’s eye and a smile lit up her face. He grabbed a plate and noticed a familiar figure wearing a black tuxedo and gold watch.
“What are you doing here?” Mathieu approached him. “You usually avoid any occasion that requires shirt studs and cuff links.”
“I’m doing a favor for a friend,” Alec explained. “No wonder your rates have gone up if you’re hobnobbing with barons and comtes at a two-hundred-euro-a-plate ball.”
“Helene’s boss gave her the tickets for Christmas.” Mathieu sipped his champagne. “She wanted to wear her Pucci gown while she could still do up the zipper.”
“I have to thank her for the watercolor you gave us as a wedding present. I tried to return it, but the gallery owner said fine art wasn’t returnable.” Alec nibbled steamed mussels. “The art world can be so pretentious. If it’s not a commercial commodity, why was it for sale in the first place?”
“You should keep it,” Mathieu suggested. “It would look fine above your desk.”
“I don’t need any more reminders of Celine,” Alec grumbled. “I’m sure she didn’t fill her carry-on with silver salt shakers or a ceramic fruit bowl. She’s probably forgotten that next Friday was supposed to be her wedding day.”
“You’ll get over her.” Mathieu put his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “It just takes time.”
“No one wants to be with someone who doesn’t feel the same,” Alec said slowly. “I’m just afraid I won’t get over the idea of her: That you could live the rest of your life with someone you loved. That you could wake up every morning and see her slip on her stockings and think you were the luckiest guy in the world.”
“There are plenty of spectacular women at the ball. You’re good-looking and entertaining when you’re not moping like a basset hound.” He pointed to a woman wearing a blue cocktail dress. “Strike up a conversation with that brunette.”
“Basset hounds don’t mope, they were born with droopy cheeks,” Alec corrected. “And I’d rather sample the bay prawns in warm mayonnaise than make conversation with a woman.” He paused. “They all look lovely in their designer gowns and clouds of expensive perfume. But just when you get comfortable enough to wear plaid pajamas to bed and drink orange juice out of the carton, they trample all over your heart.”
“Helene would kill me if I drank juice out of the carton,” Mathieu laughed.
Alec looked up and saw a woman in a green chiffon gown walking toward them. Of course Bettina was at the Red Cross ball! Why hadn’t he thought of that, and how could he sneak away without her seeing him?
“Where are you going?” Mathieu asked.
“She can’t see me here.” Alec put his plate on the sideboard.
“It’s a charity function, not the red-light district of Montmartre.” He stopped and looked at Alec. “You haven’t told her the wedding is canceled.”
“Not exactly.” Alec shifted his feet. “I was going to call her tomorrow.”
“Unless you become the invisible man, you’re telling her tonight.” Mathieu turned and smiled. “Bettina, how nice to see you. Alec was just commenting on how beautiful you look in that green dress.”
“My brother and his attorney, what a surprise,” Bettina murmured. “Who would have thought the scrawny teenager who used to sneak my father’s port would become an important lawyer.”
“We did not sneak Alain’s port, he offered it to us,” Alec retorted. “We may have finished the bottle after he went to bed, but eighteen-year-olds have done worse.”
“I’m surprised to see you and Celine out so close to your wedding,” Bettina replied. “Shouldn’t you be rehearsing your vows or packing for your honeymoon?”
“Celine’s not here,” Alec mumbled.
“You came alone?” Bettina raised her eyebrow.
“Excuse me, I have to join Helene,” Mathieu cut in. “The doctor said she shouldn’t drink more than one glass of champagne.”
“When will you and Celine start a family?” Bettina asked. “Though I can’t imagine Celine ruining that perfect waistline.” She ate an escargot. “Maybe you’ll adopt.”
“Celine talks about children all the time.” Alec bristled. “She wants a boy who plays the flute and a little girl who loves ballet.”
They had imagined a boy with Celine’s high cheekbones and small nose. The girl would have his dark hair and her violet eyes and red mouth.
Except now the boy would have Patrick’s floppy blond hair and the little girl would be so breathtaking, she would make your heart ache. Two stunning people shouldn’t fall in love—what was left for everyone else? Beauty should be distributed evenly, like crustless sandwiches at a child’s birthday party.
He pictured Patrick’s chiseled jaw and blue eyes and knew he’d never had a chance.
Bettina peeled prawns with her long fingernails, and Alec thought he had nothing to be afraid of; he was a grown man with a fifth-floor flat and a membership to the Louvre.
“Celine isn’t in Paris.” He took a deep breath. “She’s in Australia.”
“Why is she in Australia?” Bettina asked.
“That’s what I wanted to know.” Alec rubbed his brow. “Why would anyone rather be in a country where the oldest building is only two hundred years old, and it’s so hot and sunny you have to spend Christmas on the beach?”
“When is she coming back? Your rehearsal dinner is in six days.”
“She’s not coming back.” Alec picked an imaginary piece of lint from his dinner jacket. “The wedding is canceled.”
“Are you all right? I was afraid she’d call it off!” Bettina gasped. “She is quite beautiful and her father owns diamond mines in Brazil and South Africa. She could have her pick of Saudi oil magnates or even European royalty.”
“Not every woman calculates her fiancé’s net worth when she’s considering marriage proposals,” he snapped. “Celine picked me. She may have traded me for an Australian cricket player, but there was never an Arabian prince or ruler of a minor European country in the picture.”
“A cricket player,” Bettina repeated.
“Apparently he has an excellent arm,” Alec sighed. “And he looks like David Beckham, but with better hair and leaner muscles.”
Isabel walked over to join them and Alec inhaled her jasmine perfume.
“There you are! My throat is parched and I’d give anything for a glass of Dom Pérignon.” She turned to Bettina. “We haven’t been introduced, I’m Isabel Lawson.”
Alec flinched and thought the last thing he needed was to explain Isabel to his sister.
“How do you know each other?” Bettina wondered.
“We are staying at the Hôtel de Crillon,” Isabel replied. “Well, not in the same suite, though we practically share a terrace. I was supposed to be here on my honeymoon, but it fell through. Alec rescued me from being locked out on the balcony.
“He poured me a brandy and put me to bed, and we’ve been inseparable ever since,” she continued. “We ate lobster bisque at Fouquet’s and drank cognac at the Crillon bar and visited the Christmas markets.” Her face lit up in a smile. “I’ve never attended a ball with viscounts and ducs, it was so sweet of Alec to bring me.”
“Isabel is a financial analyst from Philadelphia,” Alec explained. “She’s never been to Paris at Christmas.”
“How delightful.” Bettina studied her diamond earrings and white silk gloves. “How long are you staying?”
“I haven’t decided. I want to go shopping in the Marais and dance at the clubs in Montmartre.” She paused and her eyes were bright. “Alec said there’s nothing more romantic than standing under the Arc de Triomphe at night. The Champs-Élysées glitters like a thousand fireflies.”
* * *
“WHAT WAS THAT about?” Alec exclaimed after Bettina went to find Édouard. “Lobster at Fouquet’s and cognac at the bar at the Crillon? And I never suggested standing under the Arc de Triomphe, it’s a good way to get run over.”
“I couldn’t let her picture you sitting alone in your suite, contemplating throwing yourself off the balcony.”
“I’d never jump off the balcony, I’m afraid of heights,” Alec fumed. “You made it sound like one of those romantic movies where the couple spends twenty-four hours traipsing through Paris and the camera goes in on a kiss at the end.”
“You brought me to the ball and I met a handsome comte. His name is Antoine de Villoy and his family has a château in the Loire Valley.” She smoothed her skirt. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought you’d want Bettina to think you have a new love interest.”
“I suppose it doesn’t hurt. She looked like she swallowed an ostrich egg,” Alec laughed. “Where is this comte? He sounds too perfect—are you sure he doesn’t have a wooden leg or a mistress hidden in the attic?”
“He’s a banker with an apartment off the Rue de Rivoli.” Isabel smiled. “He likes American movies and Stephen King and he keeps a boat in Antibes.” She grabbed a glass of champagne. “I should go find him, I told him I had to talk to a friend.”
Isabel disappeared into the crowd, and Alec thought no French aristocrat liked American movies; they were full of explosions and car chases.
There was a sudden pain in his foot and he gasped.
“I’m sorry, I must have stepped on your foot,” an older woman said, holding a plate of vanilla custards.
Alec rubbed his shoe and thought he shouldn’t have come. He’d much rather be at home drawing Gus. He imagined Gus wearing a black mask and riding a horse, like a four-legged Count of Monte Cristo.
Taking Isabel to the ball was the right thing to do; he was helping a friend. He filled his plate with petits fours and thought, even if he refused to fall in love, someone had to. If no one did, the human race was doomed.