Christmas in Paris (5 page)

“You think I'm a model because I have thick hair and good legs?” she demanded.

“Well, yes.” Alec suddenly felt sick. “Aren't you a model?”

“I'm a translator at UNESCO at the United Nations and fluent in four languages.” Her eyes flashed.

“I see.” Alec drained his champagne glass. He ran his hands through his hair and said feebly, “I tried learning Chinese, but studying the characters gave me vertigo.”

*   *   *

IT WAS CELINE'S
idea to drink Bombay sapphire gin at Le Bar in the George V. Waiters carried platters of foie gras and caviar, and Alec was afraid he'd have to max out his credit card. But when the bill arrived, Celine murmured to the bartender in French and he smiled and crumpled up the paper.

Alec offered to walk her home and they strolled along the Rue Saint-Honoré. She stopped in front of a stone mansion divided into four flats.

“I didn't know a translator's salary paid for a garden apartment on one of the most elegant streets in Paris.” Alec gazed at the slate roof and double front doors.

“My father is a jeweler, he owns diamond mines in South Africa and Brazil.” Celine fiddled with her key. “Would you mind coming inside? I hate turning on the lights by myself.”

Alec glanced at her lips, which were like plump cherries, and had the sudden urge to kiss her. He followed her into the hallway and flicked the light on in the living room. The floor was polished wood and there was a floral sofa and an Andy Warhol Marilyn Monroe on the wall.

“Would you like an aperitif?” She slipped off her stilettos.

“I have to go,” he mumbled. “I'm working on a deadline, I left Gus hanging off a cliff in Algeria.”

The next morning Celine called and said she needed a date to
Aida
at the Palais Garnier. When he picked her up, she stood in her narrow entry in a turquoise gown and gold sandals. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders and she wore a diamond pendant around her neck. He gazed at her creamy skin and high breasts and sucked in his breath.

He drew her into the living room and kissed her on the mouth. He loosened his tie and thought he was acting like an oversexed schoolboy. Love had to be entered into slowly, or it became like a soufflé you left in the oven too long that suddenly exploded.

He ran his hands through his hair and said they didn't want to miss the opening act. Celine placed one hand between his legs and stroked the hardness beneath his slacks. He inhaled her scent of floral perfume and his last trace of willpower dissolved.

He slipped his hand beneath her panties and felt the sweet wetness and delicious warmth. When his fingers slid inside her, he felt her press against his chest. Then she dug her nails into his back and her whole body shattered.

They moved to the bedroom and tore at each other's clothes. Alec remembered the joy of new sex: discovering a birthmark on her neck and an indentation in her thigh and the glistening curve of her stomach.

She drew him onto the bed and wrapped her arms around his back. He opened her thighs and plunged deep inside her. He felt the wild rush and then the feeling of exquisite joy. She clutched his shoulders and they came together like two sprinters gasping at the finish line.

*   *   *

AFTERWARD THEY LAY
against the quilted headboard and he wondered what he had done. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a beautiful, wealthy girl who had first edition copies of Balzac on her bookshelf and Prada shoes at the foot of her bed. But he gazed at her long eyelashes and full mouth and wondered how he could do anything else.

*   *   *

THE NEXT TWO
months were a frenzy of delicious sex. Alec came over after Celine returned from work, and they attempted to toss a salad or boil pasta. But Celine would brush against his chest or Alec would inhale her exotic scent, and they would turn off the pot of spaghetti or put the Camembert back in the fridge and race to the bedroom.

Sometimes they pulled on sweaters and slacks and went to the cinema or browsed in a bookstore. But what was the point of watching a romantic movie or reading a love story when what they had was better than fiction?

The only drawback was, wherever they went, men flocked to Celine like insects to flypaper. Every time Alec collected their drinks at a bar, or lingered at a newsagent while she sat at a café, he returned to find a man in his chair.

*   *   *

“I WAS EATING
my
pain au chocolat
when Hans insisted I read
Death in Venice
,” Celine explained when Alec returned from buying a packet of Mentos and found Celine sitting across from a blond tourist at Café Verlet.

“No one pulls up a chair and discusses classical literature without an invitation,” Alec grumbled, popping a Mentos in his mouth.

“I was reading Goethe to practice my German,” Celine said. “He must have noticed the cover.”

“Then read
Madame Figaro,
” Alec suggested. “No man wants to discuss bra cup sizes or the new season's style in cashmere sweaters.”

“All men talk to single women, it doesn't mean anything.” Celine shrugged. “The only way to stop them is to wear a diamond ring on your finger and have a round bump in your stomach.”

Alec gazed at couples strolling along the boulevard and jumped up. He knew exactly how to stop men from flirting with Celine! Why didn't he think of it sooner?

He hopped on the metro and went to see his mother. He found her in the garden, bending over a row of butter lettuce.

“Alec darling!” She kissed him on the cheek. “I haven't seen you in weeks. Ever since you said you met a girl, you disappeared.”

“You'd like Celine.” He suddenly remembered when he arrived home from kindergarten and declared he had a crush on his teacher. He begged his mother to let him use his allowance to buy Mademoiselle Egret a glass necklace.

“Invite her over for dinner,” Claudia suggested. “I'll make pumpkin soup and a summer salad.”

“I wanted to ask you something.” Alec wiped his brow. “You said I could have Bertie's ring when I got married.”

“Of course you can have my mother's ring. I'm counting on you to give me grandchildren.” She smiled. “What better reason to reread
The Little Prince
and the Paddington books?”

“I'd like to have it now,” Alec continued. “I'm going to ask Celine to marry me.”

“You want to give my mother's antique sapphire-and-diamond ring to a girl you just met?”

“I'm thirty and she's twenty-seven, she's hardly a child bride,” Alec protested. “She's beautiful and smart and everything I dreamed of.”

“But you've known her for less than two months. When you were a child you spent weeks perfecting your Christmas list and you always ordered last at a restaurant.” She paused. “Why the rush?”

“Celine is like a jar of the sweetest honey or a bowl of the richest cream,” he said. “Men will do anything to approach her. I thought…”

“That if she wore a wedding ring, they would think she was off the market?” Claudia raised her eyebrow.

“Something like that.” Alec shrugged.

“That's not a good reason to marry someone.” His mother frowned.

Alec pictured Celine's clear violet eyes and long legs. He saw the way she looked in the morning, with her hair in a high ponytail and her face free of makeup and her smile that was like the Cheshire Cat's.

“I have a better reason,” he groaned. “I can't live without her.”

*   *   *

ALEC SPENT THE
next week in a state of giddy anticipation. It was spring and Paris bloomed with lilacs and daffodils. He spent hours debating with himself where to propose: On the Pont des Arts, with the Louvre rising like a modern pyramid. In front of the Sacré-Coeur, with all of Paris laid out at their feet. Under the Eiffel Tower, so they could look up at the steel structure and remember they were in the most romantic city in the world.

He finally decided on Parc Monceau in the eighth arrondissement. It wasn't overrun by tourists, and Celine loved the rose gardens and willow trees and lake surrounded by Corinthian columns.

He packed a picnic of olive baguettes and Brie and capers. There were peaches and berries and a jar of whipped cream. He added a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and Celine's favorite chocolate torte.

The morning of the proposal, clouds hung low over the Seine. Alec wore a pale blue blazer and beige slacks. He felt the jewelry box in his pocket and a lump formed in his throat.

*   *   *

“IT'S NOT
the best day for a picnic,” Celine said when he picked her up at her flat.

She wore blue jeans and a navy sweater and Alec felt a twinge of disappointment. He had imagined her in a sleeveless linen dress and leather sandals. Her hair would fall loosely to her shoulders and she would smell of lavender shampoo.

Instead her hair was wound into a bun and held back with an enamel clip. She wore low boots and an orange turtleneck under the navy sweater.

“Why don't we see a movie?” she suggested. “The new
Mission: Impossible
is playing at Cinema Le Rex and we can eat popcorn and Raisinets.”

“The last time we saw an American movie with French subtitles, the actors sounded like chipmunks,” Alec grumbled. “It can't rain, I bought sausages and kumquats from the outdoor market in the Marais.”

The first drops fell as they entered the stone gates. They rushed under the rotunda and Alec gazed at the wet grass. He could hardly expect Celine to sit on a muddy blanket and eat soggy ham and cheese.

He took her hand and suddenly had an idea. They would go to the Passage Jouffroy and eat escargot and
baba au rhum
at one of the elegant cafés. When he was a child, he loved visiting Boîte à Joujoux with its giant erector sets and Le Petit Roi crammed with children's books and eating almond cakes at Le Valentin.

They crossed the Boulevard Haussmann and entered the iron doors. Alec saw the black-and-white marble floor and glass ceiling and let out his breath. What could be more romantic than a covered passageway built in 1836 by one of France's greatest architects?

“Let's go to Bouillon Chartier and eat carrot mousse and country terrine,” Alec suggested, picturing the quaint restaurant with its red velvet walls and steaming bowls of bouillabaisse.

“I feel like pizza,” Celine said. “Nick's Pizza has the best pizza margherita in Paris.”

“Pizza?” Alec shuddered. He could hardly pull out the jewelry box with greasy fingers.

“When was the last time we had pizza?” Celine took his arm. “We'll share strawberry gelato for dessert.”

*   *   *

THEY SAT ON
wooden chairs and Alec glanced miserably at the menu. He could propose another day, but he was so nervous, he could barely concentrate on his work. All week he had sketched a companion for Gus: a fluffy French poodle named Monique. Finally he crumpled it in the garbage. His readers wanted Gus to fight fiery dragons, not hold hands on a barge gliding along the Seine.

*   *   *

“THE WAITER ASKED
you three times what you wanted to order,” Celine said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sorry?” Alec looked up. He pointed to the pizza Napoletana and handed the waiter his menu.

“Maybe we should go home.” Celine sipped a glass of water. “You look like you are coming down with a cold.”

Alec studied her high cheekbones and slender neck and caught his breath. Even with her mascara smudged and hair damp from the rain, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the velvet jewelry box.

“I wanted to ask you this with the sun streaming on the lake and the air filled with the scent of lilacs and roses,” he began. “You are elegant and stunning, like a shooting star that somehow landed on my doorstep.” He drew out the pear-shaped diamond ring. “Celine Du Mond, will you marry me?”

“Marry you?” Celine exclaimed. “We haven't even met each other's families.”

Celine was right. Alec had wanted to ask Celine's father for his blessing, but when he called his office, his secretary said he was in Brazil until July. And he knew he should have taken her to lunch with his mother, but that would mean meeting his sister. Somehow he wanted to keep Celine away from Bettina until the diamond ring was safely on Celine's finger.

“We'll visit my mother this afternoon,” he said eagerly. “She gave me her mother's ring, she can't wait to meet you.”

“Are you asking me to marry you so men will stop flirting with me?” Celine asked.

“Of course not!” He bristled. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have babies and push a pram through the Luxembourg Gardens. I want to rent a cottage in the country and play backgammon in front of the fire.”

She studied the diamond ring as if she was debating what topping to put on her pizza. She looked at Alec and a smile lit up her face.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Alec asked.

“Yes, I'll marry you.”

“You will?” Alec realized he didn't know what to do next. Did he slip the ring on her finger or kiss her on the mouth?

“You sound surprised,” Celine replied. “What did you expect me to say?”

Alec glanced at the rain smudging the window and couples huddling under umbrellas and took a deep breath. The most incredible woman in Paris was agreeing to be his wife; this wasn't the time to discuss whether they would live on his salary, or if she slept under a down duvet in the summer.

He slipped the ring on her finger and gathered her in his arms. He inhaled her scent of jasmine and vanilla and thought he was the happiest man in the world.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I knew you were going to say yes.”

*   *   *