Sacha grimaced as he stood in front of the mirror in the hallway of his apartment, wrestling with a bow tie for the second time in as many weeks. Only for Ren…
She emerged from the bathroom, slipping a pair of ruby earrings on, her face smooth with make-up, her hair swept up and held in place. The dark green velvet dress was festive and brought out the caramel in her eyes. But he had a pang of missing her already – her, the woman who had taught him to ski, found the métro exciting and stuffed her face with croissants.
‘Sorry my Christmas has a slightly different dress code from yours.’
‘I only hope I’m enough of a Prince Charmant for you today.’
‘I’m glad your Christmas present has made such an impact already.’ She tweaked his collar. ‘Well, I’m your fairy godmother,’ she continued, grasping his wrist and slipping a diamond-set cufflink into place. He stared at it, and its partner, with the familiar sense of misgiving. She dropped a fine necklace to her chest and closed the clasp at her neck. It was a simple but elegant web of gold chains with rubies and enamel. ‘Is that Art Nouveau?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
‘I… it’s more vintage Cartier.’ She winced and a flash of memory reminded him of her engagement ring. What the hell were they doing? He was a poor replacement for Charlie in her grandmother’s eyes and Sacha would be persona non grata when Livia found out what he’d done about the stained-glass panel, which he really should have told Ren about.
Then there was his suspicion about Livia herself that would only lead to more trouble. What good would come of destroying that relationship? It was none of his business, if he could just stop thinking about those six days.
How had he got so involved? Thank God he hadn’t told her he loved her, although he’d come close in the magic early hours of that morning. It would only have put her in a more difficult position with her grandmother.
‘That necklace is more valuable on its own than all of the stuff I stole.’
Her gaze flew to his and her next words suckered him. ‘Do you feel better for saying that?’
‘Not really.’
‘You were sixteen. You had problems and you tried to solve them yourself with limited resources, which is admirable. When I was sixteen, I rarely left the house! I was afraid of everything, not just the dark.’ He tried to say something, but she cut him off with a shake of her head. ‘And Charlie wouldn’t know a real problem if it bit him on the protein-shake biceps. I know who I admire most out of everyone who is going to be there today.’
‘I don’t think anyone shares your opinion.’
‘I don’t care,’ she said, slinking her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to the lapel of his suit.
‘Yes,’ he said gently, running his fingertips over her jaw, her ear. ‘You do. You are a cœur tendre, a tender heart, and I wouldn’t change it.’ Even if it meant they couldn’t be together.
‘You have too much courage for other people and none for yourself! And, as much as I love that about you, sometimes I wish you could see yourself how I see you.’ She drew back and fetched her clutch purse. She couldn’t have any idea of the turmoil she’d landed him in with those words.
Did he have the courage to believe she truly saw him as an equal? And what would it mean for them if he did?
The daylight felt harsh and bare, after the magic of Ren’s Paris nights. Even the quiet of Christmas Day, with fewer pedestrians on the paths and fewer cars on the cobbles, didn’t bring Ren any relief from the feeling that today would ruin a lot more than her diet.
They stood on the footpath outside Sacha’s apartment, holding hands as though they were about to jump off a cliff. Her mind was jumbled, angry that Sacha kept putting distance between them and confused about what her grandmother and Ziggy really wanted from her. An increasingly panicked part of her brain was trying to find a way to stay in Paris longer.
Bilel collected them, pointing out good-naturedly that his family didn’t celebrate Christmas anyway, when she protested about him working on the holiday.
Before she was ready, they passed through the gap in the buildings and the Place Vendôme opened out before them. Where it had all started – the fake relationship, anyway. The car eased to a stop outside the Ritz and she reached for the door handle, but Bilel’s voice stopped her.
‘Mademoiselle,’ he said quietly, ‘I will be in the underground car park over there.’
‘Okay,’ she said in confusion. ‘I hope you brought a book.’
‘I wanted to let you know in case… I will be nearby. I know Monsieur Charlie will be there, and Madame Ziggy. You only need to call, and I can be here.’
Her stomach churned when she realised that even Bilel had seen how weird her life was. She squeezed his shoulder. ‘Thank you, Bilel. I appreciate it – so much.’ Bilel and Sacha exchanged a few words, ending with, ‘Salam,’ and then Ren took a deep breath and stepped out onto the smooth pavement. ‘What did he say to you?’ she asked when Sacha came around to her side, shivering inside his old coat.
‘He said he’s glad I’m with you,’ he explained in a clipped tone.
‘I’ve known him for years, but I feel like I’m only just getting to know him – like I woke up from a long sleep.’
‘La belle au bois dormant? That’s a fairytale, too. Sleeping Beauty, no?’
‘Then if you woke me up, you must be a real prince.’ Even her joke was half-hearted. They both knew he wasn’t a prince.
Their colourful party was in a private room near l’Espadon, with resplendent baroque cornicing, gilded swirls and little cherubs watching them as though they were performing a play – or they were a strange, human experiment. Ren realised with a shiver that she no longer felt at home within these walls. Even the fragrant fir in the corner, tastefully decorated with hints of silver and gold and a small star on top, felt perfunctory and indifferent.
‘Are you okay?’ Sacha murmured in her ear.
‘It feels so strange all of a sudden, like something from another life. I’m worried I’m going to argue with Grandmama and Ziggy.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he muttered through clenched teeth.
‘Ren, darling!’ Grandmama swept over to them in an elegant black gown and pressed kisses to her cheeks. But the gown made her look gaunt, and was Ren imagining it, or did her hands not have their usual superhuman strength?
‘Merry Christmas, Grandmama.’
Livia’s kisses for Sacha were also unexpectedly civil, but a smirk from Charlie before he pressed a kiss to Ren’s cheek made her shiver with misgiving. She was reading too much into this, wasn’t she? The prospect of leaving Paris was simply upsetting her and she was seeing ghosts of trouble where there weren’t any.
They were seated opposite Charlie and Charlotte, and a fleet of waiters appeared with champagne to begin the festivities with toasts that were little more than empty platitudes. The waiters furnished the table with silver baskets of fresh bread and decanters of olive oil and Ren broke off a piece so she had something to do with her hands.
‘You might skip the bread,’ Ziggy said sharply from across the table. ‘People will understand you’ve been enjoying the delicacies of Paris, but tolerance will only go so far.’
Sacha breathed out through his nose. His jaw was tight – his whole body was tight. ‘I thought her name was valuable enough without exploiting her body, too.’ Every pair of eyes averted themselves. Ren’s hand flew to his thigh, her first instinct to hold him back. It brought her a thrill to realise that he wanted to say more, but was restraining himself.
‘I see you know little about haute couture and a bit too much about her body,’ Ziggy said. ‘Waistlines are very small.’
‘I assumed you would pay more to have them tailored to her natural shape.’
‘Of course they are tailored,’ Grandmama snapped.
Sacha’s only response was to reach for the olive oil and set it in front of her. When the waiters arrived again bearing the entrée, he leaned down to whisper into her ear, ‘I’m sorry,’ his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
She wasn’t sure whether he was apologising for something he’d done or something he was going to do.
