43. Renoir
43
RENOIR
ODETTE
H ell hath no fury like a queen who has been told that the chef’s table was double-booked. If that queen is also pregnant , say many prayers because it will not be pretty. The day Alexandra announced her pregnancy, we stepped out for dinner at a trendy French place called Renoir. It was all about white tablecloth service without the stuffiness. I sensed the food was probably pretentious—something Rick would moan about later—but we were going out to celebrate Ingrid’s return home. It was only for a moment, but she was back momentarily.
Despite a rough couple of days, I couldn’t be too down with her around. Ingrid and I went out to buy matching outfits as soon as I collected her at the airport. We sported the same collection from a new French designer. She was in blue, I was in red. All was right in the world again. Well, until we reached the restaurant.
“Ma’am, I am so sorry, but the other party is already seated. They were here first. It does appear we double-booked them.”
Alexandra looked at Rick. He knew he needed to do something , but what? His hands were tied.
Parker said, “I think the correct thing to do would be to determine who had the booking first and then let that person take over the table—regardless of who is seated.”
That was a very Parker thing to say—exacting, objective, and not at all practical.
Astrid patted him on the arm as if to say, “There, there, my love. You tried.”
“It’s going to get messy,” Ingrid whispered.
“Can we just speak with them, maybe?” Rick asked. “Or even… share the table. Is there not enough seating? It seats a dozen people, as I recall.”
“I do not want to share,” Alexandra kept her face pretty and tone low. She was not pleased.
“Baby, I am doing the best I can.”
“Do not call me baby in public.”
“It just gets better and better!” Ingrid snickered.
The evening was imploding when I locked eyes with a man across the restaurant. I instantly tried to hide behind my shorter sister like a child might if they thought closing their eyes would make them invisible. Alas, it did not work. Instead, Guy Lupine approached, looking too casual for the environment but totally at ease. He got away with so much based on his vibe alone.
“Odette, how are you?”
If Alexandra had been cross before, she would have been livid now. Guy was the last person she wanted me to speak to. And given her pregnant rage, I was unsure if she could hold back.
“Uh. I’m fine,” I said.
Guy looked me over. “You look… impressively put together.”
It implied he was surprised I could look well put together. I hated everything about it.
“How’s your girlfriend?” Ingrid asked, out for blood.
“Oh… uh… we broke up.”
“Likely story,” she said in Danish.
“I’m sorry?” He cocked his head.
I flushed bright red. “Ignore her.”
“Well, you look beautiful. I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Guy said .
I went from mortified to flattered to embarrassed for reasons unexplained. He stared at me with the sweetest eyes. Everything came rolling back—his broodiness, his talents at music, and how he could make me feel like a silly girl. I remembered the first time he told me he thought I was pretty and how I’d wanted to hold onto that moment forever. Then, only a week later, he’d told me I could stand to lose ten pounds, and he’d not let me join his quartet if I didn’t drop some weight because he had an image to uphold.
“What’s the hold-up? Have you all been put on a restricted list?”
“No. They have double-booked the chef’s table,” I answered. “So, we’re all just a bit frazzled. You don’t have the chef’s table, do you?”
“No,” Guy said. “We don’t. But… I do have space. If you wanted to join me?”
“Uh, we’re here for Ingrid and Astrid’s big moves to the UK.”
“You’re going to the UK?” Guy asked.
“Yes. To ride with Crown Princess Cecilia and her coach. I’ve been with them in the U.S. for a bit,” Ingrid answered. “I am trying to get Odie to accompany me, but she swears she cannot.”
“Not with all that’s needed here,” I said, wishing I could fly to the UK immediately and escape this situation.
As I exchanged glances with yet another man I had no time or energy for, I realised it was about to get worse. Tonight was indeed the worst evening on record.