Chapter 47
Bianca was acting weird.
First, she insisted on taking the Metro rather than a taxi to the opera house, even though her feet had to be killing her. He saw the band-aids on the back of both her feet earlier today.
Second, when they got to the restaurant—a big, modern-looking place called L’Entracte , across the street from the Palais Garnier —she’d specifically asked for a table by the window, when in all the years he’d known her, she’d never cared where they sat at a restaurant.
Third, she’d insisted on the seat looking outside, when, again, she’d never bothered with which seat she took at the table.
Oddest of all, she wasn’t idly people-watching. She was staring out intently, as though she expected to see someone she knew at any moment.
“Bee, if you keep looking out the window, your snails are going to wake up and walk right off your plate.” She’d brought back memories of the cruise two years ago when Leanne had ordered them.
If Leanne hadn’t ordered them that first night, she wouldn’t have felt sick and gone to bed early—and Daniel wouldn’t have run into Nora.
Maybe they wouldn’t have seen each other at all, if they’d missed each other in the atrium of the Empress of the Seas that first night.
And then maybe he wouldn’t have broken up with Leanne.
Maybe they’d be married right now, and it would be her across the table from him.
How different might his life be right now, all because of a plate of snails?
No. It wouldn’t have gotten that far. Nora would never not be in his heart.
And here he was thinking about her again, instead of focusing on a new start, or simply enjoying a good meal at a fancy restaurant before seeing the Paris Ballet.
All because of Bianca and her stupid snails.
Nora , the same time
“Remind me why we’re having pizza when we’re in Paris? I can get pizza at home.”
Rachel shrugged. “It’s on the way, and it’s not crowded.” She held up her slice of margherita pizza and waved it vaguely in the air. “And it is very good pizza.”
“Fair enough,” Nora said. This restaurant was halfway between the Bastille metro station and the Opera Bastille , the newer of the two major opera houses in Paris.
It wasn’t crowded; there were only a handful of other customers besides her and Rachel.
And the pizza was very good. “So what are we seeing tonight? You’ve been really secretive all day. ”
Rachel gave her a weird look, as though she’d just been caught in a lie or something. But there wasn’t anything for her to lie about, was there? This was just a vacation, there couldn’t be anything Rachel would need to keep secret.
“I just wanted to surprise you,” she said, taking a bite of pizza before going on. “Anyway, we’re seeing the ballet. La Belle au Bois Dormant .”
What did that mean?
She could puzzle it out. Dormant had to refer to sleep, didn’t it? And La Belle , that was obvious.
“You mean Sleeping Beauty ?” Rachel nodded.
“Wow! I can’t wait. I was expecting opera, and honestly I was sort of dreading it.
” She’d only ever been once, with her mother on a visit to Manhattan when she was nine years old.
She couldn’t recall which opera, or even which composer.
All she remembered was that it was loud, and long and all in German.
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “That’s what I figured. I remember your father telling me about Karen taking you to see Tristan and Isolde at the Met when you were little. What possessed her to think a fourth grader would want to see that, I’ll never know.”
This would definitely be better. She just hoped Rachel would stop worrying about whatever it was that she was worried about, so she could enjoy the ballet, too.
Daniel , an hour later
The Palais Garnier was even more impressive inside than out.
It was well beyond opulent; Daniel wasn’t sure there was a word grand enough to properly describe it.
It made the Metropolitan Opera House back home—amazing in its own right, at least it had seemed that way when he’d seen it back in junior high—look small and pitiful by comparison.
They were in the grand lobby, and everywhere he looked, something demanded his attention: the huge, dramatic staircase, the carvings covering nearly every wall, and their fellow theatergoers.
Most of the men wore tuxedos, and the few who didn’t wore suits that looked like they probably cost more than he’d spent on his entire wardrobe.
And the women—it was like watching highlights from Fashion Week.
He felt woefully underdressed, even though he’d had his suit pressed this afternoon. Bianca, stunning in a red dress and a new hairdo this afternoon that cost more than her mortgage payment, looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her—and even she barely looked like she belonged here.
She also looked like she needed the bathroom. She was fidgeting by a wall, eyes fixed on the main entrance.
This wasn’t her usual people-watching; she was looking for someone. But who?
“Bee,” he said. “If you have to use the little girls’ room, just go already. Otherwise, we ought to get to our seats.”
She checked her watch, stared at the doors for another few seconds and sighed. “You’re right. Just wait here, don’t move an inch.”
He nodded, watching the last stragglers coming into the opera house, just in case he’d somehow recognize whoever Bianca was waiting for.
But of course he didn’t; when you didn’t know who you were looking for, how could you possibly find them?
Nora , the same time
The Opéra Bastille was nothing like what Nora had expected. She’d pictured something old and ornate—the sort of place where you could imagine Erik lurking in the catacombs, murdering anyone who dared look at his Christine the wrong way.
But this? It was all metal and glass outside, and sleek and ultra-modern inside. Almost as if the architect had been given the same design brief as the one who’d built the Louvre pyramid.
Rachel wasn’t paying attention to any of it. She stood near the main entrance, eyes fixed on the doors like she was waiting for someone.
Maybe she was. Could she have a boyfriend? She’d been in Europe for three years now; plenty of time to meet someone. Maybe this was the only night he was free. That would definitely explain the frantic texting over dinner.
If Rachel’s mystery man wanted to sit with her, Nora would happily trade her seat with his. Just because she was single and unable to stop dwelling on Daniel, didn’t mean Rachel shouldn’t enjoy herself.
But no boyfriend—or anyone else Rachel recognized—ever showed. When the three bells rang to signal the start of the performance, Rachel sighed, took Nora’s arm, and led her into the theater.
Daniel , three hours later
“I’m not sure what to think about what we saw,” Daniel said.
The ballet had been amazing in a technical sense; the performers did things that it didn’t seem like a human body ought to be able to do.
He’d had to look away when the lead male dancer dropped into a split.
All Daniel could think about was how many ligaments he’d tear trying that.
“You didn’t like it?” Bianca took a sip of her drink. They were sitting in a comfortable little room in the lobby of the hotel, with a cozy fire burning in the fireplace.
“I did, but—there wasn’t really a story, was there?
Or maybe there was and I just didn’t get it?
” It hadn’t even been one performance; it was three separate pieces by different choreographers, and the only one he’d ever even heard of was Balanchine—and him only because he’d been an answer on Jeopardy once.
He tried his drink. It was fruity, but he couldn’t identify what fruit, exactly. “What’s in this, by the way?”
Bianca grinned and shook her head. “No idea. The woman in front of me ordered one, and the bartender didn’t speak English, so I just pointed to her and put up two fingers. You like it?”
It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually drank—not that he usually drank much at all—but it was good. “I do. I guess that’s enough, right?” Just like the performance, maybe? Not everything needed to be understood; sometimes it was enough to just live in the moment and enjoy things.
She clinked her glass to his. “I’d call that some real progress. Here’s to not overthinking things and just experiencing life.”
Bianca had only been telling him that since he learned to walk. Maybe he could finally start listening to her.
Nora , an hour later
This was supposed to be a fun trip. A new start. A way to stop living in the past.
So why did she go straight to bed instead of taking Rachel up on her invitation for a late-night drink and dessert in the hotel bar downstairs? And now that she was here, why couldn’t she stop crying?
Why was she imagining herself lying there on the opera house stage, asleep until her prince came to kiss her and start her life again?
Why was the prince in her head a dark-haired, kind of nerdy guy in a button-down shirt instead of the lithe, blond dancer in purple toe shoes she’d just watched onstage?
How could she ever get over Daniel when absolutely everything she saw reminded her of him?