6. A Gala Affair
“What!” exclaimed Katie. “Are you kidding me? Really? Henri asked you to the gala? I can’t believe he never asked me.”
“You’re engaged.”
“I am now, but Henri was coming to the international business gala long before I was engaged.”
“And Henri is way too old for you anyway. He’s my age.”
“He’s gone out with girls younger than me in the past, and I certainly don’t think he’s too old for me. I’m so jealous. Henri is sooooo hot.”
“But Katie—”
Her serious expression cracked and laughter burst out.
“I’m just teasing you. I’m happily in love so don’t fret. I’ve just always had a crush on Henri.”
“He is kind of cute.” Anne felt her cheeks warming.
“Kind of cute? That’s the understatement of the year. You’re a lucky dog. All these years I’ve done the preparation and planning, but I’ve never gotten to go to the bash. And you get to go after your first two weeks on the job. Plus, you get to go with Henri who is smokin’ hot. But wait… We’ve got to get you ready for the party.”
“What do you mean? It’s not until tomorrow night.”
“But you need to go to the spa, get your hair done, get your makeup done.”
Anne’s heart skipped a beat. “I couldn’t do that. I’ve never had my makeup done. I don’t even wear much makeup. And I wouldn’t know where to go. Anyway, it would cost too much.”
“I have a connection, a friend who’s just getting started in the business. She’s great, but she needs publicity. If she could just post your picture to advertise, she’ll give you a great deal, I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe. But I don’t really have time. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow—”
“Nope, you’re taking a personal day tomorrow. I’ll wrap up all the details for the event. I’ve done it by myself before.”
“But won’t Mr. Gherring be mad?”
“Gherring will be so busy with meetings he probably won’t notice. But if he asks, I’ll just tell him you had a family emergency.”
“But that would be a lie.”
“No, it’s true. You are part of a family—you’re the mom. And this is an emergency.”
* * *
Anne’s cellphone sounded a musical refrain of a classic Joe Walsh song about a fast Maserati. Anne struggled to answer the call with her paraffin-dipped hands in plastic bags, trying vainly not to disturb the green mud on her face. “Hey Charlie, I can’t talk for long. I’m in the middle of a spa treatment to make me beautiful, although it seems to be doing the opposite. I look quite frightful.”
“So you’re spending the day getting ready for the big date with the French playboy? And tonight, Emily says, you’re wearing Giselle?”
“Yes, Katie came over last night. She took one look at Giselle and insisted I wear her tonight. I thought my red one might be better.”
“Ughh, Mom. That dress was outdated twenty years ago, which is probably the last time you wore it.”
“Classics never go out of style.”
“I guess that about says it all, because that dress is definitely not a classic. Trust me, Mom. Didn’t Emily and I tell you to leave the red one at home? Anyway, you’ll look great in Giselle. I’m glad I have your genes, so I’ll still look hot when I’m old like you.”
“Eh-hem! Old like me?”
“Sorry, you know I don’t think you’re old.” Charlie laughed. “But you do look pretty good for the mom of a twenty-three-year-old.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, ’cause right now I feel pretty ugly. But I do feel pampered. I already had a hot rock massage, and my hands and feet have been rubbed and seasoned and dipped in wax, and I have a goopy mask on my face. I feel like a turkey that’s getting ready to go in the oven.”
Charlie cracked up. “Now I have this picture in my head of a big stuffed turkey with your head on it. Are you getting your hair cut?”
“Evidently, I’m getting a total makeover, complete with a haircut and some highlights. Josie says they will ‘blend with the gray hairs.’ But what I’m really worried about is the shoes for tonight.”
“Aren’t you wearing those super sexy black strappy sandals Emily gave you? They go perfectly with Giselle, and they are sooooo cute.”
“But the heels are sooooo high. And I’m sooooo clumsy.”
“You are a bit clumsy. I forgot what you looked like trying to walk in those heels. But you just need practice. Nobody is born with the ability to walk in spike heels.”
Anne squinted one eye as she considered practicing. “That might work, or I could just wear my black flats.”
“No way. That’s the reason Emily and I bought that dress, remember? It’s extra long. You have to wear heels or you’ll walk all over it. And you’re shorter than both of us. Here’s what you do… carry the shoes until you’re in the taxi. You can hold on to Henri for balance while you’re at the party until you get to a chair.”
“Fine, I’ll just cling to Henri tonight. I can think of worse things.”
“I can’t wait for a report. Get someone to take a picture of you and Henri and text it to us.”
“I’ll do it. I feel like I’m getting ready to go to prom.”
“It’s more like you’re Cinderella going to the ball with the prince.”
* * *
Anne staredat herself in the mirror, or at least she thought that was her face. The woman in the mirror looked nothing like the woman that got up at five a.m. to run on the treadmill. Her hair was the same soft brown color, but the new highlights gave it a healthy shine. The tresses hung in loose curls, framing her face. Her eyes looked huge and exotic—the wonders of an eyelash curler and mascara, combined with some smoky eye shadow. Her lips looked fuller with a light pink sheer gloss.
The halter top of the black silky dress was cut deep in front, but the girls had sent her with a special tape to keep everything securely in place with no gaping. Anne was self-conscious about the plunging neckline, although she was small enough nothing was revealed. The back of the dress dipped low on her spine, her back looking smooth with its recent spray tan. She leaned forward and backward and raised her hands experimentally, making sure nothing important was exposed. The material fell in curve-hugging swaths with a side slit that bared her leg from the knee down. Satisfied with the modesty of the dress, such as it was, she picked up her wrap and headed for the lobby.
She entered the lobby to find Henri chatting and flirting with Rayna. She observed he was even more handsome—if that was possible—in his tuxedo.
When he spotted Anne, his mouth fell open. “Mon dieu! I am in heaven. Vous êtes un ange. An angel from heaven.”
Anne felt her face flush with embarrassment. She walked slowly toward him, attempting to look stately, but actually working to keep her balance. Henri crossed the room to her side, and she gratefully took his proffered arm.
Rayna was practically jumping up and down. “Anne, you look great—like a movie star.”
Anne started laughing. “I can’t keep up the pretense. I’m so awkward in these shoes. If you just knew—” She stuck out a foot to exhibit the spiky heel. “This is not me. I’m so much more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt with flat sandals.”
“But you look amazing. You were just hiding all this in those frumpy clothes,” said Rayna.
“And I am happy to stay close to you so you will not fall. It will be our secret, notre secret. This way I can touch you all night.” Henri tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “And no one can steal my angel, mon bel ange.”
Anne felt the flex of Henri’s strong arm and realized she felt secure with him. She wondered at the irony of feeling safe on the arm of a notorious French playboy.
“Rayna, would you take our picture?” Anne held out her phone. “I promised the girls I would text them a picture.” Rayna snapped a few photos, and Anne sent the texts to Charlie and Emily.
“Please. Will you send a picture to me? Moi et mon bel ange.” Henri entered his cell number. “This is a new number. This number will reach me in Paris.”
Anne flushed as Rayna silently mouthed, “O.M.G.”
“Madame,” said Henri. “You are ready?”
Anne took a deep breath and returned a shaky smile. “Let’s go.”
Henri had ordered a limousine rather than a taxi, like before. There was a small group of society reporters gathered at the hotel entrance, snapping pictures and snagging interviews as guests departed the limos. Anne tried vainly not to be noticed, the task made more difficult because Henri basked in the attention. He stopped to converse with several of the journalists he knew, while Anne attempted to be inconspicuous. Henri unrepentantly told them his date for the evening was “an angel from Texas.” When one of the reporters joked he didn’t know there were angels in Texas, Henri declared there was only one angel from Texas, and she was in New York with him now. He flashed his white smile, while Anne burned crimson with embarrassment.
Henri talked animatedly as they walked through the lobby toward the Grand Ballroom. But Anne tugged on his arm. “Wait, Henri… I’m not ready. I’m nervous.”
“No need to be nervous. I will not leave you, and my arm is yours.”
“And we’ll avoid Steven Gherring?”
“We will stay far, far from Steven Gherring.” Henri smiled and led her into the ballroom.
As they entered the ballroom, Anne was filled with trepidation. Why had she agreed to go to this event with Henri? She would make a fool of herself and Henri as well. Anne knew more than 900 people had responded affirmatively for the gala, but she was somehow still overwhelmed by the mass of people, all clad in tuxedos and evening gowns.
The ballroom was large and separated into distinct areas. On one side was a buffet, and adjacent to that an open bar. Sixty round bar-height tables with tall chairs were available for guests to utilize. However, the majority of the guests were milling about in the main center area, which provided a multitude of tall tables on which they could stash their refreshments. Waiters filtered through the crowd, offering trays of red and white wines, sparkling waters, and various hors d’oeuvres. In the back of the room, a jazz band played on a small stage adjacent to the dance floor, their melodies a soft background in the vast hall.
True to his word, Henri spotted Gherring across the large hall and guided Anne away to the other side. He walked slowly, allowing Anne to navigate smoothly through the room. Henri stopped to talk with friends and associates, always introducing her as Anne, his angel from Texas.
Her nerves gradually dissipated, and soon she was laughing and talking, as a rather large group joined in their banter. The international visitors were curious about Texas and particularly intrigued with her drawl. She gave tourist advice to several couples who were planning to spend time in Texas before leaving the country.
“My favorite places are in the Hill Country. You’ve got to go to the River Walk in San Antonio. You should visit SoCo in Austin.” She ticked off the sites on her fingers. “And y’all should go to Fort Worth and see the Botanical Gardens. It’s even pretty in the winter.” She forgot her earlier worries, enjoying the chance to meet interesting people from New York and around the globe.
As one gentleman was recounting a humorous story, he stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes riveted over Anne’s shoulder. She heard a deep voice behind her. “Good evening, Ms. Best, Henri.” She turned to see Steven Gherring standing directly behind her. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you enjoying the party?”
Henri’s voice was stiff. “Your reception is magnificent, as usual.”
Anne twisted toward Gherring while frantically clutching Henri’s arm, trying to still her shaking hands.
“Ms. Best, I hope your family emergency is much improved?”
Anne’s cheeks burned like fire. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gherring. I didn’t want to lie to you. Katie said she could handle everything, so I took the day to go to the spa. You should fire me. I can’t even believe I did it. It’s really not like me to lie or skip work. I never even played hooky from school—not one day. I’m sorry—”
“Ms. Best—” Gherring interrupted. But Anne continued in her apology.
“I really am sorry. It was just a waste of time—”
“Anne! You’re not fired.” He continued softly, “And your day at the spa was certainly not a waste of time.” His eyes raked up and down appraisingly with a hint of a smile on his lips. “Not a waste at all.”
Anne felt the blood rush to her face. He’d called her by her first name. And was he complimenting her? Surely not. He must be teasing her.
She searched her mind for a way to control the conversation. “Where’s Ms. Milan?”
Gherring glanced about the room and shrugged. “Oh she’s here somewhere, networking and publicizing.” He turned to Henri who’d been silently on guard. “Henri, can you spare a moment? I need to speak with you… privately.”
Henri caught Anne’s eyes with a silent question. “I’ll be fine,” she said, carefully releasing his arm. She joined back in her former conversation, standing unsupported while watching Gherring and Henri from the corner of her eye. The discussion was earnest, but she was relieved to find neither party seemed agitated. Gherring walked back with Henri who took his place at Anne’s side.
Suddenly, Margo Milan materialized beside Gherring, locking arms with him. The arrival of the beautiful model brought murmurs from the group. Men jockeyed for the opportunity to meet her and shake her hand, while their wives and dates stared at the willowy woman with flawless olive skin and black silky hair that fell in a straight edgy cut, just brushing her shoulders. Henri smiled at Margo, but made no move to meet her, remaining next to Anne as promised. However, Margo recognized Henri and coaxed Gherring to make introductions. “Steven, you haven’t introduced me to this handsome Frenchman.”
Gherring obliged her, with slight irritation edging his voice. “Margo, this is Henri DuBois. Henri… Margo Milan.”
Henri moved toward Margo, pulling Anne with him. “So nice to meet you, Ms. Milan.” Then in a particularly un-Henri move, he grabbed her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Enchanté. Gherring, as always, you find the most beautiful women. Perhaps someday you will learn how to keep them.”
Gherring looked daggers at Henri, while his muscles flexed along his jawline.
Henri continued. “And may I present mon ange from Texas, Ms. Anne Best?”
Anne held out her hand, but Margo ignored her, addressing Henri again. “Henri, you are from Paris, right? Perhaps I’ll run into you next month when we do our shoot in France.”
“Perhaps,” said Henri with no enthusiasm. “S’il vous pla?t, if you will excuse us, I am suddenly thirsty.” Henri led Anne away to a table near the bar and snagged two sparkling waters from the waiter’s tray.
“She seemed really interested in you,” Anne said.
Henri rolled his eyes. “Those models, they are too skinny.”
“Ha! I don’t believe you for a moment.”
“Yes, they have sharp bones. The bones, they poke you. Who wants a boney woman?”
“So you must think I’m fat, then,” Anne accused playfully.
“No, you are perfect, as I tell you with the chocolates. Hmmm… There is one thing I think. One thing is wrong with you.”
“What’s the one thing?”
“You are too far away from me.”
Anne’s face fell at the mention of the ocean that would soon separate them. “Perhaps you could come back and visit—”
“I mean now. You are too far away now. All the way across the table. I like having you stand close to me all night. In fact, I think we should get closer still.”
Anne’s eyes grew wide.
“I think we should dance,” he said.
Anne giggled in relief. “I don’t think I could dance in these shoes.”
“This song is slow, and I will hold you up.”
Anne glanced at the dance floor near the stage. “There’s no one else dancing.”
“That is even better. If you fall, you will not hurt anyone.” A mischievous smile lit his face. “Come dance, mon bel ange.”
Anne felt like a million eyes were watching as she danced with Henri, but gradually, a few couples joined them on the dance floor. He held her right hand, and pressed her close with his other hand on the small of her back. His fingers were warm on her skin. He whispered in her ear, and she felt intoxicated by the power of his persuasive words.
As she turned in a slow circle, her eyes locked with Steven Gherring’s. He stared intently. What was the emotion in his eyes? Was he angry she’d lied to him? Was he embarrassed his secretary was at this important event with his business associate? Was he disgusted she was going out with Henri, a man that was a source of irritation for him? Henri turned her further and she lost sight of Gherring. He began to hum the song, his deep voice resonating in his chest, vibrating against her. She was lost in relaxed reverie, when Henri stopped abruptly.
She looked up, only to see Steven Gherring standing behind Henri. “May I cut in?”
Henri glowered at Gherring. “I do not think the lady desires to change partners.”
Gherring returned the glare and spoke through his clenched teeth. “Perhaps you should ask the lady in question.”
Both men turned their scowling faces to Anne, who felt as if she might pass out right on the dance floor. Gherring softened his expression. “If you’d do me the honor, Ms. Best? Just one dance?”
“Okay,” Anne hated the shaky sound of her voice.
Henri surrendered her hand to Gherring. “Qu”une seule fois. Only one. Seulement!” He backed away, keeping his eyes on Anne.
Gherring took her hand in a gentle clasp and placed his hand on her back. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers. His blue eyes gazed so intensely Anne closed hers to escape them. He started to move in time to the music when Anne stopped him. “Wait… I forgot. I have to tell you something. Before we can dance—”
Gherring’s expression was taut. “What? Tell me.”
Anne blushed. “I can barely stand up in these shoes. You have to move slow and help me keep my balance.”
Gherring’s face broke out in a smile, a rare genuine smile that revealed his deep dimples. “I’ll hold you up. You won’t fall with me.”
He moved her across the dance floor in a slow smooth motion, while she kept her eyes downcast. Anne was intensely aware of his touch. Although he held her firmly, he didn’t press against her. His firm chest brushed lightly across her as they glided around the floor, every contact searing.
Anne felt lightheaded and faltered for a moment. But Gherring reacted quickly, bringing her close as he supported her. Anne’s heart was racing, and she feared Gherring would notice the thudding against his chest. If he noticed, he said nothing.
Why had he asked her to dance? Was he trying to prove something to Henri? Was he making a fool of her? She drummed up the courage to speak to him, to ask him what he was doing. But when she looked up, his gaze held her captive, her breath catching in her throat. She opened her mouth and her lips moved, but no words emerged.
Gherring spoke. “I want you to know…” He paused, a pained look crossing his face. “That—that I enjoyed the dance… very much.”
They’d stopped moving, and Anne noticed a lull in the music. She tried to understand Gherring’s motivation. “But why—”
Henri deftly stepped between the pair, reclaiming her hand. He gave Anne a warm smile, ignoring Gherring completely. “Would you like to dance more? Or sit for a moment?”
“I think I’d like to sit.” Anne took Henri’s arm but glanced up at Gherring. His expression was inscrutable. “Thanks for the dance, Mr. Gherring.”
“Yes, thank you, Anne. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.” Gherring narrowed his eyes at Henri. “When is your flight back to Paris, Henri? Do you need a lift to the airport?”
Henri stared grimly at Gherring and started to retort, when Anne interrupted. “Actually, Mr. Gherring, I was the person who arranged for Henri’s transportation, along with the other international executives. And I’m sure I can make alternate arrangements in case his flight plans change.”
Henri cracked a smile at Anne.
“And yes, I’ll see you on Monday,” Anne continued. “No more spa days for me.”
Gherring gave a stiff nod. “Thank you for the dance.”
Henri led Anne toward the tables. Just as they arrived, Anne looked over her shoulder. Gherring was still standing on the dance floor, watching their departure as other couples swirled around him.
Henri retrieved a glass of wine for himself and a grapefruit soda for Anne. He left her at the table while he went to stand in the buffet line. Anne was contemplating her straw when she heard a familiar voice.
Johanna Klein slipped into a chair beside her. “You must tell me everything. I saw the scene on the dance floor—I must know what has happened.”
Anne told the whole story, starting with the surprise lunch date with Henri, filling in details as Johanna questioned her. When she was explaining how Gherring asked her to dance, she stopped the story.
“Why do you think he asked me to dance?”
“Why do you think he asked you?” Johanna questioned.
“I think Gherring still dislikes Henri, even though he explained himself. He still hasn’t forgiven Henri, and I think he was trying to put Henri in his place. He acts like he owns me. Maybe he thinks he’s taking the place of my father, withholding approval of my boyfriends.”
“Hmmm,” Johanna mused. “I believe you may be mistaken. I saw him dancing with you. He did not look at you like a father would.”
“What do you mean?” Anne felt the blood rushing to her face.
“I simply think he could be jealous, don’t you?”
“Jealous? Of me?” Anne was incredulous. “Believe me, you’re wrong. I know the kind of women Gherring likes, and they’re nothing like me. He likes women like… like Margo Milan. Young, sophisticated, beautiful, society types. Women who’ve traveled the world.”
“Perhaps, but you are just as beautiful as that model.”
“No way! But thank you for boosting my forty-five-year-old ego. I do think I look a lot better than I usually do, thanks to my day at the spa. It took a whole day to look like this. No wonder my five-minute beauty routine isn’t very effective.”
Johanna chuckled with Anne about the hard work associated with beauty. Then she leaned close and whispered, “But what about Henri? Are there sparks?”
Anne thought of the warm security she felt as Henri held her close. “Maybe, I’m not sure yet. I’m cautious because it’s been fifteen years since I even looked at a man like that.” Unbidden, Anne recalled Gherring’s searing touch as they danced. She felt the heat rise to her face.
“You are blushing. I think there may be sparks after all!”
Henri returned bearing a plate laden with delectable finger foods just as Johanna got up to leave.
“I must go rescue my husband from talking business all night. So glad to have seen you again. I have your email address, so I will keep in touch.” She leaned in to whisper in Anne’s ear. “I have to find out the end of the story.”
When Johanna was gone, Anne realized she was famished. “I don’t think I’ve eaten anything all day!” She gobbled down the hors d’oeuvres quickly.
“Henri, I know it may be none of my business, but will you tell me what Gherring said to you when he talked to you alone? I want to know if y’all talked about me.”
“He wanted to know what my intentions were. And he told me I cannot hurt you.”
“He said that? He actually told you not to hurt me?” She ought to be furious that he was still meddling, right? Why wasn’t she?
“Oui. Non. His words were, ‘If you hurt Anne, I will hurt you!’ I think he was serious.”
“I can’t believe he said that.”
“But he did not say what will happen…” He stopped to gaze into Anne’s eyes. “He did not say what will happen if you hurt me.”
“If I hurt you? Why would I hurt you?”
“Because, as I told you, you have captured my heart. What will you do now? With my heart?”
Anne hesitated. How was she supposed to respond? This was exactly the kind of pressure she’d hoped to avoid.
Henri sighed. “He is watching us now.”
Anne glanced over her shoulder to find Gherring gazing their direction from the edge of the crowd.
“He is watching us to be sure I do not hurt you. I will not hurt you, but you may hurt me. I have decided I will risk letting you hurt my heart, mon ange.” He bent toward Anne and lightly brushed his lips on hers. She jumped, her eyes wide and startled, her cheeks burning.
“I’m sorry, Henri. I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time. I mean a really long time. Like fifteen years long time.”
“That is a really long time,” Henri agreed with a grin. “You have forgotten how? Do you still like to kiss?”
Anne chuckled. “I guess the answer is no—I haven’t forgotten how. And yes—I still like to, I think. But I’m pretty rusty and pretty nervous. And I don’t want to practice here in front of a bunch of people.”
“You do not want to practice in front of the crowd? Or you do not want to practice in front of your boss?”
Anne glanced over her shoulder to where Gherring was glaring. “Honestly… both.”
Henri smiled, his green eyes dancing. “Come. I will take mon bel ange to a place where there is no crowd and…” He glanced back at Gherring. “And no boss.”
He quickly tucked her arm into his and led her across the ballroom and out the door. As she departed, Anne thought triumphantly she hadn’t lost her balance the entire evening. No trips, no falls. But then she recalled she had indeed felt off balance one time—in the arms of Steven Gherring.
* * *
Anne leftthe ballroom with Henri and, to her surprise, he led her into the hotel elevator. She watched him nervously as the elevator rose higher and higher. “Where’re we going?”
Henri grinned and raised his eyebrows. He spoke in a sultry voice. “We are going upstairs to my room, of course. There, it will be private. No crowd, no boss.”
Anne’s face turned ashen, but Henri laughed. “Non, no. I am kidding you. We are going to the top. There is a private club, a bar. It is a quiet place. You will like it, I think.”
Anne pummeled Henri in the arm playfully until he begged for mercy, even as she sighed in relief. The elevator doors opened on the top floor. They entered a large lounge, and Henri asked to be seated by the windows.
As they took their seats Anne exclaimed breathlessly, “It’s Times Square! We can see Times Square from here!”
Henri looked pleased by her response. “You like it?”
“I love it. This is amazing. I’ve never seen Times Square at night—it’s so beautiful.”
“It is beautiful. I love to show you beautiful things.” They looked out in silence over the busy scene below them. “Paris is very beautiful. I would like to show Paris to you.”
Anne’s eyes lit up and then her face fell. “Henri, I’d love to go to Paris. I’d love to see Paris with you, but I don’t see how that would work.”
“It is simple. You will fly to Paris. I will pay for your ticket, and I will pick you up at the airport. You will stay at my home. My home is very large, très grande. You will have your own room. Everything will be very proper.” His green eyes searched her face hopefully. “Will you come to Paris?”
She hesitated, her voice apologetic. “Henri…”
“Non, wait! Do not say no. Please, mon ange, not yet. Do not say that it is not possible.”
“But Henri—”
“Wait! You said to give myself a chance. I am giving myself a chance with you. I say we make a bargain.”
“What bargain?”
“You cannot say no until we try.”
“I don’t know. What does that mean?”
“I mean you must come one time to Paris. Then you can say no if you want to. But you may say yes, if you give me a chance.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Henri touched his finger to her lips. “Wait! Please wait. If you come to Paris one time and you still think it will not work between us, I will let you go. I ask only for a chance.”
“I just don’t know, Henri. I’d like to say yes, but I don’t know.”
“What do you lose if you try?”
“I don’t want to break your heart, Henri.”
“It is too late—I have opened my heart to you.”
Anne felt like running away. She couldn’t handle this kind of pressure. How had she managed to lead Henri on? She thought she’d been so careful.
Henri touched her arm. “It is a good thing, I think, to give my heart to you. I have played and flirted, but I have not given my heart. Because I do not want to hurt again, I have not given my heart. For five years I have protected my heart to keep it safe, so I will not be hurt.”
He spoke fervently. “But without hurt, I have no chance for love. Mon bel ange, with you I am willing to risk my heart again, so I can feel. Oui? No chance for hurt means no chance for love. I am forty-five years old. I want real love in my life. I am glad to risk hurting.”
A thick band seemed to tighten around Anne’s chest. “I have to be honest, Henri. This is moving too fast for me.”
“I only have hours left to convince you.” Henri lifted Anne’s hand to his lips. “For me, I am glad to feel something again.”
Henri lifted her arm and turned her hand over to press a gentle kiss on her wrist. She watched as he moved up to kiss the inside of her elbow. She felt a tingle deep inside as his lips caressed her skin. His hand tilted her chin toward him, and he moved his lips toward hers. He touched his mouth against hers, tenderly at first. Then his hand moved behind her head, and his kiss became more urgent. Anne’s heart raced as she gave in to her need, so long denied. She returned his kiss with passion, her body humming, her heart pounding. When he finally pulled back, releasing their kiss, both of them were breathing rapidly.
“Mon dieu! You have not forgotten how to kiss.”
Anne fanned her flushed face. “But I forgot how nice it is to be kissed. To be well-kissed.”
“So you will come to Paris, mon bel ange? Just one time? Just one chance?”
“But what about work?”
“In three weeks, you have your holiday, Thanksgiving?”
“Yes… We’re off Wednesday through Friday.”
“So you can come to Paris on Tuesday night. We will have four days together.”
“But… I was planning to see my father during the holidays.”
Henri leaned toward Anne and nuzzled her neck below her ear. “You could see your father at Christmas, I think.”
Anne felt a shiver go down her spine. “Yes, I think I could see Dad at Christmas, after all. I guess I’m going to Paris.”
Then she sat up with excitement. “And I get to use my passport—I’ll get my first stamp.”
* * *
The limousine returnedthem to the front of Anne’s apartment. Anne, who’d abandoned her shoes on the trip, jumped out of the door with them in one hand, holding her dress up so she wouldn’t trip. She squealed as she dashed across the cold sidewalk in bare feet with Henri chasing behind her. They pushed through the doors into the lobby, laughing. She spied Antonio as she was running past and stopped to give him a hug. His mouth dropped open as he noticed her dress and makeover. Though some of the makeup had worn off, her cheeks were rosy and her face was glowing.
“You look hot, Anne. If I weren’t going out with Rayna, I’d be coming after you.”
“Thanks, Antonio. But don’t get used to it—this is a temporary change.”
Henri’s arms wrapped around her. “I fell for you without the fancy dress. You were beautiful already.”
Antonio raised his eyebrows. “Anne, you’ve been keeping secrets. Why haven’t I heard about your boyfriend?”
“Antonio, this is Henri. Henri, this is Antonio—he keeps me safe in my home here.”
Henri bowed to Antonio. “I am grateful to you for keeping her safe—mon bel ange.”
Anne pulled Henri away to say goodnight. “May I come upstairs? For coffee? That is all, I promise.”
“Promise?”
“I do not wish the night to end.”
Anne relented, unable to resist his pleading green eyes. “Just coffee. No hanky-panky.”
He followed her to the elevator. “What is hanky-panky? It sounds delicious—I might be hungry.”
Anne struggled to explain the term until she noticed Henri was suppressing a laugh. “You’re teasing me, again. Why am I so gullible?” She punched him playfully. “At least I get to hit your arm and feel your muscles.”
Anne dashed ahead of Henri when she opened her apartment door, hurrying in to shut the bathroom door and hide her mess. Henri surveyed the small living area and relaxed on the comfy sofa. Anne started a pot of decaf coffee before joining Henri on the couch.
“Okay Henri, I said I would come to Paris, and I will. But I just don’t see how it would ever work long term. You can’t move to New York because of work. I can’t move to Paris because of my family.”
Henri smirked at Anne. “Do you always worry so much?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so. I just worry about things.” Still holding up the hem of her dress as she walked, Anne left her heels by the bedroom door.
“But I do not. I do not worry about things.”
“Yes, I’m aware. You don’t seem to worry about anything.”
“You worry too much, and I do not worry enough. Oui? So together we are perfect.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “I’m fixin’ to get our coffee. Do you want cream or sugar?”
“No, just black. You are enough sweet for me.”
“Henri, you’re so corny.” She used the Keurig to prepare two cups of coffee and carried them to the couch. She set the steaming mugs on the coffee table and perched beside Henri. “It’s been a long time since somebody sweet-talked me. And it sounds so much better with that sexy French accent.”
“Oui, oui! I am counting on your inability to resist my accent.” He leaned toward her, his lips moving toward her neck, but a knock at the door made both of them jump.
“Who could that be?” She ran to the door and peeped through the hole. “It’s Mr. Gherring. Should you hide?”
“I will not hide. I have done nothing wrong.”
“Right, right… I just panicked. I’m going to open the door.” Anne cracked it open and blocked the doorway.
“Did you need something. Mr. Gherring?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He peered over her shoulder, his eyes focusing on Henri.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay? Henri’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“Just checking on you. I’m glad you’re home safely.”
“Thanks—” Anne started to shut the door, but Gherring stuck his foot in the way.
“Wait. Tell Henri my limousine is available now if he’d like a ride to his hotel. I just wanted to offer.”
Henri sauntered over to the door, placing a possessive arm around Anne’s waist. “Thank you, Gherring, but I do not need your limousine tonight. Goodbye.”
Gherring’s eyes narrowed as Henri shut the door in his face.
Anne put her hands on her hips. “Henri! You made it sound like you’re spending the night.”
“I did?” He opened his eyes wide.
“You know good and well what you made him think. I know it seems silly to you, but I’m old-fashioned about this. I don’t want anyone to think I’m that kind of girl. I want to protect my reputation.”
“I will tell him the truth tomorrow. I will sacrifice my reputation for your reputation.” He plastered his hand over his heart and spoke with such drama in his voice, Anne started laughing.
“Okay, you’re forgiven. But only if you let him know the truth.”
“Maybe we should do as he thinks we are doing instead?” He leaned in close. “Are you listening? Do you hear my sexy accent? N”est-ce pas? Mon bel ange?”
Anne backed away and put her hands over her ears. “Henri, you promised.”
“Yes, I promised.” He shook his head as his lips formed a pout. “But maybe, a little, I hoped you would change your mind.” He smiled and put up his hands to stop her as she began to protest again. “No, I will be good. Do not be mad at me—we will just drink coffee, oui?”
“Yes, just coffee.”
“And maybe one more kiss? Only one? Seulement? A goodbye kiss for three weeks?”
“Only one more. You almost killed me with the first one.”
“Moi aussi. Me too. But I was thinking… I was thinking that would be a great way to die.”