Hey, wait a minute. That’s it! How come I didn’t think of this before? Skydiving costs hundreds of euros. When I go to pay for it, my credit card is going to be declined. The perfect reason to bow out of jumping out of a plane. Sure, Giselle and all her snooty friends will snicker about how poor I am, but isn’t it better to be poor than dead?
Pierre pulls up in the circular driveway in front of the hotel. He’s driving a sleek sports car today, instead of being chauffeured around in a town car. A valet opens the passenger door for me and I slip in.
“Sorry I’m late,” Pierre says. “I’ve been on a conference call all morning. And I have a few more calls to make on the way to the airport.” Then he hands me a steaming cup of coffee, his fingers brushing against mine. “I thought you might need this. When you texted this morning, you said that you didn’t sleep well. Nerves?”
I picture Giselle, the skydiving daredevil supermodel in my head, and lie. “No, not at all.”
“Really? You’re afraid of flying. You know, you can always change your mind. No one will think less of you.”
“Honestly, I’ll be fine. The fear of flying is probably an advantage. I’ll want to get off the plane so badly that I’ll happily jump out of it.”
He rubs his jaw. “Wow, I’m amazed at how brave you are.”
I smile brightly at him. It’s easy to be brave when you know that your credit card is going to be declined. Once that transaction doesn’t go through, I’m home free.
On the ride to the small airport in the north of France where the skydiving operation is located, I take in the scenery while Pierre makes several business-related calls. His father seems to be involving him more in the day-to-day management of the family’s commercial empire. I wonder if his parents are going to put an end to his rotation through front-line hotel jobs and promote him to an executive position early.
I glance over at Pierre and frown. The stubble on his chin and the dark circles under his eyes are signs that he’s burning the candle at both ends of the stick. When he stops at an intersection, he stretches his arms above his head and yawns, before taking another call. This time it’s to his lawyer, who he agrees to meet briefly at the airport to go through some important papers.
I shake my head. Only billionaires have their lawyers come running to them, fitting in business deals around skydiving, polo, and charity balls. The rest of us make appointments and wait patiently in the reception area until the lawyer has time to see us. And when we deal with lawyers, it’s usually for some unpleasant reason, like the reading of a will or a divorce, not because we’re brokering some multi-million dollar property acquisition or company merger.
When we arrive at the airport, we’re greeted by Giselle. She squeals loudly when she sees Pierre. I roll my eyes as she attempts to lock lips with him again. Despite her efforts, Pierre simply gives her a couple of brief air kisses, then steps back and puts his arm around my shoulders. For once, I’m not upset about a public display of affection. The look on Giselle’s face is totally worth it.
“You remember Mia, don’t you?” Pierre asks.
Giselle gives an indifferent nod in my direction, then points at a group of people standing by a sign that says, Skydive Beaumont. “Everyone’s here. Come, say hello.”
Pierre squeezes my shoulder before he leads me over. There’s a lot of kissing of cheeks, gossip about a rumored royal abdication, arrangements for a birthday party on a private island in the Caribbean, and plans to go to a nightclub later that night.
I stand awkwardly to the side, wondering if this group of self-absorbed people would have even noticed if a crash test dummy was standing here instead of me.
After a few minutes, a man with an uncanny resemblance to Bruce Willis takes pity on me. “You’re, Mia, right? I’m Stefan, owner of Skydive Beaumont. Pierre told me that this will be your first time skydiving. You’re our only beginner today, so while everyone else has some coffee, I’m going to take you through a short orientation session.”
I pull my wallet out of my purse. For once in my life, I’m glad my credit rating sucks. Not that I actually knew what a credit rating was until Isabelle explained it to me a few weeks ago. “Uh, sure, but first I need to pay for it.”
Stefan shakes his head. “No need to worry about that. Pierre’s taken care of everything. It’s his treat. The only thing you have to concern yourself with is jumping out of the plane.”
12
All the Shades of Green
Thirty-two minutes, five seconds later, I walk out of Stefan’s office. I’ve watched a video about skydiving, produced a medical certificate, signed release papers, and quickly done a search on my phone to see if I can get a rush delivery of a crash test dummy to the airport.
“Are you okay?” Giselle asks. This is the most she’s said to me since we’ve met, so I’m immediately suspicious.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, you do look a bit green.” She waves her friends over. “Girls, take a look at Mia. Doesn’t her complexion look green? I think she’s using the wrong foundation.”
The girls pepper me with questions while inspecting my skin. “Do you use primer?” “What kind of moisturizer are you using?” “Are your pores always this large?”
Then a fervent discussion breaks out about what a massive job doing a makeover on me would entail. A twenty-four carat gold facial enriched with Mongolian yak butter is mentioned. Someone suggests that Botox needs to be seriously considered. A Russian reality show star scoffs at the Botox idea. Apparently that isn’t enough to deal with the tragic mess that is my face. “Sweetheart,” she says in a husky voice, “I give you name of plastic surgeon. He do good job on you.”
Meanwhile, Pierre, Stefan and the other guys are standing by the coffee station chatting about rugby. While normally I wouldn’t gravitate toward a discussion about conversion kicks, it has to be better than listening to these girls.
I slip away unnoticed—they’ve moved on from discussing my facial shortcomings and are now talking about the new rutabaga diet fad—and sit on a couch next to the coffee station. Listening with half an ear to the guys, I leaf through a celebrity magazine. I do a double take when I realize that the woman on the cover is the same one who recommended plastic surgery to me.
Pierre turns to refill his coffee cup. I start to say hi to him, but Stefan comes over and slaps him on the back. “I hear wedding bells are on the horizon.”
Pierre glances over at where the girls are standing and shushes him. “It’s meant to be a surprise.”
“Relax, they can’t hear you,” Stefan says. “From what you tell me though, I think she’s going to be shocked. A proposal so soon after meeting? But I suppose with a diamond that big, she’s hardly going to say no.”
I burrow into the couch and hide behind my magazine. I don’t think Pierre and Stefan realize that they’ve been overheard. My mind is whirring. Who is going to propose to whom? Then I stifle a giggle when I realize that I’ve said “whom” with a British accent. Granted, I said it inside my mind, not out loud, but I’d never normally talk like that. I’d say, “Who is going to propose to who?” And I’d say it with my flat, American accent.
The pilot walks into the reception area. “We’re ready to take you up. Grab your gear and head over to the plane.”
Pierre grabs Stefan’s arm. “My lawyer was supposed to be here by now, and I really need to see him today. Can you give me a few minutes? I’ll give him a call and see where he’s at.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s part of the surprise you have planned, right?” Stefan waves the pilot over, then turns back to Pierre. “No problem. I’ll take care of it.”
As Pierre pulls out his phone, a harried-looking man rushes in. Oblivious to my presence, the two of them confer in hushed tones, while the lawyer sets his briefcase down next to the coffeemaker. He opens it, pulls out a stack of file folders, and shuffles through them. Pierre frowns and taps his fingers on the table. The lawyer mutters to himself while he looks through
his briefcase again. Finally, he finds the right folder, and hands it to Pierre, along with a fountain pen. Pierre flips through the document, then signs his name on the last page with a flourish.
After he hands it back to the lawyer, Pierre rushes out of the reception area toward the airplane. I consider my options—do I stay here and continue to read my magazine, or do I join the others on the plane? Except for the discussion of my face, I’ve gone pretty much unnoticed by everyone. They might not even realize that I haven’t boarded.
But, on the other hand, something is going on with Pierre, and I’m curious to find out what this urgent meeting with the lawyer was really about.
Nosiness wins out. As I stand and go to set the magazine on the table, the lawyer turns and bumps into me. His briefcase tumbles to the ground, and the file folders and papers fly out. I bend down to help him retrieve them. The documents all seem pretty dry and boring, full of lawyerly stuff. That is, until I get to one with the heading, “Accord Prénuptial.” My online French refresher course has really been paying off because I know that this translates to “Prenuptial Agreement.”
The lawyer snatches it from my hand and sticks it in a folder labeled, “Toussaint.” Toussaint as in Pierre Toussaint.
Whoa, wait a minute. Why is Pierre signing a prenuptial agreement? Is he going to pull a diamond engagement ring out of the pocket of his jumpsuit and propose to Giselle on board the plane? Stefan mentioned that there were wedding bells in the air. I knew there was something weird going on between Pierre and Giselle. They must have had a fight and broken up. I bet he was only using me to make her jealous. He knew she would be at Auberge du Canard that night. That’s why he asked me to go to dinner with him, so that she’d see him with another woman. He played it cool when Giselle showed up, but it was all for show. He’s in love with her. He’s always been in love with her. And now he’s going to ask her to be his wife.
The pilot walks into the reception area. “Mia, we’re waiting for you.”
“Just give me a few minutes.” I go into the ladies’ room and splash cold water on my face. After taking a few deep breaths, I look at myself in the mirror. Wow, my complexion really does look green. But is it green from the anxiety of having to jump out of a plane, or is it green from envy?
My phone beeps. The timer reads zero. Turns out the countdown wasn’t for the hours, minutes and seconds until I went skydiving. It was to count down the time until my heart was broken.
* * *
“There you are,” Pierre says as I board the plane. “I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up.”
Around a dozen people are seated on jump seats arranged against the sides of the aircraft. Like me, they’re all wearing jumpsuits, helmets, and goggles. Unlike me, they all look thrilled to be here. Giselle especially. Little does she know her day is about to get even better.
Pierre taps the empty seat next to him. “I saved you a spot.”
I gulp as I fasten my seatbelt. “I can’t go through with this.”
Pierre squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, you can do this. Think of it like that scene on the Death Star when Stormtroopers are shooting at Luke and Leia and they have to do that Tarzan-like swing across that giant chasm.”
“Are you saying people are going to be shooting at us when we jump out of the airplane?”
He laughs. “No, there won’t be any shooting.”
“Are we going to be swinging on vines?”
“Nope, no vines.”
“And Planet Earth isn’t in danger of being destroyed by a Death Star?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then why are you bringing up Star Wars?”
He pinches my nose playfully. “Because I thought it would distract you from the fact that the plane is about to take off.”
Giselle leans across the aisle. “If she doesn’t want to do it, don’t make her.”
“I’m not making her do anything,” Pierre says. “Mia knows that.”
Giselle shakes her head. “Look at her. She’s turning green again.”
Pierre puts his finger under my chin and tips my face up. “You do look a little green.”
“Must be all that pea soup I had earlier. I’m totally on board with jumping out of this plane. But I don’t feel right that you paid for it.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” He adjusts his goggles. “Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure.”
“Remember the first time we went skydiving, Pierre?” Giselle asks. “It was right after you came back from your gap year in Africa.”
The discussion of their first skydiving adventure leaves me puzzled. I’d scratch my head if I wasn’t wearing a helmet. Let’s see, Stefan said that the girl Pierre was going to propose to would be surprised because they had only known each other for a short time. But Pierre went to boarding school with Giselle’s brother. That means he’s known her for ages. So it can’t be Giselle who he’s going to ask to marry him. But if it isn’t Giselle, who does he want to be his bride?
Pierre smiles at me in a way that gives me butterflies in my stomach. Or maybe not. It could just be nerves making my tummy queasy. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “I have a surprise for you when we land.”
My eyes widen. A surprise? Hang on. I’ve only known Pierre for a short time. Is it me he’s going to propose to?
“Wow, I didn’t think it was possible to turn any greener,” Giselle says as the plane taxis to the runway.
The engines rumble, and I feel a vibration as we speed up for takeoff. As the plane lifts off the ground, I clutch my stomach.
“Don’t worry, Mia,” Pierre says. “I’ll take care of you.”
Take care of me? I narrow my eyes. I don’t need to be taken care of. This is exactly the way my ex treated me. Like a china doll he had to protect. Like a little girl he had to help learn how to walk. Like a charity case he had to assist by paying for everything.
I’m so angry that I barely notice we’re in the air. It isn’t until I glance out the window and see clouds that I realize I’m flying in an airplane.
Pierre taps me on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s double check your harness.”
After making sure everything is securely connected, Pierre and I walk toward the airplane door. By this point, I’m ready to jump. The sooner this ordeal is over with, the better. All I want to do is get to the ground as quickly as possible, then escape from this French billionaire before he proposes.
“Ready?” Pierre asks.
As we step off the plane, I yell, “There’s no way I’d ever get married again, especially not to you!”
* * *
This is terrifying! No, this is exhilarating! Terrifying! Exhilarating! It’s a terrifying exhilaration!
Can you tell that I don’t have a clue what I’m feeling as Pierre and I plummet toward certain death? Stefan told me that I’d experience thirty seconds of free-fall before Pierre pulls the ripcord and deploys the parachute. But this feels like it’s been going on for way longer than half a minute.
I scream as we continue to free-fall. Something must have happened. Is the parachute broken? Did Pierre lose consciousness? We’re going to die.
“But at least you’ll die in Pierre’s arms,” a tiny voice whispers. “It’s so romantic.”
That must be my heart speaking. The only thing my stomach has been saying since we jumped out of the plane is, “I’m going to throw up.”
“Seriously, heart, zip it,” I say. “There’s nothing romantic about dying in someone’s arms. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet.”
Before my heart can argue with me, I feel the parachute deploying. Our speed decreases dramatically. We’re gently soaring through the air like birds. It’s actually a pleasant feeling, slowly gliding down toward the ground. When we near our landing site, I remember Stefan’s instructions and lift my legs. I feel a huge grin spread across my face as Pierre and I slide onto the ground. I survived!
Someone from Skydive Beaumont rushes over and
unhooks the parachute and our harnesses.
Pierre unstraps his helmet and places it in the crook of his arm. He steps toward me, his lips pressed tightly together. After a beat, he asks, “Are you okay?”
I glance down. All my limbs still seem to be attached to my body. I don’t see any blood. I have a ringing in my ears, but that’s probably from all the screaming I did on the way down. All in all, I probably fared better than a crash test dummy would have.
“I’m okay.”
His eyes turn steely. Tossing his helmet on the ground, he grabs me by my arms and pulls me toward him. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. Then I realize that’s the furthest thing from his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me you had been married before?” he asks, the tone in his voice icy.
I pull away from him and take a step back. “Because it was none of your business, that’s why.”
“It’s very much my business.”
“Your business?” I clench my fists. “Are you delusional? Just because your family owns half of France doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know everything. To have everything you want. To have everyone you want.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “My family does not own half of France. Much of our holdings are overseas.”
“Seriously, that’s the part of this conversation you’re focusing on?”
“It’s the only semi-rational thing you’ve said.” He paces for a few moments, then points back and forth between the two us. “I thought we had something here. I thought you understood me. I thought you saw beyond my family’s wealth. But, no, you assume that just because I was lucky enough to be born into money, that I’m a jerk.”
Smitten with Croissants Page 12
