Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2)

by Celia Kennedy

Once back on the line, I asked her about a wedding date.

  “We haven’t set one. I wanted to talk to you about your schedule.”

  “Well, I can make pretty much anything work. But why not in the summer, when you don’t have to worry about the weather?”

  There was a long stretch of silence while I waited for her to say something. “I’m not sure I really care about the weather. Honestly, Kathy, when you have the chance to marry the person you love, who cares about the weather?”

  Her gentle words crept into my heart, and I immediately understood that, rain or shine, she was right. “Very true. Once you’ve narrowed down some dates, let me know. I’m sure I can make anything work.”

  “Thanks, Kath.”

  “Wow! You’re getting married,” I said, still wrapping my brain around it all. While she talked, I said, “Uh-huh.” It took me a moment to realize she was saying goodbye. “Sorry, still absorbing it all.”

  “It’s good, though, right?”

  “Of course it is, Mom,” I reassured her, wanting her to be happy.

  Weddings. Mr. Harper. Sébastien. Mikkel. L’Oréal. Aksel Pedersen. Flytning Værktøj. All of these swirled around inside my head, and I knew it was going to be a sleepless night.

  10:00 AM, Monday, October 12

  A Tourist in Paris

  I leaned back in my chair and dialed Sébastien’s number.

  “Allô, chérie,” he said in a low smooth voice.

  All of a sudden, I was nervous. “Hello!” I hardly recognized my breathy voice.

  “I only have a moment. Client meeting. I sent you an email about dinner this evening. Are you available?”

  Disappointed I wouldn’t get to talk to him for very long, I delivered an overly perky, “Go! I’ll check email and respond.”

  He blew a kiss into the phone and said goodbye. I checked and saw his email.

  To: KEhlers@LOParis.com

  From: SLangevin@condenast.com

  Subj: Two ideas for Tonight

  Ma Chère,

  I hope your day is superb. Mine is quite busy, but time is bound to pass slowly, since I miss you. I hope you are available this evening. If so, what do you think of either of these options?

  We could be tourists together. How about dinner on Le Bateau le Calife? I’ve heard it is one of the better sightseeing dinner boats. If you know of another, please let me know.

  My second idea, also superb, if I may say so, Les Lundis de Fulgurances! Have you heard of this? One Monday night of each month, the second in command at one of the world’s top restaurants creates their own cuisine for fifty guests in Paris. Dinner is held at Les Combustibles.

  I have made reservations at both. However, if you prefer something else, I am yours to guide.

  À plus tard!

  Sébastien

  Impressed with both ideas, I did a little bit of poking around on the computer before responding.

  To: SLangevin@condenast.com

  From: KEhlers@LOParis.com

  Subj: Re: Two ideas for Tonight

  I love your suggestions! I did a little research on both and have to admit that I am intrigued with the idea of being a tourist in Paris. The pictures of Le Bateau le Calife speak to me. Small, intimate, and I love the old boat. Do you know if the tide will allow the boat to pull out of dock?

  Perhaps Les Lundis de Fulgurances next month?

  I can be out of here by 6:00 pm.

  K—

  I tried—really hard, actually—to focus on the financials for Urban Decay, but my attention span was pathetic. Between possible dinner plans and the need to respond to Aksel, I was unsettled. My eyes kept flicking to my email. I did a little happy dance in my chair when an answer from Sébastien arrived.

  To: KEhlers@LOParis.com

  From: SLangevin@condenast.com

  Subj: Re: Two ideas for Tonight

  K? Your name is too beautiful to be replaced by a letter.

  Kathleen, le Bateau le Calife will sail tonight! The captain himself promised! We need to be at Les Pont des Arts at 8:00.

  Did you look at the menu? The food promises to be quite memorable. Not a slice of pizza or hot dog to be found!

  I can meet you at your place at 7:00 and then we can take a taxi. Does that work?

  I look forward to Les Lundis de Fulgurances next month! I will find out who the visiting chef will be.

  Sébastien

  ***

  At 8:00, we found ourselves seated at the only table at the bow of the boat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sébastien give the young man who had seated us a wink.

  I playfully batted my eyes at him and smiled coyly once we were alone. “Did you arrange this?”

  “I asked for the best table. Of course, they assured me that all seats were the best. Perhaps, when I mentioned that I would like to reserve the whole boat for a New Year’s party, our luck changed.”

  It was sexy as sin to be the object of his desire; his admission was seductive and charming. That he wanted to do something special for me caused my heart to leap around in my chest. I dropped my eyes briefly to my lap before looking back up at him. “Are you really going to reserve the boat?”

  His eyebrows drew tightly together before answering, “Of course! I am a man of my word.” He cast his glance about, inspecting le Calife. “For the last three years, Chantal and I have hosted New Year’s Eve parties together. It has become our tradition. It is a way for us to be together but with our own circle of friends.”

  “Sounds like a fabulous compromise.” I was touched at the thought of them coming up with a solution that would let them spend time together in such a fun way. He appeared to read my thoughts. “What do you do for the holidays? Go to Seattle? Does your family come here?”

  “Until Charlotte and Tiziana got married, the five of us always went on adventures together. Now, with our husbands, in-laws, and soon-to-be-children, things have changed. Will continue to change. This year, Tiziana is organizing some kind of ‘child friendly’ adventure. Possibly Rome. How about you?”

  “Not so glamorous, I’m afraid. Chantal and I go to my parents for Christmas then return in time to celebrate New Year’s Eve.”

  “I’m not so sure I would say what we do is glamorous. And since they are my family, we mostly do the same thing.”

  Out of the blue, he asked, “Chérie, may I ask what inspired your weekend in London?”

  Shit. I didn’t want to lie or be evasive. I just needed more time to think before I talked to him. I decided to go with a partial truth and hoped that he would forgive me in the future when I confessed the whole actuality. “I really wanted some time alone with Charlotte before the baby arrived.” Then I told him about Liam’s plea for help decorating the nursery, which made him laugh. Carefully, I changed the subject. “What did you do this weekend?”

  “Chantal and I went to dinner on Friday. A terrible café in Montmartre. Then, on Saturday, we drove to Amiens to visit my parents.”

  “That sounds very nice.” I gave a distracted answer, mesmerized by the pattern he traced in the palm of my hand.

  The sommelier arrived, and the three of us agreed upon a bottle of wine. A few minutes later, with our filled wine glasses in hand, Sébastien proposed a toast. “To Paris, through the eyes of tourists and lovers.”

  I leaned across the small table, and he met me halfway for a kiss before I took a sip of wine and hummed my approval. “This is incredible.”

  “I’m glad you like it!”

  ***

  Dinner was a masterpiece of sensory delights. The dark water of the Seine twinkled with boat lights as we sipped wine and watched the sights unfold. As we sampled foie gras and a warm cheese plate, the façade of the Louvre slid into view, beautifully up-lit. As the dishes were whisked away, the Obelisk at Place de la Concorde appeared. The 3,200-year-old obelisk from the Temple of Luxor, a gift from the Viceroy of Egypt in 1829, stood proudly in the darkness. I mentioned how much more majestic the obelisk appeared at night, when tra
ffic wasn’t whizzing all around it, and immediately received a sardonic look. “Most cities look lovelier at night, or at least to me. I’m a sucker for the dramatic.”

  He agreed. “It would seem that way, chérie. Lighting, fashion, friends. Hobbies. Romance.”

  I hadn’t seen myself that way. Honestly, I thought I had always flown under the radar, lived a normal, quiet kind of life. But seeing my life through his eyes, through my friends’ eyes, I was beginning to realize that I had been making bold choices for a long time.

  The Jardin de Tuileries peacefully stole attention from the waiters as they served the next course. Never tiring of the Parisian skyline, guests and crew exhaled a collective gasp of delight when the converted barge turned a bend in the river and the Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the night sky. The boat lingered at the river’s edge, allowing passengers to take photographs. On the return trip, the Avenue des Champs-Élysées was a sight to behold while hot chocolate cream puffs and rich chocolate cake were devoured.

  Almost two hours exactly from the moment we boarded, the Bateau le Calife reached her berth. Our night had been utterly perfect. Amazingly romantic. I scooped up my toffee-colored cashmere pashmina and draped it around my shoulders. Before leaving our cozy nook, I pressed a gentle kiss to Sébastien’s mouth and thanked him. “I really, really enjoyed this. It was wonderful being a tourist in Paris with you. Thank you.”

  He pressed his lips more firmly against mine. “It was wonderful.”

  Happy, I melded into the current of departing passengers and exited the boat to a line of taxis. Within twenty minutes, we were relaxing in my apartment, sitting side by side on the couch, taking in the dismantled space. “I think it’s time to do something truly different. I think I found inspiration at Hotel Cambon,” I said with conviction as I relaxed against him. I reminded him of the mood and colors of the lobby and bar.

  “Sounds chic, peaceful,” he said, before a devilish twinkle stole into his eyes. “I prefer to think of our dinner on the rooftop when I think of Hotel Cambon, which was anything but calm. I would say it was quite the opposite. Rather stimulating. But, I suppose that would prove challenging to decorate around.”

  “That it was, and yes it would,” I said before giving him a leisurely kiss.

  Suddenly I remembered I wanted to tell him my mother’s news. “Sorry to change the subject—mood—but I just found out yesterday that my mother is getting married.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That is wonderful news, but I must confess I didn’t realize she was single. When is the wedding?”

  He paused, and I realized he was wondering about my father. I answered, “They haven’t picked one. I told the girls, and, of course, they want to go. They met her whenever she visited me in England and really like her. I hope she’ll feel like she can say no, if she wants something low-key. They’ll understand. Honestly, I have no idea what her dream wedding is. I just want it to be perfect for her.”

  Sébastien murmured with his lips resting against my hair, “What was the first one like?”

  There were some ways he and I had a fairly good understanding of each other, but in others, we knew nothing. I took a deep breath and embraced the perfect opportunity to explain my mother’s single status and my unconventional entrance into the world. While I talked, he held my hand and leaned back, so he could see me better, despite the fact that I kept averting my eyes. “My free-spirited mother, at the ripe old age of twenty-one, picked up a guy in one of the most popular pick-up bars in Seattle. She took him home and, nine months later, had me.” When I finished, I looked at him hesitantly, not wanting him to think badly of my mother.

  When he said, “I always thought Americans were so uptight,” I burst out laughing.

  “I suppose some are, but not my mother.”

  “Or you, I think,” he said as he pulled me close. “Now, let me see what I can do to further inspire you, for the sake of both you and your apartment.”

  “Please. I can use all the help I can get.” I leaned into him and slid my hand behind his head, offering my lips to him.

  By the time he left, I was dazed, rumpled, and delightfully achy. Promises made with hands and lips left me fulfilled and wanting more. It was a delightful place to linger, between sated and unsated.

  I was surprised when the phone rang as I was getting ready for bed. “Don’t pick up, chérie. I just wanted to tell you how much more beautiful Paris is, now that I have met you. Goodnight.”

  8:00 PM, Saturday, October 24

  International Contemporary Art Fair

  GIVEN MY RECENT state of inner turmoil, I was overwhelmingly happy, truly inspired. I had never been to this event before. Standing amidst more than fifteen hundred artists was energizing and exciting. They represented 189 modern art galleries whose work was being presented at the Grand Palais, Cour Carrée, the auditorium of the Louvre, and the Jeu de Paume, with sculptural pieces in the Tuileries. The air fizzed with the enthusiasm of the artists and those there to support them

  Standing in the Grand Palais with Sébastien, I watched Chantal enchant and entreat viewers to look at the artwork more closely. I was in awe of her confidence, something I certainly didn’t have when I was her age. “She’s in her element,” I whispered to him.

  His eyes beamed with pride. “Oui, she was very lucky to be chosen as one of the representatives of Jean Giroux. In addition to being an excellent artist, she is a born saleswoman. A very useful combination. With any luck, between her connections and skills, she won’t starve to death.”

  “You had nothing to do with the position at Jean Giroux, I’m sure,” I cajoled.

  Easily, he admitted, “Perhaps, but we won’t tell her. She would be angry if she found out I’d interfered. She has yet to truly learn that success is as much about who you know as what you know.”

  “Amen to that.” He gave me a funny look. “An Americanism, I think.”

  We perused other artists’ work while Chantal was busy and said hello to quite a few people from work-related events. Fashion and art, it seemed, were intricately tied together. We left them to wonder what they would about our relationship; happily in sync, we were more intent on seeing the art than making small talk with others.

  While we slowly wandered, Sébastien said, “Perhaps you will find a piece to work around your newfound inspiration.”

  I thought back to a few days ago, when he had stood in the gutted hulk of my apartment and studied a recent doodle of a sandy beach and palm tree. He’d said, “I hope you aren’t planning on something tropical,” as if it was a ridiculous idea. I’d raised a brow at his comment, managing to convey that he might be overstepping a line. He had quickly apologized.

  “Perhaps. And then again, maybe not.” I’d feigned being insulted before bursting into laughter and reassuring him it had been a flight of fancy. “There was a great spa at the hotel in Bali. I was inspired. Anyway, I could never grow tropical plants in here.”

  Now, I answered, “Of course, I’d be foolish not to look for it here.” I smiled over my shoulder at him as I wandered closer to a painting of a large bed occupied by someone asleep under a fluffy duvet; it and a chest of drawers had been placed carefully on a sandy beach, just out of reach of the ocean’s waves. It was a nighttime scenario, with a full moon low on the horizon, its golden light skimming along the crest of whitecaps. A naked figure stood at the foot of the bed, his or her back to the viewer, looking into the distance, seemingly peaceful.

  Still gazing at it, I said, “It reminds me of Bali. I would love to go back.” I turned to look at him. “Perhaps I do want to paint palm trees on my wall. Or perhaps I just want to go on vacation.”

  “Perhaps you should begin with the vacation, and then see if you still want to paint palm trees.”

  I grinned, acknowledging his wise thought. “Perhaps. But when?” I couldn’t foresee a vacation such as that in my future until it was too hot to go to Bali. Maybe next September. I sighed inwardly. That was almost a year away.
>
  He gently steered me away from the painting and around a small crowd of people gathered in front of a large plinth of wood that was contorted at different angles. Captivated, I stopped. “Just a minute, please. I’d like to take a closer look.” I circled the piece slowly so that I could see it from various angles. There was something about the grain in the wood and the roughhewn patches against the smooth planes that captivated me. And it fits into my concept, I thought.

  “Bonjour, Madame,” a young man said with a warm voice. “Tell me, what do you think?” His thick, dark eyebrows were pushed together, as if he was bracing himself for criticism.

  “I love it!” I announced excitedly. “It’s gorgeous.”

  His eyebrows leapt upward. Then he quickly expressed his happiness at my praise. “Merci! I am Clément, the artist.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you. Tell me more about it.”

  Sébastien listened as we talked about the plinth. As others joined the conversation, I noticed him glance across the room at Chantal, who tilted her head in my direction with a tender smile before shifting her attention to an elderly man. Sébastien grinned as he watched her. More and more, I found his fatherliness charming.

  Eventually, we made our way back to her; she excused herself from the group of young artists she had been chatting with. After greeting us, she immediately complimented my outfit. “Isn’t that from Armani’s winter collection?”

  I smiled at her appreciation for fashion. “Yes, it is. Do you like Armani?” I ran a hand down the sleeveless, silver, silk gown with plunging neckline. It was a very modern take on a 1920s-era dress, with horizontal bands of beaded fabric sewn together to create the illusion of movement.

  “But of course.” Then she turned to her father and said, “I am free to leave, which is good because I’m starving.” She gave him a challenging look. “I hope you have chosen somewhere special for my birthday dinner.”