“Do you ride bikes?”
“Yeah, sure, I can ride a bike.”
“In that case, I’m cooking an idea.”
“I hope you’re as good a cook with schemes as you are in a kitchen—which I assume you are since you’re almost done with culinary school.”
“Correction: pastry school. Though I am a kick-ass chef, period.”
“And this scheme you’re devising?”
“Paris has the best network of bike shares. The first thirty minutes are free, which is amazing. You can ride all day. All you have to do is swap out bikes at a bike station every half hour and you never have to pay! You can keep going like that all day long.”
“I said I can ride a bike, but I can’t navigate a bike alone in Paris without ending up as roadkill. And honestly, the money doesn’t matter. I’m fine paying my way.”
“It’s okay. Hear me out,” Alexa said. “The ‘biking in Paris’ bit is where Antoine comes into play. He’s a native Parisian, and he’s been riding and roaming the streets of this city his whole life. I’m going to have him take you out, show you the ropes so you can figure out how to borrow the bikes, and then we’re all going to conveniently meet up at one of the bike stations and voila, we’ll all go off together and picnic somewhere. It’ll be good because although she’ll know it was a setup, she’ll at least stick around. Then we all hang out together for a while, and you surprise her with something amazing and we’ll leave you two to have fun.”
“Surprise her with something amazing in Paris? Like, oh, I reserve the Eiffel Tower for her privately?” he laughed.
“Don’t be silly. There are lots of things you can do that will impress a poor culinary school student. Like how about an intimate boat ride along the Seine? She’d love that.”
Domenico thought about that. “You think she’d actually go with me?”
“I’ll guilt her into it if she balks.”
“Exactly what I want—a guilt-driven date.”
“Like I said, this is going to take some monumental effort. But I do think if you use that hammer and chisel, eventually you’re going to find a beautiful statue emerging.”
“One made of stone.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and worry about that yet.”
He kicked his legs up on top of the desk and leaned back, contemplating. This plan sounded like it was ripe for failure, but shy of an alternative, what did he have to lose?
“I guess, what could go wrong?” But as he expressed that thought out loud, he couldn’t help but feel like only about ten thousand things could fall apart with this tightly woven plan. For some bizarre reason, though, he was game for giving it a try.
Chapter Fifteen
Stella and Alexa sat outside at their favorite patisserie, sipping cappuccinos and enjoying brioche.
“It’s going to be a gorgeous day. I’d love to ride bikes. We could get supplies for a picnic and chill out for the afternoon. You up for that?”
Stella nodded. “I’d be down with that. Just you and me, or is loverboy joining us?”
Alexa flicked her on the arm. “Ha ha. You’re jealous.”
“Yeah the day I’m jealous of someone stuck with a boyfriend is the day you need to check the weather to see if hell has frozen over.” She stirred some sugar into her cappuccino.
Alexa laughed. “You have such a colorful way of putting things. But I still think that if given the right set of circumstances, you could find happiness with a man.”
Stella pretended to pull her hair out. “You are so starting to sound like a broken record.”
“Although neither of us actually knows what a broken record sounds like.” Alexa winked at her. “But I would argue that you’re the broken record, sistah.”
“How so?”
“In your dogged determination to not allow things to unfold with that sweet Domenico.”
“Oh, so now he’s that sweet Domenico? You do know I’m struggling not to roll my eyes nonstop here.”
“Well, he is sweet. And he’s thoughtful. Not to dredge up bad memories or anything, but he bought you a gorgeous four-hundred-dollar suitcase and filled it with another five-hundred-dollars’ worth of supplies. I know that was super shitty of him to do and that alone is reason to avoid him at all costs...”
Stella flipped her friend the finger. “You know I can’t go there.”
“Oooh, yeah. Do I ever. But I’ve been thinking more about this—”
“Nothing good will come of that, you know.”
“Fine, Stella. I get it. You think you’re not interested in the sweet, kind, thoughtful, tango-dancing, luggage-replacing Italian man. But hear me out. Consider this. You had this hookup with the guy, right?”
“Don’t remind me.” Although as soon as the words came out of her mouth Stella knew she was full of shit. Make that merde, since, after all, she was in France. Her mind had been busy reminding her practically nonstop about what it felt like to have his hard, naked body pressed to hers, his mouth over her lips, his hands roaming her body, his entire being shuddering alongside hers. She was going to be in deep trouble if she wasn’t careful.
“Now, stop, and let me talk for a minute without any of that Negative Nancy stuff, okay? Like I said, you hooked up with Domenico. And normally, that’s exactly what a guy’s after—a hookup. He’s perfectly happy to get the hell out of dodge and never see the woman again. But yet here’s Domenico, who is so sweet, he actually wants to spend time with you. Maybe not even in bed. But, like, with you. Yet you’re practically lobbing hand grenades at him. I don’t see why you can’t try a new tack. I mean, nothing personal, but obviously whatever you’ve been doing isn’t working so well.”
“Why do I get the feeling this is a prelude to some sort of setup?”
Alexa lifted her eyebrow and smiled. “Would I do something like that?”
“Would you? You already did!”
“I’m not going to say anything else except this: trust in the universe.”
“Oh, now you’re gonna go all woo-woo on me? Are you going to whip out your crystals and dab some patchouli oil on and maybe light an incense stick?”
Alexa shook her head. “Very funny. No, I am simply telling you to take a deep breath, stop overthinking everything, and maybe for once, go with the bloody damned flow. Now, let me text Antoine and we’ll plan to meet him midafternoon for our picnic.”
“As long as you know I’m totally onto you, my friend. The only reason I’m going willingly right now is I know you haven’t had time to track down Domenico and loop him in on this. But as soon as I feel it’s not safe to go in the water, if I see the shark fins on the horizon, I’m gonna retreat to the safety of the shoreline. You got it?”
“Trust me, I have been schooled.” And Stella wondered if she should trust the grin that broke out across her good friend’s face.
~*~
As the two women made their way along the streets of Paris, they stopped at their favorite local shops to collect the supplies for their picnic: they picked up their tradition, or baguettes, at a boulangerie in the Marais and cheeses from a fromagerie in the ninth arrondissement. They couldn’t agree on where to buy pastries, so they went to two places: first to Laurent Favre-Mot Pâtisserie, where Paris’s most famous TV celebrity chef created such playful desserts as his renowned “Fucking Dark Chocolate,” made up of a chocolate cookie slathered with chocolate ganache, topped with milk chocolate Chantilly, a chocolate tile, and capped off with a sweet chocolate skull. Stella loved the irreverence of the rogue, bearded, tattooed hipster pastry chef who sported a Mickey Mouse tat on his neck.
Alexa preferred traditional French pastries so opted to stop at confiseur and pâtissier Sebastien Gaudard’s shop for mussipontaine, which he made in homage to his pastry chef father. The soft and crunchy, sweet and savory concoction consisted of meringue made with almond powder, filled with vanilla cream and edged with caramelized almonds.
“I’m sorry but I don’t think I can wait t
ill later to eat this,” Alexa said. “Any chance you’ll split one with me now?”
Stella laughed. “Did you actually have to ask such a ridiculous question?”
Alexa pulled out her Opinel knife, which no self-respecting Parisian would be without, and sliced the pastry in half.
Stella took a bite, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “Oh. My. God.” She moaned. “Why have I never had this before?”
“Right? I’ve been telling you about this for ages. This is, hands down, the best pastry on the planet.”
“Oh, best pastry doesn’t do it justice. This is downright orgasmic. I mean actually better than sex.”
Alexa wiped some pastry cream from her lips. “How about a close second. I mean, I bet you it wasn’t better than sex with Domenico.”
Stella shook her head. “You don’t let up, do you?”
“I’m only saying, you yourself told me it was pretty fabulous.”
Stella popped the rest of the pastry into her mouth and chewed while she contemplated. “Honestly it’s hard to say. I mean this is pretty absolutely perfect. But then again, when it all happened, so was that.”
“Well, then, I guess it’s good you don’t have to decide one over the other. You can have your cake and have sex with Domenico too.” She gave Stella a friendly little push on the shoulder, and Stella gave her a tepid smile.
“Enough of this talk of men who are not in my life,” Stella said. “We’d better get a move on if we’re going to get to the park in time to meet up with loverboy.”
“Speaking of, I think my text dinged, so let me check to see if that’s Antoine.” She pulled out her phone. “Oh, cool. He said he has a great place for us to stop at before we go to our picnic—he said to meet at the Institut du Monde Arabe. The Arab World Institute.”
“Huh. I wonder what’s there?”
“I don’t know but I guess we’ll see. Sounds like a good surprise.”
Sophie winced. She was so not a fan of surprises.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s always best when a local shows you places off the beaten path, and Antoine was no exception. He took Domenico through areas the average tourist would never see and the two had fun riding through Paris. They’d gone to a market and purchased some locally made charcuterie, and they found a wine shop that Domenico wanted to go to—he knew they would carry the Romeo wine he was looking for.
Their next stop was to meet up with the girls for a special diversion before the picnic. He wasn’t sure what to expect or if Stella would simply whack him over the head with a baguette and pedal away.
They returned their bikes to a nearby station and walked across a plaza to the entrance of the Arab World Institute. When Domenico turned to look for Stella and Alexa, they approached, each with shopping totes over their shoulders. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the onslaught.
“Ahhh... Domenico! Quelle surprise!” Alexa said. What a surprise!
Stella knit her brow. “Quelle surprise, indeed,” she said in what sounded to Domenico like a mutter.
Alexa leaned in to offer her cheek in the traditional faire la bise, the two-cheek kiss with which the French greet one another. Domenico returned the courtesy, and Alexa turned her attention to Antoine, leaving Domenico to fend for himself with—or against—Stella.
“So, we meet again,” she said.
“Yes, it seems we’ve got to stop meeting like this.” He leaned over to faire la bise, and she obliged him, just barely. If he had to bet money, he’d wager she’d rather have dental surgery than allow him to touch her cheek with his.
“Gee, ya think?”
They stood together in awkward silence for probably thirty seconds before Antoine mercifully interrupted them.
“Follow me—we’ll take the elevator up to the rooftop.”
“The rooftop?” Stella said. “I didn’t know they had one you could go on.”
“Every now and again, if you’re lucky, you can get access to the top of this amazing building and enjoy a whole different glimpse of the Parisian skyline. Today, it seems, is your lucky day.”
They entered through the main doors of the beautifully designed contemporary-yet-Moorish-influenced glassed building and rode the elevator to the top floor. They came out onto a large rooftop area with a restaurant to one side and a stunning 360-degree view of Paris.
“This view of my city rivals that which you’d see from the top of la tour Eiffel,” Antoine said, his arms extended and sweeping across the horizon.
“You can’t exactly miss Notre-Dame, can you?” Stella said, pointing at the beautiful cathedral on the famed Île de la Cité, the small island in the middle of the Seine River. It seemed so close you could almost touch it. She pointed farther to the left. “Over there is the stunning Sainte-Chapelle—a Gothic chapel with the most magnificent stained glass windows. You can attend concerts there almost nightly.”
“I’d love to do that,” Domenico said, seizing on the fact she was willing to actually speak to him. “Maybe you could take me?” He held up his hands in surrender. “As friends, of course.”
“I think that would be a lovely idea,” Alexa said, locking arms with Stella. “A little culture, a little international camaraderie, sounds like the makings of a fairy tale, uh, er, friendship.” She gave Domenico a wink and elbowed Stella.
“With friends like you... I might want to consider new friends.”
“Awww, come on, you love me, admit it.” Alexa squeezed her friend’s cheeks and puckered up for a kiss. “I absolutely love that you found this secret view for us, sweetie,” she said, turning to Antoine. “I wish we could stay up here to eat. And my stomach is demanding pastries, so who’s in favor of our picnic?”
All hands shot up, so the group headed toward the elevator, found a bike-share station, and hopped on bikes for the short ride to the Jardin du Luxembourg, a sprawling public garden in Saint Germain-des-Prés.
“Funny how all roads lead us back to where you live,” Domenico said, trying to make small talk.
“You mean the scene of the crime?” Alexa looked back at the two of them and winked.
Alexa was sure laying it on think. Domenico hoped she knew what she was doing.
They parked their bikes at the nearest station and walked the rest of the way, entering through the tall gates into the exquisitely laid-out gardens.
They entered the pebbled pathways and walked along tree-lined promenades edged by brilliant beds of purple, yellow, and blue flowers, in the direction of the magnificent Palais du Luxembourg, once the residence of Marie de’ Medici, the mother of Louis XIII. In front of them was a large circular pond where children operated remote control sailboats.
“Welcome to Luxembourg Gardens,” Alexa said, her arms outspread. “Fun fact, it was modeled on the Boboli Gardens in Florence, which I hear are totally stunning.”
“Ahhh... Giardino di Boboli,” Domenico said. “I’ve been there many a time. Part of the Palazzo Pitti, the Pitti Palace. It’s the place that reinforced to me that the Medici family were the original hoarders.”
“Seriously?” Stella said.
“I mean I don’t think they had a clinical psychiatric diagnosis, per se, but if you go into that palace, there is barely a space that isn’t taken up with ‘stuff.’ And by stuff, I mean priceless works of art, stunning antiques, and ancient rugs and tapestries and jewelry and silver and bone china. Honestly one day wandering through that place and you feel as if your head will explode from the excess of it all.”
“Quite the ringing endorsement.” Stella laughed.
“Don’t get me wrong—the grandeur is off the charts. The place is truly something to behold. But it’s just so much, it’s hard to ingest it all at once. But the gardens—that’s one of my favorite places to go in Florence. They’re vast and varied and sprawling and comfortable and the views of the city are wonderful. Maybe someday I can take you there.”
He knew it was a huge gamble for him to dare suggest something so i
ntimate as them traveling somewhere together. Not like they hadn’t already been intimate, but that was different. He could tell by the way she’d treated him. To her, that was a one-off. Sure, maybe it was a little too close for her and—as if burned by touching a flame—she had to jump back from it for her own self-protection. But the fact was, he loved the Boboli Gardens. He’d attended weddings and special events there and had spent many an afternoon relaxing beneath the generous shade of a sycamore tree with the palace before him and the famed Brunelleschi’s Dome in the distance.
He worried that now was the time she might pull out that baguette and choke up on it like a baseball bat and lob him hard.
Stella looked at him, a serious look on her face. “Huh,” she said. “That might be something fun to do.”
Chapter Seventeen
That might be something fun to do. Fun to do? What the hell was she saying? For that matter, what the hell was she thinking? Who had taken temporary occupancy of her brain and spoken those betraying words? And how exactly could she backpedal on that response without coming across like a complete jerk? Ugh. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe no one heard her. That would be perfect. She hadn’t said it all that loudly. Cool. More than likely it would remain her secret forever.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Domenico said, his brow knit.
“She said she’d love to go there with you,” Alexa said, chucking her friend on the arm.
Stella’s eyes opened wide and she tried to communicate through them that she was ready to throttle Alexa for that.
“Maybe we could make a weekend of it—Antoine and I would love to go to Florence for fun,” Alexa said. “After all, when we were there last week it was all work, wasn’t it, Stella?”
Sella continued to stare at her, hoping that some sort of osmosis or transmogrification or one of those processes would magically cause this entire conversation to reverse by about three minutes so she could start again with what she truly wanted to say: it would be a grave mistake for her to lead Domenico on, she didn’t have it in her to deal with relationships even if he was a nice guy and everyone was right that he was worth giving it a go with, and yeah, she had been sort of a bitch to him but she didn’t mean to be—it was her way of taking care to not get hurt.
Blue-Blooded Romeo (The Royal Romeos #6) Page 8
