“Please, if you’re not too busy, could you show me your best items? I received a surprise invitation to a gallery opening here in SoHo tonight and was referred to your shop. I’d like to wear something unique.”
“That we have,” Violet said, and the woman smiled.
Troyesha’s sewing machine chattered in the background. Violet knew that Troyesha had perfected the art of sewing and looking around at the same time, and that the visitor’s entrance had been noted.
Mademoiselle Girard took in Daylily’s inventory with appreciation, occasionally murmuring to herself in French. When Violet showed her a plain sheath dress in chocolate brown from the 1950s, the woman exclaimed, “C’est la perfection!” and asked to try it on.
The dress would need some small alterations and delivery to the customer’s hotel that afternoon, but it was very close to a perfect fit. As she rang up the sale, she saw Mademoiselle Girard intently studying the prints of Violet’s original designs that hung on the walls.
“They are beautiful,” the woman said, looking up. “Who is the designer?”
“I am,” Violet said.
Mademoiselle Girard approvingly looked around the shop at the racks of vintage clothing, the prints on the walls, and Troyesha at her sewing machine. “Forgive me, I know I’m being presumptuous,” she said, “but I love beautiful clothing, and I know others who do as well. Do you want the world to see your work?”
Violet maintained her poise even though her heart was beating fast. “I certainly do, Mademoiselle,” she said. “I know Daylily is only a small shop, but we cater to the individual customer here. I would love to design an outfit for you or for someone you recommend.”
“Ah, tres bon. May I have a few of your cards?”
After completing the sale, the woman started to leave, then returned to the counter.
“I almost forgot,” she said. “I would like to ask a favor of you. My brother is in New York City this week. He has been here before, but he keeps it strictly business. He has never even seen the Statue of Liberty.” She laughed. “It certainly is ironic, considering it was a gift to the Americans from the French. At any rate, would you consider showing him around your city? His account will cover any expenses you deem appropriate.”
Inwardly, Violet could feel her impatience welling up. There was always a catch when it came to strangers doing you favors, she thought.
Outwardly, she mustered a pleasant smile and said, “Of course I would be glad to show Monsieur around.”
“Bon, bon. I will give him one of your cards.”
Violet nodded her assent, privately vowing to keep the tour as brief as possible.
“His name is Leon,” Mademoiselle Girard said as she turned to leave. “Please be patient with him. He is the baby of the family.”
Chapter 3
As the lunchtime traffic came in and receded, Violet reflected that her life was in a state of inertia. Actually, inertia was a weasel word.
Violet was bored.
Until her breakup with Tim, she had been contented enough. Her life consisted of long days at the shop, with a weekly trip to an estate sale, and Sunday brunch with family at her parents’ house upstate when she could get away. After closing up the shop, she would work out at the Zumba studio nearby, then walk the nine blocks to Tim’s apartment. Sometimes she would meet a friend or sibling for dinner. If not, she would spend hours doing fashion sketches while Tim stayed out late or didn’t come home at all.
There was a down side to having financial security, she realized. It discouraged her from taking risks, or even making any changes at all, unless change was forced on her.
“So when will he be here?” Troyesha asked Violet from behind her sewing machine.
“Who?” Violet said in mock ignorance as she sorted through a new batch of clothes she had picked up at an estate sale last week.
“The French guy,” Troyesha said indignantly. “The one that customer fixed you up on a date with this morning.”
“Oh, him,” Violet said. “It’s not a date. I’m just going to show him around. Anyway, he’s not coming to the shop, so you won’t get to check him out.”
“Too bad,” Troyesha shrugged, like she didn’t believe what Violet was telling her. “I think you should invite him here. We could set up a little wine and cheese reception, introduce him to the customers, have him meet some real New Yorkers.”
“Nope,” Violet said firmly. “He might not even call me, but if he does, I’ll take him on one of those double-decker tour bus rides.”
“Oh gawd, not a bus ride,” Troyesha said. “Those are for the tourists.”
“Well, that’s what he is. A tourist.”
Troyesha was about to reply when the door signal beeped. Violet turned around just in time to see a tall, dark-haired man walk through it. She gasped involuntarily as she realized it was the same man who had offered her a ride to the shop in his cab early that morning.
The man glanced carelessly at her and looked away, then looked back at her boldly, his eyes lingering on her face and briefly scanning her body. It was an exaggerated double take that she was certain he intended for her to notice.
“Good afternoon,” the man said. His voice was low and pleasing, with the same trace of a foreign accent she had noticed that morning. “I believe we have met before, haven’t we?”
He smiled, waiting for her to acknowledge their meeting outside Tim’s apartment that morning.
The stranger was intoxicatingly handsome, but Violet set her jaw firmly and resolved not to be taken in by his charm.
“Possibly,” she replied, forcing a note of impatience into her voice. “New York is a busy place. Now, how may I help you?”
Cheerfully ignoring the coldness of her response, he said, “I am Leon Girard. My sister Colette referred me to your shop.”
Violet gasped a second time. She had been so taken aback after she recognized him from their early morning encounter that she had completely forgotten about Mademoiselle Girard’s request.
Pulling herself together, she extended her hand. “Violet Wilson,” she said, “and this is my assistant, Troyesha Harris.”
Leon took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips, kissed it lightly, then gently lowered and released it. Violet felt a current of desire travel up her arm, down through her spine, and into her belly. It felt good, much too good. She fought off the urge to jerk her hand away.
Behind her, Troyesha had stopped sewing for the duration of the kiss, then started again as soon as Leon released her hand. Despite her earthy persona, the seamstress’s manners were impeccable. If she had stopped sewing to stare at Leon, then she was as startled by their French visitor as Violet was.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Girard?” Violet heard herself say, catching her breath. “We have coffee and soda in the break room.”
“Please, call me Leon,” he said pleasantly. “I don’t need anything to drink at the moment, but I wanted to catch you before you closed up for the day and ask if you would join me for dinner this evening.”
The way he phrased it sounded more like a statement than a question to Violet. It made her feel defensive, as if she wasn’t quite in control of the situation. At the same time, she had to admit it was more flattering than Tim’s dinner invitations, where the implied message was, “I’m going out to dinner and you can tag along if you aren’t doing anything.”
“Mademoiselle Wilson?” Leon asked, startling Violet out of her unpleasant flashback to her life with Tim.
Violet remembered Mademoiselle Girard’s offer to share her fashion designs in Paris and knew what she had to do.
“Please, call me Violet,” she said crisply. “I would be happy to join you for dinner, Leon. Do you have a particular place in mind?”
Leon bowed slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t know your city very well. If you’ll forgive me, could you suggest something?”
Violet only had to think for a few seconds before settling on Rolfio�
��s, a new tapas place nearby in SoHo that she had heard good things about and wanted to try. Tim had dismissed it as too trendy and an example of the gentrification that he always complained was ruining New York.
She wrote the restaurant name and address on a card and handed it to Leon. “Seven o’clock,” she heard him say. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Violet almost said, “so am I,” but changed her mind. “Then I will see you this evening,” she said.
Leon gave her a quizzical look, as if he didn’t believe her lack of enthusiasm for a minute. He exited the shop, and Violet breathed a sigh of relief.
Troyesha had stopped sewing altogether.
“Don’t you say anything,” Violet said to her after the door had closed behind Leon.
“The double-decker tour bus,” Troyesha choked out, trying not to laugh. “Riiiiiiight.”
“You don’t need to rub it in.”
“You were gonna put him on a bus,” Troyesha hooted. “Now you’re going out to dinner with him.” She doubled over in a fit of laughter, then stopped suddenly and looked very serious. “Girl, that man is hot. We gotta find you something sexy to wear.”
“Now wait a minute,” Violet said. “I don’t want to give him any funny ideas.”
“He already has funny ideas. That man was born with funny ideas. Did you see the way he looked at you? And the way he kissed your hand? That was so hot I felt it all the way across the room.” Troyesha was up out of her chair and rummaging around on the clothing racks.
Violet set aside her misgivings about Leon and turned to what she knew best: clothes.
She already knew what she wanted to wear, a sleeveless chemise with a transparent knee-length taffeta underlayer. The outer layer was much shorter, giving the effect of a minidress over a slip, and the beaded V-neck showed just the right amount of cleavage. The mauve color complimented her straight blonde hair and enormous blue eyes perfectly. She had spotted the dress at an estate sale last week and made sure she picked it up. It would need a rush dry cleaning at the shop down the street that owed her a favor for some tailoring she had done for them.
Troyesha nodded approvingly when Violet showed her the dress. “Sexy, but not in your face. Like a virgin on her wedding night.”
“Oh, stop it,” Violet said, but they both giggled.
Violet left work early and went to a Zumba workout session so she could shower afterward without going home. She picked up her dress from the cleaners and came back to the shop as Troyesha was closing up.
The seamstress gave her a hug as she left. “Go out with that man and have some fun,” she advised. “You deserve it.”
Troyesha was right again, Violet thought. She locked the door and took her outfit into the back room.
She peeled out of her street clothes down to her lacy bra and panties, slipped the dress over her head, and stepped into a pair of gray heels with peep toes. After pinning up her hair in a loose chignon, she applied dabs of scent to her wrists and neck and did her makeup, then looked approvingly at her reflection in the mirror.
This girl’s still got it, she thought to herself. After more than a year with Tim, she had started to wonder. She picked up her gray fringed shawl, stepped out onto Broadway, and hailed a cab.
Chapter 4
Leon arrived at Rolfio’s twenty minutes early to wait for Violet. He had made reservations for them as soon as he left her shop that afternoon, but he didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. After the sour note that morning with the cab, he wanted the evening to be perfect.
First he checked with the maître d' – or host, Leon corrected himself – to make sure his reservation had been recorded. Afterward he stepped out on the sidewalk for some air, resisting the urge to pace back and forth with his hands in his pockets. Colette was always telling him he was too high strung, and he knew it was true. His job was only making it worse.
For a brief moment he had the urge for a cigarette, but he ignored it. Like most Frenchmen, he had started smoking in his teens. Unlike most Frenchmen, he had quit ten years ago for health reasons.
Besides, somehow he knew that Violet wouldn’t find smoking the least bit attractive, no matter how French it might be.
Colette had already laid the groundwork for the evening with no questions asked, just as he had expected. All he had to do was mention that Violet was a fashion designer, and his sister swung into action. Leon suspected that where clothes were concerned, Colette’s help was more due to her own selfish wishes than family loyalty, although she was indeed a loyal sister. Henri, their brother and remaining sibling, was a French ambassador and traveled constantly, and their parents had passed on. Most of the time it was just Leon and Colette against the world, which gave them an especially close relationship.
For a moment, Leon allowed himself to hope that Colette and Violet might become friends, just like Colette and Adele had been. He shook his head, banishing the thought. Adele was no longer in his life, and after he finished this assignment, Violet would want nothing to do with him or his family.
It was a pity, Leon thought.
Precisely at seven o’clock, a cab pulled up and Violet opened the rear door, rummaging in her handbag for the fare. Leon leaped forward and handed the driver a $50 bill. “Keep the change,” he said, and extended his hand to help Violet out of the cab.
At first Leon wasn’t sure she would accept his assistance. He was still mystified as to why this woman so steadfastly refused all of his overtures. Like all Frenchmen, Leon had learned to flirt at the same time he had learned to shave. Flirting and chivalry came as naturally to him as breathing. In his culture it was a dance, not a commitment.
Leon wasn’t sure, but it seemed to him that Violet believed she would owe him something if she accepted his help or acknowledged that he found her attractive. He would have to ask Colette if this was the reason. After that he would figure out a way to get around Violet’s defensiveness.
***
Leon had made their reservation and was waiting for Violet when her cab reached Rolfio’s. She wondered whether he was going to kiss her hand again, but he went one better and greeted her with a leisurely kiss on the cheek.
“Hello, Violet,” he murmured. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you,” Violet said as neutrally as she could manage. His French accent and low, smooth voice had a hypnotic effect on her.
The kiss had left her tingling but she worked hard not to show it. Remembering her promise to Colette, she added, “I’m happy to see you.” She was surprised to hear how natural her statement sounded in her own ears.
Leon’s gaze fastened on hers. “As am I, mademoiselle,” he replied.
Violet thought she detected a flicker of a wolfish glint in his dark eyes.
He took her arm as the waiter led them to their table and held her chair for her as she took her seat, then seated himself. In spite of her misgivings about him, Violet was pleased. After growing up in the Wilson family, good manners came as naturally to her as breathing. Tim had never once treated her with this much respect. Her family was too polite to point it out to her, but she knew they had noticed.
Although she found it presumptuous that Leon would kiss her and compliment her on her appearance after barely getting to know her, maybe she had met him for a reason, she thought. Maybe it was to help her get over Tim.
The waiter immediately brought the wine menu. Leon ordered a bottle for the two of them, then turned to Violet.
“I know we French have a bad reputation for having too much national pride,” he said, smiling. “So I ordered a California wine for us. I want you to see that we’re not as…how do you say it here…snooty?”
Violet nodded.
“We’re really not as snooty as they say we are,” Leon finished.
Violet didn’t let her guard down. “That’s very considerate of you. But you must realize that we drink California wine here every day. A change of pace is good every so often.”
Her voice sou
nded false to her own ears. Only this morning she had been reviewing the past few years of her life and concluded that she was the last person who should be talking about a change of pace.
Leon looked crestfallen at what she had said. “Excuse-moi, you are quite correct,” he said contritely. “I should have thought better.”
Violet had to smile. He was so sure of himself, yet when she expressed disapproval of his actions, he was almost boyish. It was so unexpected that it made her heart melt.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “How would I say that in your language?”
Leon smiled. “You would say, ‘Ce n'est pas grave.’ It’s French for ‘no big deal,’ or ‘it’s all good.’”
Violet smiled back at him. “I would have guessed it was ‘no problemo,’ but now that I think about it, that sounds more like a faux pas.”
Leon laughed, and Violet joined him. The evening was starting off well.
The waiter appeared, filled their glasses from the bottle, and left a pair of menus. Much to Violet’s relief, Leon handed her one of them. She had been ready to speak up if he had tried to order her dinner for her.
When she had made her selection and closed her menu, Leon reached across the table, took her hand, and raised his glass.
“Forgive my sentimentality,” he said. “But I must propose a toast.” He nodded in the direction of her glass.
Deciding to humor him, Violet dutifully picked up her glass.
Leon’s eyes danced with mischief. “Here’s to constantly improving relations between the Americans and French.”
Violet didn’t have a response ready in French, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to respond anyway, so she clicked her glass with Leon and took a sip of wine. The pinot was excellent, better than any California wine she had tried in recent memory.
The waiter took their order and left.
“Colette tells me you’re a fashion designer,” Leon said. “I hope you will tell me more about your work.”
“I’m not famous,” Violet replied. “But I want to be. I had a breakthrough this spring for New York Fashion Week.”
A Deceptive Attraction: The Wilsons, Book 3 Page 2
