‘You’re making that sound as if it’s so easy,’ she whispered, as she turned slightly so she could glance up at him, her palm against his chest.But itwaseasy with him. He’s already made me feel as if I’ve enjoyed every second of being in Paris.
Henri didn’t answer her, but he did at last lean in, kissing her not on the mouth but gently on the cheek, his lips brushing against her skin.
‘See? It’s not so hard to enjoy every moment, is it?’
She laughed and leaned back against him, listening to Henri talk about his work, about the city, about his family. By the time he started to tell her about their chateau, and how desperately he was looking forward to spending part of the summer there, she was lying with her head in his lap, looking up at him as he stroked her hair and told her all about his favourite place. She could have listened to the soft lilt of his accent for days, closing her eyes as she imagined how beautiful the chateau was, and how incredible it would be to have longer to explore France.
‘Tell me, Blake, where is your favourite place in the world?’
She looked away, out on to the street, as another couple passed by wrapped in each other’s arms. In some ways, it was the hardest question she’d ever been asked, and as easy as itwould have been to say that it was wherever her family was, she chose not to.
‘I don’t think I’ve found it yet,’ she said honestly.
Henri’s fingertips brushed back and forth across her arm, and Blake looked up at the night sky, wondering if all dates in France were like this, yet knowing instinctively that it wasn’t possible. It was as if somehow, by a stroke of fate, she’d been destined to cross paths with Henri, and she knew that she only had her great-grandmother to thank for bringing her here.
Maybe Paris could be my happy place?
Blake had only just taken out her keycard to open the door to her hotel room, still feeling as if her skin was on fire after Henri had embraced her in the lobby, which had only made her even more anxious to know what his lips would feel like on hers, when her phone vibrated in her bag. She fumbled for it as she pushed open the door, expecting it to be either her sister or her editor wanting an update, before realising that it was barely 5a.m. Who would be calling her at this time of the morning?
Henri. She smiled as she saw his name on her screen and swiped to answer it.
‘Hello?’ she said, half expecting him to tell her she’d dropped something.
She kicked off her shoes and crossed the room, going straight to the window and staring out at the beautiful, sparkling city. It truly took her breath away.
‘I wanted to thank you for an unforgettable evening,’ he said.
Blake grinned. ‘I couldn’t have imagined a better night in Paris, so it’s me who should be thanking you.’
She turned and walked to the cocktail bar, hoping to find a bottle of water. But it was the box she’d left on the countertop that caught her eye, reminding her that she didn’t have long to discover what she’d come searching for.
‘Blake,’ Henri said, ‘do you have plans for this weekend?’
She held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she reached for her plane ticket, wishing she had longer, that she’d added on some time to travel and explore rather than race back home for work. Against her better judgement, she wanted to stay anyway.
‘No, I don’t have any plans.’ Her heart began to pound as she realised that she was about to say yes to something that would mean she’d miss her flight.
‘Would you like to join me at my family’s chateau? I keep thinking about what you said, about not finding the place you love yet, and I wanted to show you mine.’
Blake should have said no. She should have told him that she was flying back to London on Saturday morning, that she had work to return to, that unfortunately she wouldn’t be able to change her flight. She also should have considered the fact that they’d only been on one date, albeit a date that was the length of multiple dates rolled into one. But somehow all rational thought left her mind as she smiled into the phone.
‘I’d love to.’
15
PARIS, 1938
Eleven months after meeting Antoine, Evelina twirled around an apartment overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine, her eyes wide as she took it all in. ‘This is all for me?’
She looked at the large living area, a cream sofa and ornate glass coffee table in the middle, placed on a rug so thick that she immediately wanted to take off her shoes to see how luxurious it felt beneath her toes. Her house with Théo had been glamorous, but this place had been furnished with an eye for design, as opulent as any residence she’d ever set foot in, as if it had been made for her.
‘Yes, Evelina, it’s all for you,’ Antoine said, dropping the keys onto the dining table and coming to her with open arms. ‘Only the best for the most beautiful woman in Paris. I told you I’d find the perfect place for you, didn’t I? Every little thing in this apartment I sourced myself. I have spent weeks furnishing it for you to make sure it was exactly right.’
She went willingly to him, never able to get enough of his arms around her waist, his lips pressed to hers, fingers dancing against her skin. Since the night they’d met, they’d barely gone a handful of days without seeing each other, and despite thinking that he’d soon tire of having a mistress, it hadn’t been the case. Ifanything, he only seemed to become more enamoured with her, and the fact that he’d so lovingly created such a beautiful home for her made her love him all the more.
Antoine lavished her with gifts and attention, discreet in some ways, but overt in others. They were careful to steer clear of places his wife might frequent, but like many Frenchmen, he wasn’t trying terribly hard to keep his lover a secret. She’d expected to be uncomfortable about it, and for weeks had resisted falling into his bed, but in the end, she’d found it impossible not to give in to his advances. And when he’d told her repeatedly that his marriage was simply a formality, she’d decided that she needed to trust him. His marriage was no different than hers had been in the end—something formally binding her on paper to another and nothing more. And besides, they connected on so many levels; Antoine was like the other half of her soul, as if they’d waited their entire lives to meet each other. They laughed at all the same things, finished each other’s sentences, and when he wasn’t with her, she found herself wishing he was there.
‘There’s champagne in the kitchen,’ he told her, as he murmured against her skin. ‘I had a bottle delivered on ice so that we could celebrate.’
