Page 32 of The Chef

The doorbell chimes. I head back inside from the balcony, away from the city lights, and open the hotel door. A waiter with a trolley is waiting for me. On top of the trolley is an ice bucket, and inside is a bottle of the finest Champagne money can buy.

Champagne in a Paris hotel room. Perfect.

“Come this way,” I instruct the waiter, guiding him to the center of the large hotel suite, just in front of the balcony. I quickly tip him and usher him to leave. I inspect the Champagne and the glasses for any speck of dust or any blemishes. None. Great.

I check the time on my watch. Late evening.

She should be arriving at any moment.

I dash to my suitcase by the king-sized bed and pull out a small box. I double-check its contents.

A diamond engagement ring. One of the best I’ve ever seen, and it is mine. Mine to give out.

You see, I’m planning to propose to my girlfriend tonight.

I want us to get engaged.

I want her to be my wife.

Giddy with excitement, I go and wait by the champagne. I stare out across to the Eiffel Tower, you can see it from the room. Out of all the cities to propose in, Paris is the best, the one I dreamt about proposing in when I was younger. And now I’m here with a ring in my pocket, ready to propose to the girlfriend of my dreams.

I hear the unlocking of the hotel door and I ready myself.

Just on time.

The door opens and in walks Cleo Dash. She really does look like a supermodel. She doesn’t look bad under any light or from any angle, it’s like she’s an angel. Long blonde hair. Angular face. Full lips. Slim body. She’s perfect in the looks department.

Just like me.

“Hey, babe,” I say as she steps into the room. She’s wearing a designer dress, low cut at the cleavage and sparkling under the hotel lights. She’s just been out at a long dinner with some of her girlfriends, the perfect opportunity for me to get the room ready for my proposal.

“Hi,” she replies in her soft American accent. As a supermodel, Cleo has worked for all the major fashion houses in Europe. Like me, she’s also a bit of a nomad. We both flitter around the capital cities of Europe in their luxury hotels rather than have a specific home. We can afford to do that.

She turns to head to the bathroom, but I call out before she can move. “I need to show you something, Cleo.”

“What is it, darling?”

“Stay,” I reply, gesturing her over. “I need to show you something.”

She eyes the champagne suspiciously as I bring her over to the center of the room, double-checking the Eiffel Tower is in view behind us. I’ve secretly set up my phone in the corner to take a video of this special occasion. Cleo has millions of followers on her social media, so I just know she’ll want to share this proposal with the world after it’s done.

Truth be told, I’m pretty proud of this proposal I’ve put together. It’s fitting for both of us, and of our status. One of the best hotel suits in Paris overlooking the Eiffel Tower doesn’t get any higher in classiness.

Can’t get any better than that.

“What is it?” Cleo asks me.

I don’t give her the chance to ask any more questions, instead, I quickly take a knee in front of her and pull out the ring box.

“Cleo - Miss Dash - since the first time I met you I was in love…”

“Oh, babe.”

I’m immediately cut off by Cleo raising a manicured fingernail. Unlike the happy expression I expect, her face is frowning instead.

I blink.

“What?” I ask.