Christmas in Paris by Anita Hughes

Author:Anita Hughes
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250105516
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

chapter eleven

Alec sat at the Regency desk and rubbed his neck. He had fallen asleep hunched over his notepad and had woken up in terrible pain. He flipped through the Crillon’s list of services but couldn’t justify spending two hundred euros on a masseuse who would probably make it worse. Celine had given him a massage for his birthday, and afterward he was in such agony, he crawled into bed with a hot water bottle and a packet of aspirin.

His sketchbook was open, and he studied a drawing of Gus and a pert cocker spaniel standing on the Pont Alexandre III. Gus wore a black beret and clutched a bouquet of red roses.

He closed the sketchbook and groaned. The last time he drew Gus romancing a dog, he was falling in love with Celine.

He remembered visiting Victor Hugo’s house in the Place des Vosges with Isabel and eating goat cheese tartines at La Poilâne. It started to rain as they walked back to the Crillon and she took his arm.

His forehead was damp and he felt slightly feverish. Maybe the cream in his café au lait was sour. He couldn’t have feelings for Isabel; that would be worse than getting walking pneumonia.

How could he think about Isabel while he was getting over Celine? Whenever he discovered something Celine left behind—a pair of stockings in the closet, a hairpin in the bathroom—he wanted to stab himself with his toothbrush. And he was still paying off the Missoni sweater he bought her for Christmas. The salesgirl at Le Bon Marché insisted it was the must-have piece of the season, and he begrudgingly handed her his charge card.

He pictured Isabel’s dark eyes and white smile and thought she was the most peculiar woman he’d ever met. She was smart and beautiful, but she trusted a Parisian gypsy with her whole future.

But it didn’t matter how he felt about Isabel; she was falling in love with Antoine. He remembered seeing her light on at midnight and wondered if Antoine had spent the night.

He buttoned his shirt and thought he didn’t have time to think about himself. In nine days Bettina would evict Claudia and he had to figure out a way to stop her. Bettina’s gift rested on the coffee table and he knew he had to go see her.

He splashed his face with water and grabbed his coat. First he would go to Chartier in Montmartre and have a bowl of vichyssoise and roasted chicken. He pictured the baba au rhum with Chantilly and almost felt better.

* * *

HE STEPPED OUT of the elevator and saw a woman wearing a black wool dress and beige pumps. Her smooth pageboy curled around her shoulders and she carried a Chanel bag.

“Bettina!” he exclaimed, his cheeks turning pale “What are you doing at the Crillon?”

The elevator doors closed, and he wished he could force them open. Why was Bettina here and what did she want? It couldn’t be anything good; she was like the grim reaper with a designer purse and stockings.

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