My Husband's Lesbian Boss: Book 9: City of Lights by Amanda Clover

Author:Amanda Clover [Clover, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-09-11T11:15:04.371000+00:00

Le Bonheur was not the sort of restaurant I was expecting. It was tiny, in one of the less fashionable quarters along the Seine, in an old building painted with so many coats of white it seemed to be plaster covering the boards and bricks. It was quaintly appealing, but had clearly seen better days.

A chalk board outside offered a message to welcome, “Miss Pryce and guests.” A placard by the door mentioned that Le Bonheur was the second oldest restaurant in Paris, operating continuously since 1828. The fixtures inside and out were made from black iron and seemed as if they had been upgraded from candles and lanterns to electricity in the 1920s.

We were greeted at the door by a small, curly-haired woman of middle-age.

She wore a shabby apron over an antique dress. She held the door for us and said, in her Parisian accent, “Miss Pryce, mademoiselle, welcome. The countess’s haven is reserved for you.”

“Downstairs,” said Valerie, gesturing to what seemed to be a wall panel. The woman stepped past us and pressed a concealed mechanism on the panel that clicked. She slid the panel aside and revealed a long, narrow and rather precarious-looking staircase that descended into a basement beneath the restaurant.

“After you,” said Valerie, smiling mischievously.

I had a sudden flash that this was all a trap and Valerie was about to push me down the stairs and have her revenge. I hesitated, but Valerie did not budge.

With a deep breath, I steadied my ridiculous nerves and set off down the stairs. They were every bit as precarious as they appeared. Some steps had warped or turned slightly with the settling of the ancient building. There was no hand railing, but I kept one hand on the wall until that was no longer possible as the stairs emerged into a wide, cool candlelit chamber.

Surrounded by huge casks of wine, a single table had been set up in the center of the large room. The cool air was scented with aged wine and the wood of the huge barrels. Lanterns hung from the old rafters, creating a golden glow surrounding the table that filled it was pleasant warmth.

“Before this was a restaurant,” said the woman, following us down into the basement, “it was a shoemaker’s. During the revolution, Comtessa de Moulin fled her with her handmaids and remained hidden in this cellar, safe and well-fed, while so much of the nobility lost their heads.”

“There was a baker next door,” said Valerie, smiling. “She gained almost twenty kilos staying down here and eating rich pastries.”

“I guess they let her eat cake,” I said.

Valerie chuckled, but the woman did not seem to understand that I was making a joke.

“I am Claudette,” she said. “It will be my honor to serve you tonight. You will be my comtessa and her handmaids.”

“She is a queen,” I said and put an arm around Valerie’s waist to pull her closer.

“It is true,” said Valerie, curtsying in the red dress she had picked out.

“Ah, then,

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