All of Me (Inside Out #5.5)(10)

Chris tilts his head back a moment, then pulls a U-turn to deliver me to the opposite side of the road several blocks down. “We need to get you a car,” he announces as he stops in front of Ladurée.

“I like the Porsche.”

“What color?”

“This one, Chris. With you behind the wheel. I don’t want to drive in this crazy city. They barely use lanes.”

“You’re getting a car, Sara. We’ll go shopping this week.”

“You’re ridiculously stubborn.”

“You bet I am, baby.”

“So am I. Don’t forget that.”

“How can I? You remind me every day.” He grabs me and pulls me to him, cupping my face, and adds, “And I answer like this.” His mouth closes down on mine, and the torment in his kiss devours me, sliding deep into my soul. When he pulls his mouth from mine and whispers, “I love you,” I can barely breathe.

“I love you, too. Hurry back.”

“I shouldn’t be more than an hour,” he says, releasing me. “I stuffed a wad of euros in your purse. Grab a cab home if you need to leave before I’m done.”

“I’ll drag Chantal to a few stores to shop if we get done before you return.” I open the car door and step outside.

“Tell Chantal not to worry about teaching you French. I have a few incentives in mind,” he says suggestively.

Relieved that he’s feeling a bit playful, my lips curve. “My tongue is already rolling those rs.”

“I like the way you talk dirty, baby.” He winks and adds, “Text me when you’re almost done.”

I nod and shut the door. The 911 pulls away from the curb and I watch it slip into traffic. My smile fades as worry rises again over the way Chris’s grief is colliding with Tristan’s anger. And I hate that my worry makes me think of Isabel and the whip. It’s not about trust, either. It’s about an addiction that we have to fight together, which means I have to talk to him and be honest about my fears.

Shaking it off, I enter Ladurée. Passing through a cute double-doored entryway with shelves of baubles you can purchase, I enter the bakery section and spot Chantal standing by the hostess stand. Looking like sunshine in a cute yellow dress that she’s paired with black knee-high boots, her eyes light on me and her arms open as she rushes forward.

“Sara!”

Meeting her halfway, I greet her with a big hug, realizing that she always smells like vanilla. “How’s your grandmother?” I ask, hoping for the same news I’d gotten back in the States.

She smiles. “For a woman who had a stroke, she’s bossy as can be, and it’s wonderfully irritating.”

Laughing, I adjust my purse on my shoulder. “That’s great news.”

The hostess waves us forward, and Chantal and I follow her into a small dining area that contains a dozen tiny tables in a space that should hold eight. Chantal orders coffee and an assortment of the bakery’s famous macarons for the two of us. We’ve barely removed our coats when a waiter fills our cups with piping hot goodness.

“You look amazing,” Chantal announces once we’re alone, warming her hands on her cup.

I glance down at my light blue sweater and jeans. “I look like a bum, and you look like a model.”

She waves off my words, dashing her light brown hair behind her ears. “I work hard at it, but you always just seem like you, Sara. I like that. It’s beautiful. You’re real, not fake.”

She has no idea how much her words mean to me, or how Chris has made them true. Before him, I’d lost myself. Completely, utterly lost myself. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“I’m just being honest.” She flattens her hands on the table. “Now. Let’s talk about the important stuff first. Do you have a wedding dress?”

“No. I’m planning to find one when I get back to the States.”

“You don’t even know when you can go back.”

“We plan to go back right after the holidays.” I worry about planning a wedding when Ava might still be out there somewhere, bent on revenge.

“That only gives you a little over a month to find a dress and have alterations made. We all think finding an outfit is easy, until we have to find it for some important event. A wedding is as important as it gets, and if you want a custom design, you aren’t leaving yourself enough time. There are some of the most amazing designers in the world here, and Chris has the money and resources to make sure you get a dream dress.”

“I know, but I don’t want to try to transport it back to the States. What if it gets damaged?”

“There are ways to handle the shipment safely. These high-end designers cater to people all over the world.”

“I don’t need anything fancy. It’s going to be a small wedding. I’m not even sure I want to wear white.”

“You can wear red if you like—it’s your wedding day. But you’re marrying a famous artist, Sara. People are going to want to attend his wedding, and your dress will be hyped in the press. You need something special. And I certainly want to be there.”

“Yes, please. I would love it so much if you were there.” And Ella, I think, silently praying for any news of my missing friend.

“Oh, I’m coming,” Chantal assures me. “And you know my mother is good friends with Katie, right? Katie is going to want my parents to attend, and they’re going to want to be there. And this is how small weddings become not so small. Guest lists tend to grow. I have a friend who wanted to limit it to twenty-five, and she ended up with a hundred.”