The Diplomat's Wife(31)
“If I don’t say goodbye to you now…” I hesitate, looking down the street, then back at Paul again. I take a deep breath. “If I don’t say goodbye to you now, it is going to break my heart.” I reach up and kiss him, quick and hard. Then, before he can respond, I leap into the back of the taxi and close the door. “Drive, please,” I manage to say in French.
“Where to?”
“Away,” I reply. Paul is still standing outside the cab. Desperately, I come up with the only place in Paris I remember. “To the Louvre.” I have no idea what a taxi costs, how far away the Louvre may be. I will stop the taxi and get out, I decide, as soon as I am away from here.
“But the Louvre is closed….”
“Just drive, please!” The cab lurches forward. Don’t look back, I think. As we start to move, tears well up, overrunning my eyes. Suddenly there is a banging on the roof of the cab, as though someone has dropped a large rock on it. I jump. “Mon dieu!” the driver exclaims, slamming on the breaks. There is another banging noise. It’s not coming from the roof, I realize, but the back window. I spin around. Perched on the trunk of the taxi on all fours, is Paul.
He jumps down, then comes around to the side of the taxi. I roll down the window. The rain falls heavily now, plastering Paul’s hair to his forehead, but he does not seem to notice. “What on earth are you doing?” I demand. “Jumping onto a moving car like that, you could have been killed!”
“I needed to stop you,” he replies simply, opening the taxi door.
“Why? What’s wrong? Did you forget to give me some of the papers?”
He does not answer, but falls to the ground. “Oh!” I reach down. “Are you hurt?”
Paul does not answer but looks up, still kneeling. He hasn’t fallen, but has dropped down on one knee deliberately, as though tying his shoelace. He reaches up and takes my hand. “Marry me, Marta.”
CHAPTER 9
I stare down at him, stunned. “Marta, when I had to leave you in Salzburg, I felt so helpless. I mean, I knew I liked you a lot, but we had practically just met. I thought I would never see you again and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.” His words come out in a tumble, almost too quick for me to follow. “And now, well…” He falters. “I know it’s crazy. We haven’t spent more than a day together. You barely know me. But there’s some reason we seem to keep finding each other. I’m crazy about you. I feel like we’ve known each other forever. And I’m not going to let you go this time. Not when I can do something about it. Marry me, Marta,” he repeats.
Is this really happening? I close my eyes, then open them again. Paul is still on one knee, gazing up at me expectantly. My mind races. Why is he doing this? For a second I wonder if he is still grieving over the loss of his fiancée, trying to fill a void. But looking down at his face, the intensity burning bright in his eyes, I know that his feelings for me are real. This is crazy. Paul is right, though. There is something special between us, something that makes it seem as though we have known each other forever. Suddenly I remember my first night at the palace, staring out at the mountains and wondering what life had in store for me. Now, at least in part, I know the answer. “Yes,” I whisper. My eyes start to burn.
“Yes!” Paul shouts. He leaps to his feet, then reaches into the cab and picks me up. We hold each other close, neither speaking. An earthy smell rises from the wet pavement.
“Pardon,” a voice says a few seconds later. Paul and I break apart. Behind us stands the taxi driver, arms crossed. “Louvre, Mademoiselle?”
“The Louvre?” Paul looks from me to the driver, then back again, brow furrowed. Suddenly I want to melt into the pavement and disappear. “Were you that desperate to get away from me?”
I can lie to him no longer. “You kept insisting on taking me back to my hotel and I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t have one.”
Paul’s expression changes to one of understanding. He walks to the driver and hands him some bills. Then he turns to me. “Let’s get inside out of the rain.” Then he takes his jacket off and holds it over our heads as he leads me into the hotel. The lobby is crowded with soldiers overflowing the celebration at the bar, drinking and singing. As Paul leads me across the lobby through the crowd, a soldier carrying a camera and a dark green bottle blocks our path. I recognize him from Salzburg as the soldier who told Paul that they would be staying for the night. “War’s over!” the soldier exclaims, hugging Paul so hard he is forced to let go of my hand.
“I know. It’s fantastic. And more good news—I just got engaged. Drew, meet my girl, Marta.”
My girl. I feel my insides grow warm. Drew turns to me, eyes wide, trying unsuccessfully to place me. “Congratulations!” He pumps Paul’s hand up and down. “Lemme take your picture.” Paul draws me close to his side as Drew raises the camera. There is a popping noise, followed by a blinding flash. “This calls for champagne,” he adds, handing Paul the bottle.
Paul takes a swig, then turns to me. “Do you want some?”
“Sure.” I take the bottle from him, lifting it to my mouth with two hands. Bubbles tickle my nose as I swallow the lukewarm liquid. I pass the bottle back to Paul, who turns to hand it to Drew. But he has already disappeared into the crowd.