The Last Dress from Paris(58)

Having had no success with her son, Madame du Parcq turns on Alice. “I’m warning you, Madame Ainsley, this will not end well for you. Please, stop it now.” She delivers the words with a studied shake of her head. “What might seem like fun certainly won’t be in the weeks to come. He won’t be able to cope with it.”

Alice isn’t sure whether she means Antoine or Albert, but there is no time to ponder it further.

“You take the car back to the residence, Anne. I’ll make sure Alice is safe,” says Antoine.

“Is that what you want, Alice?” Poor Anne looks close to tears. At least one of them understands the severity of what has happened tonight.

Alice just looks shell-shocked, mentally detached from everything that is going on around her, and it’s Antoine who has to take charge. This was supposed to be a lovely evening for her and Anne. She had not anticipated for one moment it might end this way. She’s being jostled by the crowds now exiting the building behind them, and in the absence of any other plan, she nods her head, signaling that Anne can go, wondering if she will make it back to the residence first or whether news of the evening’s events will beat her to it. And then what?

“Let’s take the boat back to my apartment,” offers Antoine.



* * *



? ? ?

They board the river taxi at Port des Champs-élysées and take shelter under the glass canopy inside, right at the back, where two Italian tourists only have eyes for Paris.

All the color has drained from Alice’s face, and she feels a little dizzy.

“How did you know I would be there, Antoine?”

“That was easy enough. I knew how desperately my mother was hoping for an invitation. Hers came very late. She was clearly the second tier, meaning you of course would be the first. My father had no interest in attending, so I took the risk that your husband would feel the same way. And I’m so glad I did. Why didn’t you return any of my messages?” He’s searching her face, desperate to understand where he went wrong.

“He knows about us.”

Alice is expecting this to silence Antoine, to scare him into some level of contrition at least. But it has the reverse effect—it emboldens him.

“Good. If nothing else, that will take the wind out of Maman’s sails. She can hardly hang the threat of our exposure to him over us now, can she?”

“He confronted me the night I came back from Les Halles. He was waiting for me. He warned me, Antoine, that it has to stop. That he won’t be made a fool of—and we’ve just kissed in front of a room full of, what, two hundred people? There were photographers there.”

Antoine buries his face into the soft warmth of Alice’s neck, allowing his lips to move beneath the softness of her fur coat and delicately trace along her collarbone.

“I love you, Alice. I’ve tried very hard not to, but I do—I’m not going to lose you.”

She has never felt so desired.

“Take off your earrings.”

Alice lifts her fingers to the expensive drop pearls, the ones she has worn every day since her wedding, feeling that to discard them would be equivalent to removing her wedding ring—and is she really contemplating doing that?

“Why?”

“He bought them for you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want him to have any part of tonight.”



* * *



? ? ?

In the year she has been in Paris, Alice has never ridden on a water taxi. She’s never needed to. Darkness has engulfed the city, and she can feel the unfamiliar yet protective cocoon of the architecture on either side of them, flanking the river that’s sunken low beyond the basements of the buildings. How many eyes might be watching them now? The gray of the rooftops above blends into the night sky, blurring the edges, giving the whole evening a fairy-tale quality.

They pass under bridges so dense that, for a few tantalizing moments, they are plunged into complete darkness. Every time it happens, she feels Antoine absorb a little more into her. She senses his impatience to get her home in the tautness of his body, exaggerated by the surprising speed of the boat. The city’s famous landmarks appear alongside them and then just as quickly are gone, like an ever-changing movie set, telling a story that is just for them tonight.

“Let’s go outside,” she suggests. She knows it will be cold, but she doesn’t want the glass windows of the boat to dilute an experience she may never repeat. The air is laced with the tang of fuel and the laughter of friends dining together on the many stationary restaurant boats they pass. How she envies the ease of their happy evening.

Now that they are standing at the back of the boat, Alice is revived somewhat by the wind whipping across her face and a sense they are speeding away from everything. Smaller boats appear to chase them. What if Albert were in one of them, pursuing her, trying to put a stop to all this before it really is too late? Would she want him to reach her in time? One look at Antoine smiling, his whole face alive with anticipation and intent, is all the encouragement she needs to stay on the boat. She wishes she could lean over the back and cut loose the French flag that is flying from its stern, a sorry reminder of the role she should be playing in Paris and her many obligations. She would like to see it falter, collapse, and slowly sink into the dark waters beneath them. Is that where her marriage is heading too?