“You look tired, do you want a cup of tea?” John asked solicitously. She nodded gratefully, happy to collapse on the couch for a while as she went through her messages. The night before had been short, and they hadn't gotten much sleep. He ordered tea for himself too, and they sat relaxing on the couch, talking about the three shows they'd seen that day, and she congratulated him for seeing every important show in couture week. “Thanks to you. I wouldn't even know how to describe it to anyone. It was incredible, Fiona.” And then he leaned over and kissed her. “And so are you.” He hadn't been this happy in years, and had never known anyone like her. She was magical and exciting and fascinating and mysterious all at once. She was like a beautiful animal in the wild, running free, but so unforgettably beautiful and enticing when she stopped to look at you. He was head over heels in love with her and had only known her for a matter of weeks. Fiona was astounded by it, and it amazed him too. She was just as crazy about him. But she was afraid it was just a phenomenon of Paris, and the excitement of the trip. She was afraid that once they got home, it would break the spell, and she said as much to him as they drank their tea.
“Don't be so cynical, Fiona,” he chided her. “Don't you think you can fall in love at our age? People do it all the time. People a lot older than we are. Why shouldn't this be real?”
“What if it isn't?” she said, looking worried. She wanted it to be. More than she had wanted anything in years. She had never known anyone like him either. Strong, solid, sensible, warm, affectionate, intelligent, kind, reasonable, and he seemed perfectly able to tolerate the occasional insanity of her career, even during couture week. He liked Adrian, who was a mainstay in her life. She was not entirely certain of the future of the relationship between him and Sir Winston, but that could be worked on. The rest seemed perfect, although she knew nothing was, and this couldn't be. But it sure looked it. He seemed to be everything she had ever wanted all rolled into one human being. Her dream prince, and he was not only handsome but distinguished and sexy, and very intelligent too. They had chemistry galore.
“Don't be such a scaredy-cat,” he said confidently. He also wanted her to meet his children. He was sure his girls were going to love her, if only because he did.
“I'm going to miss you when I go to St. Tropez,” she said, nibbling a cookie. Now she was sorry that she was going. It was going to be boring and lonely without him. And she had gotten a message the day before that the friends who were meeting her with their boat were stuck in Sardinia, due to bad weather and rough seas, and they had decided to stay there. So she was going to be on her own at the Hotel Byblos in St. Tropez.
“We could do something about that, if you want to. But I don't want to intrude on your vacation, Fiona. You need it. And you'll only be gone for two weeks.” It seemed like an eternity to him too.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked with interest.
“It sounds a little crazy, but if you'd like, I can reshuffle some meetings. At this time of year, almost everyone is on vacation. And my girls are busy. If you want, I could come with you. But if you'd rather not, I understand perfectly. I can keep busy for the next two weeks.” But she was already beaming at him.
“Would you do that? Could you?” It was a crazy thing to do, she knew, but she didn't care. She was loving being with him, and she wanted to go to St. Tropez with him, if he could arrange it.
“I could, would, and would love to. Does it sound good to you too?”
“It sounds terrific,” she assured him.
He called his secretary half an hour later, while Fiona showered and dressed for the evening. She emerged wearing beige silk slacks and a little beige silk sweater that you could almost see through, but not quite. She always managed to look elegant and sexy, and she was wearing little red silk mules for their informal evening on the Bateau Mouche.
“Could she do it?” Fiona asked, like a kid waiting for Christmas, referring to his change of plans, and he laughed at the question.
“I didn't give her a choice, I told her she had to. It's a little crazy, but what the hell, Fiona, you only live once. Who knows when we'll get the chance to do this again, we're both so damn busy. You've already got the time off, the least I can do is arrange my schedule to suit you.” He was smiling at her, sitting on the bed in the bedroom of her suite, and she put her arms around him, grateful to have found him, and to be with him.
“You are truly amazing.” But it was he who thought she was.
An hour later they were on the Bateau Mouche eating steak and pommes frites for dinner, and drifting along the Seine, looking at the lights and monuments of Paris. It was a corny, touristy thing to do, but the idea had appealed to both of them, and they were delighted they'd done it. They were talking about their plans for St. Tropez, and John wanted to call a boat broker he knew to see if he could get a charter for a day or two. It sounded incredibly romantic to Fiona, and in the meantime, they had her room at the Byblos, which would be fun too. She felt as though she were dreaming every time she looked at him.
They walked around the Left Bank afterward, had a glass of wine on the terrace of the Deux Magots, and he bought her a silly little painting from a street artist, as a souvenir of their first days together in Paris. And at midnight they went back to the hotel, nearly raced to her room, and made love for hours. So much so that she overslept in the morning, and didn't wake until Adrian pounded on her door to say good-bye. He was leaving for the airport. His work in Paris was done.
“I thought you were supposed to be working,” he said in an accusing tone, but she knew he didn't mean it.
“I am… I mean I will… I was exhausted,” she apologized.
“So am I. I've been working my ass off since six, and you're still sleeping at ten-thirty. When I grow up, I want your job.” As he said it, he saw a pair of men's shoes, neatly sitting under the coffee table, and Adrian beamed at her. “Unless your feet have grown, or you're cross-dressing, I assume that means you're no longer a virgin.”
“Mind your own business,” she said softly. She had closed the door to the bedroom, and John was still asleep. They hadn't gone to sleep until four in the morning, but it had been well worth it.
“How much will you give me not to tell Sir Winston?” Adrian said conspiratorially.
“My entire fortune.”
“And your turquoise bracelet? I can have it remade to fit me,” he said wickedly.
“The hell you will. Go ahead and tell him.”
“I may just have to do that. Are you still going to St. Tropez?” He had never seen her look like that, and he absolutely loved it. All he wanted was for her to be happy. He had liked John since the moment he met him. He thought he was terrific for her. As far as he was concerned, they were both lucky, and she deserved it. In all the years Adrian had known her, Fiona had never had a man in her life he approved of. Especially not the married architect from London. Adrian had loathed him. And he thought the conductor who wanted to marry her was silly. John was the only man he'd ever seen her with who he thought was worthy of her.
“Yes, I'm still going to St. Tropez,” she said innocently, but Adrian knew her better.
“Is he going with you?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, grinning mischievously.
“You naughty children! Well, enjoy it,” he said, hugging her. “Call me if you need to tell me anything, and FedEx me everything before you leave.” She had a lot of work to do that day before she started her vacation, and she intended to do it. In love or not, Fiona was a woman who met her deadlines. And nothing was going to change that.