“Paris?!”
His eyes are dancing. “Well that’s where the painting will be,” he laughs. “How do you feel about a little trip?”
“I’m going to Paris!” I nearly shout with glee. Paris! I can’t believe it.
Two days later, I’m all packed for the trip – well, almost. I still need a gorgeous ball gown for the big exhibition event, so I recruit Paige to come shopping with me in Soho.
“What do you think of this one?” I ask Paige, holding up a stunning red silk gown that falls to the floor in lush drapes and body hugging curves.
Paige whistles. “Gorgeous. I wish I had a reason to get that dressed up.”
“I wish you could come to the opening.” I say. Paris still feels like a dream come true. The most romantic city in the world, with the hottest guy I’ve ever met—who just happens to be in love with me. Is there a better fantasy?
“Me too,” Paige sighs. “And I wish I had a handsome rich boyfriend to whisk me off for romantic weekends abroad, too,” she winks. “I’m guessing you decided that the good outweighs the bad then?”
“What?” I pull my gaze away from the midnight blue dress I’ve been dreamily eyeing.
“Our not-so-hypothetical conversation, about people having a dark side?” she reminds me. “It looks like whatever you learned about St. Clair isn’t a problem anymore.”
I feel guilty for hiding everything from her, but I know I can’t tell her the truth. “I don’t think it is, no. But, I do have another hypothetical for you…”
“Ask away!” she perks, holding up a black floor-length halter dress with tons of sparkles along the bodice. “Too Vegas?” she asks, swishing it back and forth. I flash a thumbs-down.
“So the question is…have you ever done the wrong thing, but for the right reason?” I ask, trying to make it sound light, but really wanting to hear her opinion.
She looks up from another gown she’s eyeing and raises an eyebrow. “Deep thoughts today, Gracie?”
I shrug. “I was just wondering.”
Paige looks at me, and I know she can tell I’m serious. “Whatever thing you’re doing, or whatever your reasons are—or his—I trust you to make the right decision for you. Nothing is black and white, you know that.” She pauses. “I think you just have to trust your instincts.”
“That makes sense.” And my instincts do feel like this is the right thing. “Thanks.”
“You want to talk about what’s on your mind?” Paige says and I feel another twinge of guilt at not being able to confide in her.
I shake my head and force a smile. “I’m just nervous.” I hold up the red dress against my chest again. “Should I try this one on?”
“Yes!” Paige says, letting the topic drop. “Lady in red…” she serenades as I walk away.
When I come out of the dressing room wearing the luscious silk against my skin, its one shoulder design highlighting my shapely torso, I feel like a million bucks.
“You look stunning,” Paige says.
“It’s not too much?” I ask. It’s definitely the most attention-getting dress I’ve ever worn.
“No way,” she soothes. “It’s sexy. Classy. Perfect.”
I do a little twirl and Paige laughs. “I feel like a celebrity,” I say, staring at myself in the mirror. I’ve come such a long way from my waitress outfit at Giovanni’s.
“You seem like one these days,” Paige says. “Really, I’ve never seen you so happy, so confident, so alive. Your mom would be proud, seeing you embrace life again.” Paige squeezes my shoulder. “I think she’d agree it’s time.”
I feel a pang of sadness, thinking of my mom, wishing she could come to Paris with me. But I also feel thankful, to have met St. Clair, to be in love and living this exciting life. “I feel really lucky,” I admit. “It’s all because of St. Clair.”
Paige says, “I’m so happy for you.” She smiles and I know she really means it, even if she hasn’t found her own happiness yet.
“Thanks,” I say. “I would not have made it here without you all these years.”
I hug her, and then slip back into the dressing room before tears show up. I gaze at my reflection, the fancy gown, a world away from where I thought I’d end up, doing things I never would have imagined I’d do.
Would Mom approve of our plan for justice? I’m not sure, but I do know she always trusted me to follow my path, make my own decisions. And what’s more, I believe in St. Clair, in this cause that’s no longer just his. We are doing the right thing, I’m sure of it.
I take the dress off and carry it to the register. Paige squeals, “You’re going to Paris! It’d better watch out for your sexy ass if it knows what’s good for it.”
I grin at my old friend. “Yes, I am, and yes it should.”
I know this trip is going to be life-changing.
CHAPTER 8
Touchdown in Paris! I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself as we catch a cab from the airport, swiveling my head from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.
“Where is it?” I ask as we turn another corner. “When can we go see the sights?”
“You’re adorable when you’re excited,” St. Clair says, kissing my cheek. “But remember why we’re here.”
I smile. “I’m actually excited about that, too,” I say truthfully. “It seems your bad influence may be rubbing off on me.”
He grins, then clears his throat. “I’ll take you to see the sights, I promise. But first we have to deliver my painting to the gallery, so we can scope out the scene. I sent the delivery by van ahead of us, and they just arrived.”
“You really do think of everything,” I note.
St. Clair takes my hand; I can tell he’s excited too. “I’m glad I don’t have to hide this,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “That I don’t have to lie anymore. It makes me feel even closer to you.”
“Me too,” I answer, even as my stomach twists in a nervous knot. Now that we’re here in Paris, it’s feeling more reaclass="underline" what we’re about to do.
Am I making a mistake?
The gallery is an old building in a fancy area, understated yet luxurious. It’s closed, but we’re shown inside, past the construction and all the preparations for the upcoming exhibition. I look around, noticing the artwork already hanging on the walls. Part of me wishes I could just enjoy the art at the opening like a normal attendee.
“Mr. St. Clair,” a woman says with French accent, coming to greet us. “How wonderful to meet you at last. Marie Villenueve.” She steps forward and shakes his hand.
St. Clair says, “Enchantee,” and then something else in French, and Marie beams. Then he says, “This is Grace, my art consultant.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says to me. “We are just so thrilled that you have loaned us such an important painting for our opening. We can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s my pleasure.” St. Clair looks around. “Did it arrive safely?”
“But of course. We have it in the back, and you’re more than welcome to check the condition yourself.” Marie smiles, and gives me a look. “I know how possessive these art lovers can be. They like to know their infants are safe. Come.”
We follow her through a ‘staff only’ door, into the back of the gallery. Here, behind the scenes, it’s a lot like the auction house in San Francisco: there are offices and several rooms filled with artwork in various stages of unpacking or restoration, and people are bustling around getting everything ready.
Marie leads us to a large room in the back, which opens up to a loading dock for deliveries. This space is the most chaotic of alclass="underline" packing crates are stacked against the walls, tables are loaded with supplies, and worker are busy unloading a pallet with large crates stamped ‘handle with care’.