Danielle Steel - Second Chance

“Okay, in that case, stop eating. I'm not going to feed you ever again, and if I see you touch lunch today, we'll call the doctor and ask him to have your stomach stapled. Personally, I think you could use a little weight, but who am I to ask you to risk your job for an omelette?”

“It's not the omelette, it's the pain au chocolat that went with it. I'm addicted to them.” She was smiling at him as she said it, and just looking at her, he could feel a tug at his heart.

“We'll put you in a twelve-step program when you get home. But I still think you need to eat breakfast.” And the truth was that she was enjoying every moment of eating it with him. He was good company, even in the morning, and usually she didn't like talking to anyone before she got to the office, even Sir Winston. But this was different. This was Paris, and there was an aura of ease and happiness and romance everywhere around them. Particularly at the Ritz. It was one of her favorite hotels in the world. Ordinarily, when he came to town, he stayed at the Crillon. But this time he was happy to be at the Ritz, with her.

“I have to get dressed,” she said unceremoniously and stood up, in bare feet and the pink bathrobe. And for a moment, he felt nearly married, whatever her views on the subject. They were in the living room of her suite.

“You look very pretty.”

“Like this?” She looked at him as though he had said something utterly ridiculous, as she ran a hand through her hair and tightened the bathrobe. She was wearing nothing underneath it, but he couldn't see anything, and the pale pink color looked soft and flattering near her face. “Don't be silly,” she said, dismissing the compliment, walked into her bedroom, and closed the door. He said he was going to read the paper while he waited, but instead when she returned, she found him staring out the window. He was lost in thought, and gave a start when she touched his shoulder. He had been a million miles away, and thinking of her.

“Don't you look elegant,” he said admiringly. She was wearing a black-and-white summer linen pantsuit that had been given to her the year before as a gift from Balmain, and it suited her well. She was wearing high-heeled black lizard Blahnik sandals, and a soft black leather Hermès bag known as the “Kelly mou.” Her hair was tied back in a neat knot, and she was wearing big black shell earrings by Seaman Schepps. She looked elegant and demure, and the only spot of color was her enormous turquoise bracelet on her wrist. She looked every bit the editor-in-chief of Chic. “Ready?” he asked as they prepared to leave the room. It was all very proper, but somehow felt surprisingly domestic, and as they walked out of the living room of her suite, they ran right into Adrian, hurrying out of his room. He raised an eyebrow at both of them and grinned.

“My, my, isn't this good news. I was hoping something like that would happen. A honeymoon at the Ritz.” It was a rather bold assumption on his part.

“Oh, shut up, Adrian,” Fiona said, looking embarrassed, as John smiled at them both. He had put on a blazer by then, and a good-looking yellow Hermès tie. “We just had breakfast together. Relax. I'm still a virgin.”

“That's disappointing to hear,” he said as they got in the elevator together. John seemed to be a good sport about Adrian's teasing. The two men chatted on the way down, and Fiona strode out of the elevator ahead of them. As it turned out, Adrian's driver was late, so all three of them rode to the Académie des Beaux Arts on the Left Bank together in Fiona's car.

And just as Fiona had predicted, the show was dignified, yet elegant and impressive, an entirely different scene than the show she'd taken John to the day before. He was vastly impressed and said he loved it. After the show, Adrian went back to the hotel to talk to the photographer. John and Fiona went to lunch at Le Voltaire. She was beginning to feel as though she were being lazy. She was more interested in spending time with John than in doing her work.

They shared a relaxing, comfortable three hours eating lunch at Le Voltaire, and by the time it was full, Fiona knew more than half the people there. Hubert de Givenchy had come for lunch, as did the Baronne de Ludinghausen, formerly from Saint Laurent. There were designers and socialites and bankers, and as they ordered coffee, Fiona chatted amiably with a Russian prince at the next table. She knew everyone, and more important, they all knew her.

They both went back to the hotel to make phone calls to New York after lunch, and met up again at four-thirty. They had agreed to take a walk down the Faubourg St. Honoré, and he followed her willingly into Hermès. By the time they got back to the hotel at six o'clock, they had spent the entire day together, and Fiona was surprised at how totally at ease she felt with him. It was so comfortable being together. She went to change, while he sent some e-mails on his computer, and when they met again an hour later, she was wearing an ice-blue silk suit. They were on their way to see Givenchy, which turned out to be slightly outrageous, and although she said she liked some of the pieces, she was disappointed in it from a professional point of view.

After that they came back to the Ritz for the Chic magazine cocktail party, which Adrian had in total control. Everyone who was anyone was there. Fiona made the rounds greeting people and shaking hands. It was hours later when she and John left for the last of the Givenchy party, which was a spectacular event in a tent in the Luxembourg Garden. And at midnight they went to the Buddha Bar for a few minutes, because she'd promised to meet some people there. Then they stopped at the Hemingway Bar at the hotel for a last drink. John had brandy and she had mineral water, and she realized in amazement that it was two-thirty in the morning by the time they left the bar and went upstairs. Things always started late in Paris, and as a result, the nights got late.

“Is it always like this when you come to the couture shows?” he asked as they rode up in the elevator together. He hated to admit it, but he was exhausted. She led life at a pace that would have killed him in a week. It was a lot easier, he realized, going to an office and having sedate dinners out a couple of times a week. He couldn't even begin to think of all the things they had done and seen in two days. And she didn't even look tired as she fumbled in her bag for her key.

“Yes, it's always pretty hectic.” She smiled at him. “Do you want a day off tomorrow? I'm going to Chanel in the morning, and Gaultier in the afternoon.” As though that meant something to him. She might as well have been speaking Chinese. But he liked the sound of it on her lips.

“I wouldn't miss it for anything. I'm getting an education, or something like that.” And then suddenly he wondered if it was awkward for her to be seen constantly with him. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him. This wasn't a pleasure cruise for her after all, it was a business trip. “Would you rather go alone, Fiona?” He looked worried, and she smiled at him, leaning against the doorway of her suite. They felt like old friends now, and she was astonishingly at ease with him.

“I'd rather go with you,” she said honestly. “You make it more fun for me. It's almost like doing something new.” It was a nice thing to say to him, and without saying a word, he gently touched her cheek.

“I like being with you too.” Even more than he had dreamed. It had been a memorable two days with her, and without thinking, he leaned slowly toward her, and the next thing he knew, he was holding her and kissing her in the doorway of her suite. They stood there for a long time, and the thought crossed John's mind that Adrian might happen by on the way to his room. But he didn't want to force his way into Fiona's room. So they stood there kissing, and holding each other, until she spoke in a soft, smoky voice, and whispered in his ear.