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He shows us where the phones are, opens the drapes, and gives us information, but the blood is rushing through my ears.
Ryan booked us the Coco Chanel suite during fashion week. I’m staying in her freaking suite.
“Can I ask you some questions?” I ask before he can bustle out.
“Of course. What can I help you with?”
“Is this her original suite?”
“No,” he replies with a soft smile. “Her original apartment was on the sixth floor, on the other side of the hotel, where she could look out at her shop. It was moved in 2012 during our renovations, and, as you can see, I think it has the best view in all of Paris. That is the Plaza Vendome.”
“It’s a beautiful view,” I agree as I look out at the square with people bustling about, cars driving by, and a very tall copper statue of Napoleon Bonaparte. “Is anything in here original to her?”
“Yes, the folding screens at the end of this room,” he says, gesturing to them, and I notice that Ryan is hanging back, his hands stuffed in his pockets, listening to us. “There were six originally, and two of them are here. I believe the other four remain in her apartment above the shop on Rue Cambon. And although these are not her original rooms, they are decorated the way she had them, and that camel-colored couch is an exact replica of her sofa.”
I nod, taking it all in. “Thank you for the information.”
“Of course, that’s what I’m here for. If you wish to have any other tours or have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I nod at him. Ryan follows him out, and, I’m assuming, tips him.
I cross to the windows and stare out at the view below. Louis Vuitton is on the corner to the right, with Dior next to them. On the left is Cartier, and across the street is Van Cleef and Arpels.
The fashion on this street is overwhelming and exciting all at the same time.
I hear the bellman deliver our luggage, and then Ryan murmurs something to his security guy before he shuts the door again, and we’re alone. I can smell the spectacular display of pink roses that sit on the table beside the couch.
I feel Ryan approach me from behind, and he takes my shoulders in his hands and bends down to kiss my neck.
“Talk to me,” he whispers. “You’re tense, and I can’t read you.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” I turn in his arms and stare up at him as I cup his cheek, which is rough with stubble. He did all of this for me. “We don’t need a two-bedroom suite this week.”
“Yes, we do,” he counters. “We’ll be in the master, and the other room will be your dressing room. I have it under good authority that we’ll have a lot of clothes and bags and shoes and I don’t even know what else delivered here.”
I’m struck dumb as I stare up at him.
“For what?”
Ryan laughs and kisses my forehead. “For you, silly. Now, are you hungry? London and Drew don’t get in for a couple of hours yet, and I know you and London have some appointments later this afternoon for shopping. But before that, we should grab something to eat.”
“I don’t even know.” I look around and still can’t believe that I’m in the Coco Chanel suite. “You’re right, I’m keyed up. Maybe we should talk, and I’ll calm down. These flowers are pretty.”
“I had them brought in,” he says with a frown as I wander away from him. “Why are you nervous, babe?”
“I didn’t expect all of this.” I sweep my arm, indicating the room around us. “I thought we’d just be in a regular suite.”
“There are no regular suites in this hotel,” he says with a grin. “And I knew you’d love this, so I made it happen.”
“Who did you have to sweet talk to give it up?” I roll my eyes when he simply shrugs a shoulder. “I may be naïve when it comes to this stuff, but even I know that this suite had to have been booked out for someone important in the fashion industry.”
“Anna Wintour.”
I stare at him, and then I have to sit down because I feel like I’m going to pass out.
“You took this room from Anna Wintour, the editor-in-chief of Vogue magazine? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“She was fine with taking another suite,” he replies simply, as if it’s no big deal.
