Page 105 of Making Over Maris

Chapter Seventeen

Paris was beautiful. Everything Sara had always dreamed it would be. Charming and continental and romantic. The food was delicious, from the croissants and chocolat chaud at the street-side café to the crepes to the coq au vin at the bistro across the street from her hotel. The shopping was phenomenal. The sights were fascinating…

And Sara was miserable.

Because Jack wasn’t here. And she couldn’t reach him. And she missed him terribly.

And he hadn’t even said goodbye.

Philippe, her gigolo, was nice, if a tad too young. And perhaps a bit too familiar at times.

Jack had certainly done a good job picking him out. He was handsome. He was charming and suave and a very good tour guide. He was able to gauge Sara’s mood and suggest the right clubs, the right restaurants, the right pursuits to please her.

It was damn annoying. She longed for someone to misunderstand her cues or say something utterly ridiculous. Or fart like a motorboat.

She longed for Jack.

She tried to enjoy her birthday. It fell on the midpoint of her trip. That morning Philippe picked her up at the hotel and took her on a brunch cruise on the Seine. And then they visited the Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur. And then they took a stroll in the open-air art displays of Montmartre. When she got tired, he took her back to the hotel for a nap.

“I will return at six,” he said, bending to kiss her hand. She tried not to be irritated by his chivalry. “Tonight I take you to la tour Eiffel pour le dîner.”

“Bon,” she said with a sigh. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost her enthusiasm for this trip. Without Jack it wasn’t…it just wasn’t. In fact nothing was remotely exciting without him.

But this had been her dream for a lifetime. She owed it to herself to enjoy the hell out of it. She owed it to Jack.

So she’d go to the stupid Eiffel Tower for her stupid birthday dinner with a stupid, annoying hand-kissing Frenchman and she’d eat outrageously expensive snails or frog legs or some shit like that. And she’d like it.

In a fit of determination, she got all gussied up. She put on the dress Jack had bought her for this occasion and the pretty earrings and the necklace he’d given her. And she did her hair and put on makeup and the whole time she couldn’t help thinking—she was doing this all…for Philippe.

He was impressed. His eyes widened when they met in the hotel lobby. He murmured she was “très belle” and bent over her hand—again—and then escorted her to the waiting horse-drawn carriage.

She almost burst into tears. Because she knew Jack had arranged for it. And she hadn’t even asked for that. It was so incredibly romantic.

And he was missing it.

The weather cooperated. It was a lovely, balmy evening for October in France. The sky was clear and the moon shone down, limning everything with a silvery light.

So beautiful.

It really pissed her off.

As they approached the Eiffel Tower, all the tourists gaped at her as though she were an arriving princess. She certainly felt like one.

Philippe leaped down as the carriage rolled to a halt and then he raised a hand to help her descend. He tucked her arm in his and led her to the elevators.

She stopped. “Aren’t we supposed to take that one?” She pointed to the private lift for the restaurant.

“I thought we could visit ze observation deck first,” he explained, “as we are, how you say, early?”

Sara shrugged. It would be nice to take in the view. If for no other reason than to say she had. So they climbed onto the elevator packed with tourists and rode to the third level.

And though she was sad and distracted and certain she wouldn’t enjoy herself in the slightest, Sara loved it. The observation deck was windy and crowded but the view of the city stole her breath. She and Philippe hunted for and found her hotel and then he pointed out other spots of note.

When he left to check on their reservations, she found a quiet spot and gazed out at the city brilliant with lights, the wind snapping her hair around her face, and allowed herself the pleasure of this moment.

She thought of Jack.

Imagined he was here.