I ventured a quick glance at Mike. Did something about us say crème caramel? “Um—I was thinking the chocolate cake.” I looked to Mike for confirmation, and he shrugged agreeably.
The waiter’s nostrils flared. “Americans always order the crème caramel.”
Then I definitely didn’t want it. “The cake.”
He raised his chin and left.
Mike was already on it. “Whoa.”
I leaned forward, trying to read his phone, and he flipped it my way. “The president had the crème caramel here.”
“What? He came here?” I spun my head after the waiter. “Maybe we should also get the flan.”
Mike grinned. “I thought you didn’t like being a tourist.”
I kissed him quick. “It’s Presidential Flan. There are exceptions for everything.”
We walked back to the hotel hand in hand. It made my heart fill, like too much had been poured into it, like it couldn’t contain all this happiness. And then we reached our street and a view of the Eiffel Tower. It started sparkling, dancing bursts of light, and I couldn’t help it, I just reached out and started kissing Mike as though I needed him more than oxygen.
“We don’t really need to go to this party,” he said.
I laughed. “But look at my war paint! And my armor should’ve been delivered by now. We have to go.”
The hotel had left the dress on the bed, but I ducked into the bathroom to put it on. Tiny spangles made the dress shine and sparkle. I spun and watched the dress flare. Good thing I’d brought spandex.
I really did look like my mother. I made her face, pursing my lips and letting a tiny sneer crinkle my nose as I widened my eyes at the mirror.
It was so spot on that my giggles carried a hint of shock.
Mike knocked a fist against the door. “If you’re in there all night, we really won’t get to this thing and Rach and Bri will kill me.”
I tugged on the hem and shouted back. “It’s shorter than I thought.”
“Good!”
I grinned and pulled the shoes out of the box. Silver pumps with a slightly narrowed point. How long had Maggie owned them? They were classic enough to fit in today, but I’d bet they’d been around at least two decades. But they fit, lifting me up to six feet. They made my legs stretch on forever and the dress danced against my thighs. At least I had damn good ones from hiking around Kilkarten.
Not quite Cinderella’s slippers, but maybe Ariel’s legs, because I sure as hell felt like a fish out of water tonight.
I pushed the door open, feeling unusually self-conscious. I started to speak for Mike’s attention, but the words dried up as I watched him fiddle with his cuffs. He looked absolutely stunning in his black formalwear. Prince Charming, if we were being thematic.
He looked up with a smile, his mouth already forming a quip, and then I watched it all fall away in surprise. His eyes lingered on my legs, and then slowly rose to my face. “You look incredible.”
I did a little shimmy. “Kinda like a disco ball, right?”
He smiled, but his eyes stayed hooded and focused as he came toward me. His voice wasn’t much more than a murmur. “Not exactly what I was thinking.” His arm slid around my waist and pulled me against him. I lifted my head. With the additional two inches, my lips brushed perfectly against his, and I almost considered staying in too.
But. We were meeting his friends. I drew away. “We’re already in our fancy clothes. Let’s go.”
We took a taxi to the hotel. Mike didn’t say anything, but I saw his lips twitch as he pulled the door open. So. He remembered me making a stink about taxis that spring night in New York.
But I didn’t mind, because taking a taxi in Paris was different than in New York. It was a tour of narrowed streets and old buildings, of trees heavy with greenery and outdoor cafés. We crossed the Seine on a bridge lined with golden statues. Behind us, the Eiffel Tower rose up, bright gold against the blue dusk. “It’s like being in a movie.”
“That’s what I thought when I first moved to New York.”
I twisted around to see him. “You? A tried and true Bostonian?”
He lowered his head close enough that our lips almost brushed. “I didn’t say it was a good movie.”
On the other side of the bridge, we passed palaces dressed as museums, with huge posters of artwork hanging down their sides and lines of people curving up the steps. We turned onto the Champs-élysées, that great, grand boulevard that ran through the center of the city. I caught a glimpse of the Place de la Concorde, where Marie Antoinette and countless others died, where today an obelisk from Egypt struck up into the darkening sky.
The hotel stood just outside the city limits, built sometime in the eighties when nothing was allowed to rise over a hundred and twenty one feet. Even with the new zoning laws, buildings couldn’t rise too high; nothing could ruin the famous Parisian skyline.
“Okay,” Mike said when we were in the elevator. “Here’s my technique at these things. Smile a lot. Laugh at people who need affirmation of their own cleverness.”
“You get a lot of those?”
He looked vaguely suffering. “It’s the entire one percent.”
We got out of the elevator into a room of low lights and voices, lower couches, and a sweeping glass panorama of Paris. Glittering people circulated before the backdrop. A woman in black watched me with narrowed eyes. Did she know how out of place I was?
I ignored her and took in the view. The entire city was laid out in a stream of bright streaks, from the toy-sized tower to the star of avenues surrounding the Arc de Triomphe.
I’d just turned back to Mike when someone flung her arms around him. It took me a moment to recognize the sleek haired brunette in impeccable make-up and a fitted red dress as Rachael Hamilton. Her own eyes widened on seeing me. “Wow, you’re much...taller than I remembered.”
I lifted a foot. “It’s the heels. Also, I think having my hair coiled at the top of my head adds to the illusion.”
She studied me a minute longer, and then her eyes relaxed. “It’s good to see you, even if I have to crane my neck to do it.”
Mike gave Rachael an absent pat on the back, his eyes searching the room. “I’m going go find the guys.” He squeezed my hand. “Be right back.”
We both watched him go. I felt slightly amazed. “Wow. He was super into me before we arrived and now I’ve been abandoned in the first thirty seconds.”
Rachael laughed. “They’ve been friends a long time. I’m sure they’ll all be back in a minute. I’ll show you our table.”
She led me over to some low couches, and Briana Harris, former star of Boomerang, a pretty decent show about the boomerang generation. She drew her eyes over me and frowned. “You don’t look how I remember.”
I was surprised she’d actually remembered me at all, given that she’d met me for half a minute outside Radio City Music Hall.
“In fact,” she said, taking a sip of wine, “You look like Tamara Bocharov.”
Rach dropped down, and I also sat. She pushed a plate of cheese and grapes at me. “That’s because she’s Bocharov’s daughter.”
I swiveled her way. “Did Mike tell you that?”
“No. I just have extensive Googling skills.”
Briana sat up straight. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
Rachael rolled her eyes. “I guess I was caught up in the ohmigod, archaeology’s awesome thing. Sorry.” She flashed me a smile. “I’m glad you came. I thought you and Mike looked good together.”
I was still processing that they knew about my mother, and that for once I was realizing it wasn’t as big a deal as I’d always blown it up to be. “Really?”