R Is for Rebel (27 page)

She nodded very slowly, her heart and stomach beating a crazy rhythm that had nothing to do with those espressos.

The following week and a half in Paris floated by in a dream. In the mornings, Abigail worked from their hotel room, rewriting a funding proposal she had been focusing on for the past two months. Eliot offered to help in any way he could, reading over the revisions each night and making suggestions that were always helpful without being needlessly particular. She also heard from the professors at the Sorbonne, letting her know they had reviewed her presentation and they were pleased to announce they would join the board of the Rose and Thorn. She put together plans to meet them for lunch on Thursday.

That morning, Eliot asked what time she was going to be free after lunch.

“I'm not sure. We're set to meet at one o'clock and I don't want them to feel rushed or anything. Why? What do you have in mind?”

He was tying his tie in the bathroom mirror behind her while she brushed her teeth. He had a negotiation that morning with a group of French investors and was looking particularly sharp. “A little surprise for you. For me, really.” He smiled at her reflection. “But I think you'll like it too.”

She finished wiping her mouth with the hand towel and turned away from the sink to face him. “You are looking quite the corporate raider this morning.” She tugged on his perfectly knotted tie to pull him down for a quick kiss.

“Mmm,” he hummed, then pulled away slightly. “Do I get more kisses when I'm looking predatory?”

She smiled and shrugged. “Maybe. It's kind of working for me. Do you get dressed like this every day in Geneva?”

His face turned slightly more serious. “Why don't you come and find out for yourself?”

She tipped her forehead into his chest and inhaled. “We're going to have to sort that out, aren't we? Little things like where we're going to live? And you not being engaged to someone else by the time I get there?”

He put his finger under her chin. “Yes. But it's all good, okay? It's all going to work out.”

“Okay.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion you're going to love my house.” He traced the angle of her cheekbone, then trailed his finger down her neck. “It would suit you.”

She loved the way he touched her while he spoke to her, as if his touch was part of the conversation, punctuating his words. “Everything about you suits me,” she said. “Why should your fabulous house be any different?”

He smiled. “Precisely.” He walked out of the bathroom and pulled on his suit jacket, shooting his cuffs and smoothing his lapels. “So call me when you get out of your lunch and I'll pick you up at… where are you having lunch?”

“Soufflot. Do you know it?”

“I think so. Up near the Panthéon?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Call when you finish.”

“Okay. So…”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“Are you going to give me a hint?”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her from head to toe. “Wear your best lingerie.” With that, he gave her a peck on the cheek and left.

Nearly three hours into lunch, Abigail was trying to stay focused, she really was, but the two anthropology professors were settling into their second coffees and more cigarettes than she'd seen since Humphrey Bogart worked at Rick's. Her eyes were watering and she had to clasp her hands in her lap to keep from swiping her hand in front of her face to push away the smoke.

Finally, the older of the two looked at his watch and widened his eyes. “Alors! I didn't realize it was almost four o'clock. I'm so sorry to cut our lunch short, but we have a department meeting in thirty minutes.”

Abigail used all the restraint in the world to keep from laughing in his face at the idea of cutting a three-hour lunch
short
. But she managed it. The waiter finally came with his portable credit card machine,
like an extra lifeboat on the
Titanic, thought Abigail. She whipped out her credit card and smiled at the two men. They had been utterly charming, thrilled about the prospect of working with her and having research trips that would take them to Uganda and Libya, but Eliot's words about her
best
lingerie
were starting to clang distractingly through her mind.

“It's been such a pleasure, gentleman,” said Abigail. All three of them stood up from the table and walked out to the curb to say their good-byes. “I cannot thank you enough for your confidence in the foundation. It's been such a pleasure to spend time with you both. I'll call you next week about—”

“Abigail, is that you?”

Her head swung around and there was Eliot, all glamorous and fabulous, sporting his mirrored sunglasses that reflected the neoclassical buildings and his perfectly cut five-thousand-euro suit. He came up to the three of them and leaned down and kissed her neck. Right there in front of everyone.

The two professors smiled, a little taken aback. Abigail was tongue-tied. Eliot extended his hand and introduced himself in his perfect French. Abigail stared as he impressed the two professors, accomplishing in thirty seconds what had taken Abigail weeks of phone calls and meetings, and one endless, smoky lunch. After a few minutes, the three men were laughing about something in French and Abigail was beginning to get peeved. Eliot sensed it immediately, drawing her back into the conversation and into him, draping his arm around her waist.

“I'm so sorry. It was rude to launch into French. How did the meeting go?” He looked at Abigail and then back to the two men.

She supposed she should feel grateful that staying mad at Eliot was impossible. She looked at the professors. “I think it went well, don't you?”

They nodded enthusiastically and bid their farewells, walking back to their department meeting.

“What did you say to them? And I did not call you yet. Have you been hiding behind a streetlamp or something? I feel like you are my own personal version of
The
Red
Balloon
.”

He squeezed her more tightly and led them in the opposite direction from the professors. “I missed you.” He leaned into her neck and did that half-kiss-half-inhale thing he'd been perfecting all week. “And it's such a beautiful, crisp afternoon, I thought we might walk to your surprise.”

“Oh, Eliot. You're so impossibly good. Of course I've been distracted the entire lunch thinking about my
best
lingerie
, because there's quite a lot of it to choose from.” She pulled him closer to her side, reaching her hand around his back. “I wasn't exactly sure which you would think was the
best
.”

They were strolling toward the Luxembourg Gardens, then Eliot led her down a narrow street that curved away from the main avenue. They came to a narrow building that looked like the crooked house on the crooked lane. Eliot smiled that mischievous boy smile and pushed one of the unmarked buttons by the entry. They were quickly buzzed in. The entryway was ill-lit and unkempt. They walked up a narrow circular staircase that felt as though it might pull away from the cracking plaster wall if they decided to jump up and down on it.

“Eliot. Where are you taking me? There's delightfully wicked and then there's illegal.”

He smiled over his shoulder as he dragged her up the last few steps to the top floor. There was music coming through the thick oak door that had been left slightly ajar for them to enter. Eliot rapped on the old wood once and then pushed it open. The space was dilapidated and gorgeous. The rough beams of the ancient building's sagging roof were exposed, roof tiles and partially shuttered windows let in slanting beams of the Parisian winter sun.

Photography lamps were set up in different areas of the room and a man was looking over some images on a makeshift table in the far corner. Benjamin Willard turned around when he heard the two of them come in.

“There you are.” He smiled as he approached them. When he crossed the room, he extended his hand. “How are you, Abigail?”

“Good, thanks. How are you?” She shook his hand and looked around for the model and stylists. “Where's Dina?”

Ben looked at Eliot. “You haven't told her yet?”

“Told me what?”

Sarah came flying out from another room to the left of the front door. “Are they here yet? I don't have all—”

“Sarah! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Eliot. You didn't tell her, did you?” Sarah was holding two different shoes aloft, as if she was on her way back to the room to ask someone's opinion. Abigail glanced briefly at the shoes, which she could only describe as sadomasochistic thigh-high… things.

“Tell me what? What is going on?”

Eliot leaned in and kissed her neck.

“Eliot, sack it!” Abigail had had enough surprises for one week. “Is this a photo shoot or not?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at her.

She felt the blood drain out from her face and started to back up. “If you think I'm going to prance around in my underwear—” The heel of her shoe caught on one of the loose floorboards and she would have fallen flat on her back if Eliot hadn't reached out to grab hold of her.

“I've got you,” he whispered into her ear, holding her tight and hard against him.

She reached her arms around his waist and spoke into his chest. “I don't think I like surprises.”

He laughed and kissed her forehead. “Abigail?”

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

“I don't want you to parade in your underwear.”

She exhaled. “Oh. Well, okay good. So there's that.”

He smiled again. “I found the dress… the imaginary dress that I've pictured you in all these months of our separation. And with Ben here and Sarah willing to help, and this building that I've always loved even though it's a wreck… because aren't we all a wreck?”

Abigail had stopped breathing. “Yes.”

“So, for me, would you let Ben take a few pictures of you in the dress?”

“I'll feel ridiculous. I'm not photogenic, I swear. I'm not being overly modest.” She loosened her hold around his back, but he held her tighter.

“The pictures are for me, not for you. If you don't like them, you don't have to look at them.”

“Oh, Eliot.” She rested her cheek against the lapel of his soft suit. “How can I deny you anything?”

He kissed her full on the mouth, hot and open.

All
this
kissing
in
front
of
everyone
all
of
a
sudden!
thought Abigail, before she couldn't think anymore.

She gasped when he pulled away, his eyes sparkling. “Thank you.” He kissed her again, but it was a quick buss.

“My, my. You're welcome. Maybe I should have said yes sooner. That was quite a kiss.”

He leaned in near her ear and whispered, “I love you, Abigail.”

“I love you too, Eliot.”

They stood like that for a few more seconds.

“Great!” Sarah barked. “Now that we've reestablished for the nine hundredth time this week that you two love each other, could we please get a move on the photos. I
have
to be back at the hotel at seven o'clock.”

Abigail took a deep breath and Eliot released her. “Okay, I'm ready, Sar. Where are the clothes?”

“This way, come on. No dawdling.”

She followed Sarah to a small garret off the main room and saw the dress. It was breathtaking. Abigail covered her mouth in shock. “Is that even a dress?”

“Of course it's a dress. Only the most beautiful dress I've ever seen.”

“What's it made of?” Abigail reached for the diaphanous layers of fabric then pulled her hand away, afraid she was going to stain it or ruin it.

“This is so wrong.” Sarah stomped her foot. “I can't believe
you
are going to end up with someone who gives you vintage Dior gowns and I ended up with someone…”

Abigail folded her arms and raised an eyebrow to hear how Sarah was going to describe Devon. “Someone?”

“Oh, fine. Devon's perfect, but he might be a tiny bit perfecter if he knew the first thing about fashion. Honestly! He doesn't even care!” Sarah sounded genuinely despondent.

“There, there, Sarah. We can't have everything.”

“Oh cut it out! Let's get you into this incredible piece of art, shall we?”

“Okay.” Abigail took a deep breath. “I guess I need to undress, then?”

“Yes. Abigail. You need to get undressed. What is your problem? You are usually so immodest. What's come over you?”

“Oh, I don't know. Let's just do this.”

“Try to be a tad enthusiastic, for my sake.” Sarah lovingly unzipped the pale gray beaded gown from the mannequin. “It's so fantastic.”

Abigail undressed and watched as Sarah carefully finished removing the dress and held it up for her to step into. “Oh my god! Does he buy you haute couture lingerie too?” Sarah pulled the dress closer to her chest and away from Abigail's reach, staring at Abby's fancy underclothes.

Standing in her
best
lingerie
in front of Sarah had never been part of Abigail's plan. Now that she had removed her navy-blue wool skirt and white turtleneck sweater that she'd been wearing for the meeting with the professors, she was back to looking like a harlot. Abigail put her hands on her hips (which happened to be sporting a gorgeous pale lavender lace garter belt). “I buy my own lingerie.”

“I don't believe it! You are a closet lingerie whore? Oh my god. Wait until I tell Bronte.”

Abigail shook her head. “You are so juvenile. Give me the damn dress.”

“There, there.” She extended the dress and continued talking as Abby stepped in, trying to be extra careful not to crush the hem or get caught on the delicate lining. “All of this falling-in-love-with-Eliot-business has really got you going, huh?”