Letter from Paris
Praise for India's Summer by Thérèse:
“
India’s Summer
is a furious, fast-paced, fun romp through the excesses of life in the Hollywood fast lane, with some thought-provoking wisdom interspersed throughout.”
– Jane Green,
New York Times
bestselling author
“A book has an energy field all of its own and
India’s Summer
has a really great one.”
– Ekhart Tolle, spiritual leader and
New York Times
bestselling author
“
India’s Summer
offers a timeless tale of women supporting one another – delivered in a way that makes it feel fresh, alive, and utterly of the moment.”
– Arianna Huffington
“India’s fascinating character is what makes
India’s Summer
a compelling read. She is trying to make a big shift in her life, in her career, in the choices she’s making. She’s funny, clever and vulnerable and you are rooting for her every step of the way.”
– Goldie Hawn
“
India’s Summer
avoids the familiar clichés of LA and yet captures the character of the city so well.”
– Orlando Bloom
“I love how India learns to trust her inner voice and begins to let her light shine.”
– Miranda Kerr, Victoria’s Secret “Angel” and author of
Treasure Yourself
“I loved this book. India made me smile.”
– Kim Eng, Presence of Movement Workshop Leader
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
The Story Plant
Studio Digital CT, LLC
P.O. Box 4331
Stamford, CT 06907
Copyright © 2014 by Thérèse
Jacket design by Barbara Aronica-Buck
Cover photo © 2011 by Jeff Eamer
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-61188-141-7
E-book ISBN-13: 978-1-61188-142-4
Visit our website at
www.TheStoryPlant.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by U.S. Copyright Law. For information, address The Story Plant.
First Story Plant printing: June 2014
Printed in the United States of America
For Ken, James, and Kate.
I love you more than words can say.
“It is important to have rain the first day in Paris
and never an umbrella.”
– Audrey Hepburn as Sabrina
Hotel de l’Abbaye
Saint Germain
Paris
December 15, 2013
Dear lovely reader,
Letter from Paris
is the continuing story of India Butler who has not long turned forty, and is technically still single.
India has always longed to be French, to have that illusive
je ne sais quoi
, a signature style of dressing, a certain confidence. She dreams of an apartment in Paris with its air of “benign neglect” and casement windows she can fling open to breathe in lavender-scented air. She longs to speak better French, to cycle down Rue de Rivoli with her baguette tossed casually in her basket, her hair swept up in a casual chignon, her lover waiting for her in Brasserie Lipp on Boulevard Saint Germain… If you ask me she’s watched far too many Audrey Hepburn movies, but a girl can dream can’t she?
If you have yet to read
India’s Summer
, then no spoilers; all you really need to know is that India is back from LA, living in London, and in a long-distance relationship with Adam Brooks. She’ll tell you the rest herself.
Writing this sequel has been a labor of love for me. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed living vicariously through India again and I hope you will too. Do let me know. I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me at www.thereseblogs.com.
A bientot mes amies
Bisous
Thérèse x
1
“Are you okay? You shot out from nowhere. I could have killed you,” the biker shouted, wrestling to unfasten his helmet.
“I’m fine…I’m fine,” the girl stammered, scrambling to her feet and collecting the strewn contents of her purse. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t looking. I was distracted by the fountains.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked anxiously, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Let me see you. Have you hurt yourself?”
“No. I’m fine. Absolutely. I promise,” she said, brushing the dust off her pants and lifting her bag over her shoulder.
“
I’m okay, just a bit shaken up…”
“Here. Catch your breath a minute,” he said, taking her by the elbow and helping her back onto the pavement. “I’m Adam. What’s your name?”
“Natalie,” she said, running her hands through her hair and attempting a smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I really am okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, looking around in something of a daze. “I think I should go back to my hotel. I’m clearly not safe to be out on the street.”
“Let me get you back there. You’ll be perfectly safe,” he assured her. “I do know how to drive.”
“You certainly know how to stop.” She laughed. “I’m really sorry. I feel so stupid. Yes. Thanks. It’s just up the street – The Paris,” she said, pointing across the Las Vegas strip.
“Okay. Here. Put this on,” he said, handing her his helmet. “Let me fasten it for you.”
He snapped the strap under her chin, climbed back on the Harley, and fired up the engine.
“Okay? Take your time,” he shouted.
Natalie swung her leg over the wide leather seat.
“Are you on?”
“Yes,” she yelled back.
“There are foot pegs. Got them? Great. Hold on to me and lean into the curve.”
Natalie put her arms around his waist as the engine gave a throaty growl. In the few short minutes it took to get back to her hotel, she became acutely aware of the strength of his muscles under his cotton shirt.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, climbing off and shaking out her long hair. She handed him back the helmet.
“Can’t stop here,” he said, nodding toward a truck reversing in his path. “I really want to know you’re okay. Can I catch up with you later? Are you doing anything tonight?”
Natalie shook her head. “Not especially,” she said.
“How ’bout I take you to dinner? Would seven o’clock work?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding.
“Great. I’ll pick you up over there by the lobby. See you later,” he said, revving the engine and negotiating his way around the truck.
Natalie didn’t waste a second grabbing her phone from her purse.
“Hey Monica,” she said, breathless with excitement. “Omigod. Never, as in never, are you going to believe what just happened to me.”
“Let me guess. You just won a million dollars on a slot machine?”
“Ha! Not exactly…Okay…so I tripped in the street and this guy on a motorcycle almost killed me…and he’s just given me a lift back to the hotel…and…”
“Are you insane?” Monica screamed. “The guy nearly kills you and you get on his bike?”
“I didn’t finish yet. It wasn’t his fault and the GUY was Adam Brooks.”
“Adam Brooks? As in…Adam BROOKS? Omigod, that changes
everything
. Are you sure it was him and not some lookalike? Maybe you have a concussion.”
“Too funny, Monica. Yes. I’m positive. It was him all right, right down to his six pack. Okay. Are you sitting down? I haven’t even told you the best part yet.” She paused for effect. “Ready? Wait for it…he’s taking me to dinner tonight. Adam Brooks as in
People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive…
is taking me to dinner.”
“Cool, as in really cool. But sorry to break the news Nat, he’s in a serious relationship. He’s got a thing with Annabelle Butler’s sister. What’s her name? India. I think they might even be engaged.”
“Monica, he could be married with kids for all I care. All guys cheat,” Natalie said, examining the long scrape up her elbow. “Anyway, gotta go. I’m mad late for my meeting.”
Natalie left herself plenty of time to get ready for the evening. After a long shower, she took time doing her makeup and shimmied into a tight cocktail dress. She checked her reflection approvingly before jostling her way through the packed casino to the hotel entrance where Adam shouted to her from the open window of a black Mercedes.
“Over here. Climb in. I guessed you’d feel safer on four wheels.” He grinned.
“Good call. I’d have had to have ridden sidesaddle in this dress anyway.” She laughed, sliding in next to him in the back seat and arranging one long tan leg over the other.
Adam turned to her. “Hungry?”
“Yes. Where are we going?”
“Le Cirque. I think you’ll like it. I did think of taking you to MIX. I was at a party there last night.”
“With Prince Harry?”
“Not that kind of party. I’m working this week.” He laughed. “Anyway, I thought you’d like to see the fountains properly.”
A short while later, the car turned into the entrance for The Bellagio. The driver slowed down to let them see the cascading water as Pavarotti’s aria built to a penetrating crescendo.
“Awesome,” Natalie said, as the car continued snaking up the driveway. “Thank you for thinking of that.”
“Least I could do,” Adam said.
They made their way down endless corridors, past the heaving bars and roulette tables to a vivid canopied restaurant where the maître d’ led them to a quiet corner table. He shook Adam’s hand and pulled out a velvet chair for Natalie.
“Bonsoir Monsieur Brooks. C’est un grand plaisir. On est honore que vous avez revenir. Bonsoir Madame.”
“He seems to know you well,” Natalie observed.
“I’ve eaten here most nights this week. My character’s French, so getting the French vibe helps me stay in role.”
“Are you in a show in town?” she asked.
“No. Filming. We’re doing outtakes for a movie. It’s based on Omar Sharif’s life, his horses, gambling…women.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Last time I spoke to him.” Adam laughed. “What are you drinking, red or white?”
“Red, thanks.”
Natalie glanced at the menu, her eyes widening at the price of the starters.
“Flat Evian for me. Early start tomorrow,” Adam told the sommelier who had appeared at his side. “Please bring a glass of your best Merlot for my guest.”
Their drinks order taken, he turned back to Natalie.
“How are you feeling? I’ve fallen off a bike more times than I care to admit, but running someone over would be a first.”
“I really am fine,” she assured him.
“Okay. Good. So, what brings you to Sin City? Are you here with friends?”
“Work. I’m a publicist. My client is speaking at the convention center in the morning.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Arizona. I went to school at UCLA. Went back home afterward. Big mistake.”
“Oh really? I love Arizona.”
“Too hot for me.” She shrugged. “I’m planning on moving back to LA just as soon as I can. I’m talking to Ogilvy Mather, Saatchi’s, and a few other ad agencies, putting it out there. It’s time for a change.”
A waiter was hovering behind her, waiting to take the order.