The Cinderella Moment (27 page)

“Oh,” said Angel, uncertainly. Somehow it seemed okay to go out with Nick to galleries and museums or on a sewer tour, but attending an important party as his date felt altogether different.

“My parents are dying to see you. They were awfully disappointed when you couldn’t come to the ballet.”

Nick’s parents—that was something else bothering Angel—something she’d been meaning to ask him
…

“You mean Lord and Lady Langham?”

“Sure.”

“British royalty?”

“Not
royalty
, Lily,” said Nick, amused.

“Okay, English aristocracy then—they’re Lord and Lady Langham?”

“Since my father inherited the title,” Nick looked puzzled. “But it’s no big deal—I mean, your dad’s a comte.”

“He is?” squeaked Angel, before she could stop herself. “I mean, of course, he is.”

Nick looked even more puzzled. “You must know your dad inherited his title when his father died—your dad is the Comte de Tourney and your grandmother is the dowager Comtesse.”

It seemed astonishing to Angel that Lily had never told her this fascinating bit of family history. On the rare occasions she mentioned her grandmother, Lily had mostly referred to her as “the Comtesse,” but Angel had never thought about what it meant.

She was puzzling over it when Nick laughed.

“Stop playing games with me, Lily,” he said, pulling her closer, “and tell me you’ll be my date at the Crillon next Friday night.”

She looked up at him. “Are you sure you want
me
?”

“Definitely!”

Angel hesitated. How could she say no? It was his birthday and he wanted her to share it with him.

“Okay,” she said.

On Tuesday, Angel spent the morning with the Comtesse at a Christian Dior fashion show and the afternoon with Nick exploring the artists’ quarter in Montmartre.

They caught the Metro to Anvers and, after Angel had convinced him she was well enough, began climbing the three hundred steps up the Rue Foyatier to the great church of Sacré Coeur.

Every now and then one of the funicular rail cars would glide past them carrying tourists up the steep slope.

About halfway up, Angel stopped, sighed heavily, and looked longingly at a passing rail car.

Nick halted beside her. “I knew it was too much for you,” he said. “We should’ve taken the funicular. I can carry you the rest of the way if you’re tired,” he offered.

“Could you?” asked Angel, trying to keep a straight face.

“If you need—” Nick broke off as Angel burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she gurgled, “but the look on your face when the funicular went by!”

Nick grinned. “Very funny,” he said as they began climbing again.

“Would you really have carried me?”

“Sure. That’s how I got to the top on my first visit to Montmartre—my dad carried me on his back the whole way up.”

“How old were you?”

“About four.”

“And you still remember it?”

Nick looked at her, his face serious. “It was one of the happiest holidays of my life. Before my parents started fighting.”

They climbed in silence for a while.

Then Angel said, “Marianne told me your parents had remarried.”

Nick nodded. “Two years ago.”

“Was it okay? I—I mean—how did you feel?”

Nick smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right. I’m kind of glad you asked. I know I left you with the impression that they’d messed up my whole childhood.”

“Mmm.”

“Well, they did sort of mess it up—for several years, anyway. Before they grew up enough to realize that they were better together than apart.” He stopped and Angel paused beside him, glad to catch her breath. They were almost at the top.

Nick looked out across the city. “How did I feel about it? Angry they’d put me through it, relieved they’d stopped all the stupid point-scoring, and incredibly happy that they’d finally figured out how much they loved each other.”

“I like that last bit,” said Angel.

“Me too,” said Nick. “But probably the best thing was learning that even after they’d totally messed up, they still found a way to fix things.”

“That’s encouraging,” said Angel, trying not to think about her own messed-up situation.

“I’m not even sure how they managed it. I’m just glad they did.”

They reached the last step and above them the white façade of Sacré Coeur gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Nick held out his hand. “Come on, let’s get an ice-cream before we hit the tourist trail.”

***

The rest of the week flew by.

On Wednesday Nick took Angel to lunch at
L’Espadon
. Angel felt like she was in seventh heaven dining in the Ritz’s most beautiful restaurant. Afterwards they joined the rest of the gang on the famous sewer tour before Nick stole her away to show her the
Musée d’Orsay
and the view of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Every night Angel stayed up a little later and every morning she woke at ten when Marie opened the curtains and put her breakfast tray on the bed. And each afternoon she found an opportunity to slip away and phone her mother.

It was wonderful to hear Simone sounding stronger and more energetic; the only drawback was that as her health improved so did her interest in Angel’s daily life.

Angel longed to tell her about Paris and Nick and the summer season, but she knew that even the faintest hint that she was anywhere but Camp Wilderness would see her mother on the next plane to France—the
last
thing Simone needed when she was still recovering.

Angel made a silent promise to tell her everything the minute they were together again. By then her mother would be well enough to withstand the shock.

She couldn’t imagine what Maman would say, but she knew she’d have to tell her the truth. The longer she was in Paris, the more Angel wished she could tell someone her secret. Several times she almost confided in Kitty or the Comtesse or Nick but each time she opened her mouth to confess she faltered, too afraid of how they might react.

Instead, she followed Lily’s advice and spent the days with Nick. The trouble was, the more she knew him, the closer they became and the harder it was to keep letting him believe she was Lily.

***

On Thursday Nick kept his promise and took Angel to the Louvre.

It was unbelievably beautiful and Angel hardly knew whether to look at the artwork or the architecture. There was so much here to inspire her and she'd thought of half a dozen new dress designs before she'd even left the first room. After only an hour she’d run out of words to tell Nick what she thought of the wonders of the Louvre.

They walked from room to room, holding hands and arguing light-heartedly over which paintings they liked until Nick said, “We’re almost there.” He pointed to a wide doorway ahead of them. “That’s the
Salle d’Etats
—home of the Mona Lisa.”

Angel ran forward and stopped.

It was obvious which wall held the world’s most famous painting because a crowd of people obscured the portrait from view. Angel and Nick waited patiently until several of them drifted away and Nick gently thrust Angel forward. “Go on, I’ve seen it lots of times.”

She edged into the space and stared at Leonardo da Vinci’s celebrated painting of
La Joconde
. It was smaller than she’d expected and far more beautiful than any print or copy she’d seen. The original had a richness and a depth she couldn’t have anticipated and the colors were amazing. Angel wished she could acquire a bolt of the fabric used to make Mona Lisa’s gown: what she might do with such cloth.

She stood there absorbing the portrait until Nick touched her arm.

“Want to leave the tourists to wrestle each other for photos? I’d like to show you my favorite da Vinci painting.”

“Okay.”

He led her out of the crowded room and into another enormous room lined with sculptures and paintings.

“The Grand Gallery,” said Nick, waving his arm.

It wasn’t nearly so crowded and they walked slowly along admiring the paintings. About halfway down Nick stopped. “There,” he said, pointing at a large portrait of two women and a young child holding a lamb. “My favorite da Vinci.”

“The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne,” read Angel, translating the plaque on the wall. “It’s beautiful.”

“I love da Vinci’s faces,” said Nick. “They seem to be what an angel would look like.” He smiled down at her. “They remind me of you.”

“Only I’m no angel,” said Angel, smiling.

“You look like an angel to me,” said Nick, gently cupping her chin in his hands. “My angel,” he said softly.

She looked at him and Nick gazed back with a look in his eyes that made her melt inside. Then, the gap between them was closing. Angel felt his hands tilt her chin and his lips gently brush her cheek. She trembled but didn’t pull away. His mouth caressed her other cheek and then, incredibly, he turned his face to hers and found her lips.

Without thinking, Angel let herself dissolve into him as his lips pressed against hers. She lifted her arms round his neck and, caring nothing for the tourists who stopped and stared at them, she kissed him back.
 

Chapter Thirty

Angel woke early on Friday and lay in bed gazing at the ceiling. In less than forty-eight hours she’d be on her way back to New York. She’d miss Helios in his chariot and her favorite faun and the laughing cherubs. Maybe she could paint cherubs on her own ceiling. Or maybe not. Once she got home, she probably wouldn’t want to be reminded of anything to do with Paris or the Comtesse or Nick.

Nick. Angel sighed. Tonight at the Hotel de Crillon would be her second-last night with him and tomorrow night at the Versailles Ball would be their last evening together forever.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Was it only yesterday that he’d kissed her? It had been the most amazing, unforgettable moment of her life. She’d never imagined anything so
…
so
…
delectable! And afterwards, when he’d put his arm around her and they’d wandered through the Louvre together
…

Don’t think about it, Angel told herself. Don’t think about Nick’s touch or his kiss or being his date at his birthday party or the awful, dreadful fact that he still thinks you’re Lily. This is his big night and you’re going to make it perfect for him and have one last wonderful time together.

She’d say goodbye to him at the Versailles Ball. Maybe that was when she’d tell him the truth—and the Comtesse, too.

Thinking of the Comtesse reminded Angel that she had her final fitting at Vidal’s at eleven and this time the Comtesse had insisted on coming with her.

“But you needn’t worry, Lily,” she’d assured Angel. “I promise not to come near the fitting room until your ball gown has been safely packed into its box.”

Angel was pleased. After her fitting she hoped the Comtesse would agree to a special shopping expedition.

They left straight after breakfast, the Comtesse elegant in a dove-grey Chanel suit with black trim and Angel in a pair of Calvin Klein jeans and an ivory silk Donna Karan tunic-shirt with long sleeves and French cuffs.

The Comtesse had raised her eyebrows at Angel’s outfit. “So different from what I would have been allowed to wear at your age, but it is a striking ensemble.”

“Do you ever wear trousers, Grandmama?”

“Occasionally, but the modern styles do not always suit me. Perhaps if I were taller.”

“It’s funny how wearing what suits you makes such a difference. I know I’m not nearly as tall as a Vidal model, but when I wear my ball gown I
feel
tall.”

The Comtesse nodded, pleased to find such a ready understanding. “You are happy with your ball gown?”

“Oh, yes.” Angel’s eyes shone. “It’s beyond beautiful.”

“
Bon
.”

“Is your dress ready?” asked Angel. Vidal himself had designed the Comtesse’s gowns for Nick’s party and the Versailles Ball.

“Thankfully, yes. There was an unexpected delay last Friday and I was a little worried, but the difficulty is past and all is well.”

“Was it a problem with the material or the making?” asked Angel, eager to hear more about the workings of a top fashion house like Vidal’s.

“It was nothing to do with my gowns at all. There was a small crisis at the salon on Friday afternoon that unfortunately took Antoine’s complete attention for a time.”

“Oh?” Suddenly Angel felt uneasy.

“Poor Antoine was most distressed. The Teen Couture is as important to him as the Versailles Ball is to me. And he cannot bear anything to go wrong.”

“Did something go wrong?” Angel managed to ask.

“I believe there was a problem with some missing designs. It was resolved, but Antoine was naturally upset.”

“Naturally.”

“He has notified the Teen Couture finalists, however, and they will be at the Versailles Ball as planned. Antoine is looking forward to announcing the winner.” She saw Angel’s frown and laughed. “Don’t worry, Lily, the speeches will be short and your interest in fashion means that you will enjoy seeing the ball gowns.”