Lost in Paris Elizabeth Thompson (romantic story to read .TXT) 📖

will be the guests of honor as we celebrate your new Paris adventure. I’ll text Tallu. We’ll get it sorted while you two make yourself scarce and come back at…” She looks at her Cartier Tank watch. “Be back at six o’clock sharp, ready to celebrate.”

I go into my room and pack some things to take to Paris since I’ll be there for the foreseeable future. I’ll have the rest of my belongings shipped after I know the new tour will work out. But really, what I want to do right now is go back to the office and talk more with Em about the venture.

I hate to leave Marla on her own, but she’ll be unsupervised after we move in together and I’m at work so she might as well get used to it. I find her in the living room reading a magazine. “Han, if you don’t mind, I have an errand to run. I’ll see you back here at six, okay?”

Problem solved.

I take a dress, boots, and my makeup bag with me to the office because Cressida gives fair warning that we will not be allowed back in the house until six o’clock as we are the guests of honor and she wants to surprise us.

Then I grab the bus to the office.

It’s cold outside and the windows are fogging up. Still, as the bus rattles to a stop to pick up more passengers, I know that Aiden’s restaurant, Lemon and Lavender, is located down the street on the next block.

I wonder if Cressida will invite him tonight. It’s such short notice; he’s probably working. I revisit my dilemma of whether or not I should ring him now that I know that I’ll be living in Paris. I mean, really, what’s the point?

Even so, I use the sleeve of my coat to wipe off the condensation on the window to get a better look. It’s a gray, misty day and I see what I expected: knots of people gathered on the corner waiting for the signal to cross. Others are chancing a jaywalk. One man wearing a black hoodie sprints toward the bus.

If I squint my eyes, I can pretend it’s Aiden. That he makes it just in time. Our eyes meet as he climbs the steps, breathing heavily after his run. He smiles and claims the empty seat next to me, saying, “We must stop meeting like this.”

But when the straggler enters the bus, I see it’s not a man. It’s a rather surly-looking woman. She grunts at the driver and takes a seat toward the front. As we pull away from the stop, the seat next to me is still empty and so are any Lemon and Lavender hopes of seeing Aiden again.

July 1927

Paris, France

Dear Diary,

Tuesday afternoon, when I got home from my first day at the boulangerie, a bouquet of the most beautiful peonies I’ve ever seen was waiting for me with a note that said Andres would call on me Friday at 7:00.

For the past three days, the minutes masqueraded as hours, the days lingered like months, as I passed the time until I could see him again. I had no idea where we were going or what we would be doing, but I didn’t care. I would go anywhere with him… or I could be content doing nothing at all. As long as we are together.

Since I didn’t have the money to whip up a new dress for the occasion, I decided to distract myself by jazzing up one of my old frocks, embroidering beaded flowers on the collar and cuffs. It’s tedious work, but it occupies my mind and keeps my hands busy.

When Helen saw how I’d transformed the garment, she proclaimed the dress looked brand-new, as if I’d paid a fortune for it.

She said I should march myself back to Mademoiselle Chanel’s and show my work to Madame Jeanneau. Helen was sure the old crone would beg me to come work for her.

Helen’s sweet belief in me made me smile. I think I will be perfectly happy working my shift at the boulangerie and furthering my own designs for now. Perhaps someday I will give Chanel a run for her money.

Finally, Friday arrived! When Andres knocked at my door, he regarded me with that same dreamy smile that swept me off my feet the first time I saw him at Miss Stein’s salon.

It turned out he was taking me to another salon. This one was at the home of an American poet, Natalie Barney, who lives on rue Jacob.

I hesitated, hoping that he had not misunderstood who I am. I told him I am not a writer or an artist in the traditional sense of the word. I attended Miss Stein’s salon as Pierre’s guest.

Andres made a sound deep in his throat at the mention of Pierre’s name.

To lighten the mood, I asked him if Miss Barney would exile me to the women’s table like Miss Stein. He laughed and assured me Miss Barney’s gatherings were very welcoming to ladies.

When we arrived, Zelda Fitzgerald was the first person to greet us. Just as she had at Dingo Bar, she rose up on tiptoes and kissed Andres on both cheeks, gushing about what a handsome devil he was. Then she smiled at me and commented that Andres and I were becoming an item.

Zelda Fitzgerald is a flirt, but I rather like her. Despite her spirited ways, she’s obviously devoted to Scott. When the two are together, they light up the room. I can’t take my eyes off them, and what’s more is the lengths to which they go to capture the other’s attention. I still can’t decide if it is a beautiful, elaborate display of love or sheer madness.

Probably both.

I am beginning to believe that an otherwise sane and thoughtful person can become intoxicated and seduced by Paris simply by breathing her air.

That’s my excuse, anyway.

When Scott joined our little circle, he greeted us and immediately fell into conversation with