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.”