Diana looked up and down the street, and for the briefest moment, she felt like she might cry. It was silly. She hadn’t come here for Stéphane.

Or had she?

Wasn’t that the reason she was standing here right now, instead of browsing the Louvre or riding to the top of the Eiffel Tower? If she’d only come here to take in the sights of Paris, she wouldn’t have looked him up. She wouldn’t have put all those places he spoke of on her itinerary. And she very likely wouldn’t have bought a ticket to that ball.

Really, what was the reason she was here—now? Was it for the thrill of traveling and seeing new sights . . . or was it for something else? Some crazy pipe dream that really was as ridiculous as Lily and Bea had made it out to be?

And maybe that pipe dream had disappeared a long time ago when she decided to decline that invitation. Some doors opened for a short time and could never be reopened. Maybe she was only fooling herself, even entertaining the idea.

At that moment, her phone buzzed with a text. She looked at it. A message from Lily: Did your plane land? Are you all right?

She texted that she was fine, but she wasn’t sure.

Was she all right? Here she was in a place she’d dreamed of for years, and yet, though the surroundings were what she’d wanted, everything else felt wrong. Maybe this was a mistake. That’s what they’d all said back home, hadn’t they? You’re making a mistake. Maybe she should’ve listened, instead of quitting her job and rushing head-first into this.

She fisted her hand around her suitcase handle and continued on, batting those thoughts away from her mind.

If it was a mistake, the worst thing she could do was wallow in it. No, she was going to own it. Make the most of it. She was going to go to that ball tomorrow and try to have a good time, no matter what. Stéphane or not.

CHAPTER NINE

Thank goodness things began looking up. The rain slowed to a mere drizzle, and the driver of the second cab Diana hailed knew where to find the inn.

The place was across from a park full of blooming dogwood trees, their white petals raining down over the street as she stepped onto the curb. The building itself was a brownstone with three stories of balconies with iron railings of intricate scrollwork. It was set back from the road a bit to allow for a small circular drive with a fountain in the very center, dribbling over a goddess, arms outstretched as if she was holding up the sky. A small sign outside the door said, Le Bonne Auberge. The valet took her small bag and opened the door for her.

Inside, the place was modest but well-appointed. It wasn’t one of those spectacular hotels with the massive multi-story foyer, like were popular among the chain hotels. She’d selected something quaint and boutique, hoping it’d give her the flavor of Europe, and this definitely succeeded. There was a small nook on either side, full of comfortable leather couches and mismatched-fabric Queen Anne-style chairs, one situated around a fireplace, the other around a small piano.