Chapters (45)
- Cover
- Blame Iton Paris
- Copyright Notice
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Book One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Book Two
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
Adela gave me an incredulous look. “Yes, it is. That invitation should be his tip. He should be willing to sacrifice a whole week of tips for that invitation.”
“Well, let’s not go overboard,” Eva said. I never did like Eva much. She’d probably stolen my feathers just so I wouldn’t look distinguished. “Maybe medium.”
They all could agree on that. “But what’s medium?” Pilar asked. “And, Laura, you have to actually write something on the invitation for it to work.”
I hunched, fiddling with the pen. “I don’t want him to see me write it.”
Three pairs of bemused eyes turned on me. “Why not?”
“I just don’t.”
“He won’t actually know what you’re writing until after we leave,” Pilar pointed out kindly.
“It doesn’t matter! It’s just too embarrassing!”
Adela buried a laugh behind her hand. “Well, there’s always the bathroom.”
And thus I found myself at eleven o’clock on a Friday night, in the seamy center of Paris, in a tiny room whose prior occupants had all had poor aim. There was no turning back now. Tottering above that Turkish hole in the ground, I put pen to pre-printed party announcement and scribbled Voulez-vous venir à une fête demain? (Do you want to come to a party tomorrow?), then tried to sign my name and number without touching anything. Romance was never like this in Harlequins. Of course, Paris was never like this in the movies either. Blame it on Paris.
Back at the table, I tucked the invitation under the tip, dumped a few extra coins in apology for my effrontery, and left the restaurant at a brisk pace, making what could even be considered a mad dash toward the Métro escalators as soon as I was out of sight. Eva, Adela, and Pilar lingered outside the restaurant window and then ran after me, giggling still. “He picked it up!”
My heart jumped in pure terror.
“Well, did he smile or anything?” I asked, despite myself.
“I don’t know, I couldn’t tell,” Eva said.
“I think he laughed,” Adela said.
“Oh, God.”
“In a nice way,” Pilar insisted. “Like he was pleased.”
“Of course he was pleased,” I groaned. “What guy wouldn’t be pleased to have women leaving him invitations on tables?” I collapsed into my seat on our RER train, my hands shaking with nerves. Pilar petted my back consolingly, and the other two laughed and talked excitedly, all keyed up over their adventure. My hands didn’t stop shaking until the end of the twenty-minute ride. And right at the end of it, a thought occurred to me. Good Lord, what if he actually called? Did that mean I would have to go through even more traumatic experiences, like talking to him?
But maybe he wouldn’t call. That would be good, because my heart could only stand so much.