“And when she gets angry, the whole world runs and hides,” he said. “At least if it has any sense, it does. Please? Save me?”

“Fine,” she said, pretending to sigh. “I suppose I still have some use for you, after all.”

The gleaming interior was a sharp contrast to the gray, slushy streets. Marble floors met glass counters so clean they winked in the gaslight, counters piled with luscious towers of goods so plentiful it was as though the entire store was one enormous cornucopia of plenty and delight. The effect was one of promise and comfort, a reassurance everything was right in the world, so long as there were beautiful stores stuffed with beautiful goods.

This particular store hadn’t been here when she’d left. At least not in its current form—she thought she might remember a small dry goods sitting on this corner. Yet this wasn’t merely a new store. It was a whole new way of shopping, emerging just as she was leaving New York, having all different kinds of goods crammed together under one roof, even ready-made clothing. She’d seen the new “department” stores springing up in Paris, but she’d never visited one—they’d been beneath her parents’ notice, and Alain had been critical of anything that put one in contact with ordinary people.

She thought the store was wonderful.

“What sorts of things does your sister like?” she asked as they wandered deeper inside.

“Um. Well, she and my mother are collaborating on a fascinating potassium alloy—”

“Honestly, why did I even ask?” she muttered, turning and marching towards a nearby counter. “Perfume it is.”

Sam laughed behind her, and the sound trickled into her blood like brandy, warming her from the inside out. The grim news of the morning, the leaden weight of the last several days, lifted a few inches, and she smiled. She hadn’t been shopping in ages. This could be … fun.

And it was. They started at the perfume counter, where Alva selected one of the scents that had been all the rage in Paris when she’d left. From there they wandered past counters of jewelry and gloves, whole rooms of hats, entire stores of fabrics. She pointed him towards a pair of lusciously soft kid gloves, and he bought two pairs, one for Maggie and one for his mother. He selected a scarf in a bright blue pattern he liked for himself, and one he thought Benedict might like, and even a pair of slippers for his father. The man shopped like he thought—in all directions, but to great effect.

Eventually they collapsed, surrounded by parcels, at a table in the store’s restaurant.

“Your sister is very lucky in her choice of brothers,” Alva said, taking a welcome sip of delicately scented tea. “You’ve bought most of the store.”