‘Ready?’ He stands and holds out a hand to me. I clasp it like my very life depends on it and, if you’d seen my previous attempts at ice skating, you’d know that to be true. I send up a prayer to the ice-skating gods:Please don’t let me fall in a bloody messy heap. If I must fall, please let it be one of those delicate swan-like kisses with the ice.
We crunch our way to the rink, my breath coming out in foggy gasps. As soon as the metal spike from my skate hits the ice, my legs slip out from under me and I let out a very unladylike scream.
Noah jumps out of his skin at the sound but grabs me around my waist and rights me.
‘Breathe,’ he says, holding me tight. I’m sure he can feel the thundering of my heart, which isn’t helped by us being pressed against one another. ‘Breathe. You can do this.’
‘I’ll need a few more minutes.’ I rest my head on his shoulder so I don’t have to look into the intensity of his gaze.
He wraps his arms tighter around me. ‘I’ve got you.’
‘Merci.’ In his arms, I feel warm and safe. ‘If I accidentally take you down with me and we end up losing consciousness in a bloody heap, I want you to know I’ve really enjoyed today.’
‘It’s been all of twelve minutes.’
‘And I’ve loved every single one of them.’
‘Me too, Anais. But do you actually want to skate or shall we follow your suggestion and drink somevin chaudand keep warm that way?’ He must now realise there is a high probability that we will both be injured with the lack of my skating abilities.
‘Vin chaudseems the safer option.’
I don’t want to leave the comfort of his warm embrace. If this were a romcom, the heroine would strategically slip over as she exits the rink, thus the dashing hero would have to wrap his arms around her and support her as they wandered the Christmas markets and chatted about everything and nothing.
‘Let me help you out of the rink,’ Noah says. ‘I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself.’
‘I’m fine. I can take it from here,’ I say, giving him a bold brave smile as I step out of his arms and slide to the exit gate.
‘If you’re su?—’
‘ARGH!’ And down I go in a messy heap.
‘Anais! Let me help you.’
He scoops me up, into his arms. Who knew romantic comedy moves would come in so handy in real life?
34
12 DECEMBER
Manon and I are at Saint Ouen Flea Market shopping for furniture for Library Anaïs when we happen upon an antique shop called Palais. We peek through the window at the gorgeous ornate gold furniture, the exact style I want for the hotel.
‘Can you see any price tags?’ I whisper. From the quality of the range, I have doubts it’s in our budget but part of me hopes for the best.
‘Non,and you know what they say: if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it,’ Manon says. Inside, there’s a woman of indeterminate age, dressed in a flamboyant fluffy coat and matching fluffy beret. She clocks us peeking and waves us in.
‘Bienvenue, I’m Geneviève. Mimosa?’
‘Oui,’ Manon says as if she shares mimosas with Geneviève all the time, despite us never having met her before. ‘Anais would love one too.’
I paste on a smile and grip Manon’s arm. What if this is some sales ploy? The antiques in Palais are breathtakingly beautiful, but we’d come in search of more overlooked beauty with a flea market price tag.
Geneviève returns with three mimosas. I take the proffered glass and a sip to be polite. There’s more champagne than orange juice and already I feel the alcohol warm me from the inside out.
‘What brings you to Saint Ouen?’
Manon takes more of a guzzle than a sip and says, ‘We’re renovating a boutique hotel in the 6th and were looking for some furniture for what will become the library. While we’re in a bourgeois location, sadly we have a tiny little budget. Unfortunately, I’m not sure it would stretch to these magnificent pieces.’
‘Ooh, let me be the judge of that. While most of the range here are genuine antiques from chateaux all over France andcastellosfrom Italy, I do stock some replica pieces for those who have an eye for luxury. I’ve also got some pieces in need of refurb; they might suit?’
