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 cafes. 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.”
I twisted around to see him. “You? A tried and true Bostonian?”
He lowered his head close enough that our lips almost brushed. “I didn’t say it was a
On the other side of the bridge, we passed palaces dressed as museums, with huge posters of artwork hanging down their sides and lines of people curving up the steps. We turned onto the Champs-elysees, that great, grand boulevard that ran through the center of the city. I caught a glimpse of the Place de la Concorde, where Marie Antoinette and countless others died, where today an obelisk from Egypt struck up into the darkening sky.
The hotel stood just outside the city limits, built sometime in the eighties when nothing was allowed to rise over a hundred and twenty one feet. Even with the new zoning laws, buildings couldn’t rise too high; nothing could ruin the famous Parisian skyline.
“Okay,” Mike said when we were in the elevator. “Here’s my technique at these things. Smile a lot. Laugh at people who need affirmation of their own cleverness.”
“You get a lot of those?”
He looked vaguely suffering. “It’s the entire one percent.”
We got out of the elevator into a room of low lights and voices, lower couches, and a sweeping glass panorama of Paris. Glittering people circulated before the backdrop. A woman in black watched me with narrowed eyes. Did she know how out of place I was?
I ignored her and took in the view. The entire city was laid out in a stream of bright streaks, from the toy- sized tower to the star of avenues surrounding the Arc de Triomphe.
I’d just turned back to Mike when someone flung her arms around him. It took me a moment to recognize the sleek haired brunette in impeccable make-up and a fitted red dress as Rachael Hamilton. Her own eyes widened on seeing me. “Wow, you’re much...taller than I remembered.”
I lifted a foot. “It’s the heels. Also, I think having my hair coiled at the top of my head adds to the illusion.”
She studied me a minute longer, and then her eyes relaxed. “It’s good to see you, even if I have to crane my neck to do it.”
Mike gave Rachael an absent pat on the back, his eyes searching the room. “I’m going go find the guys.” He squeezed my hand. “Be right back.”
We both watched him go. I felt slightly amazed. “Wow. He was super into me before we arrived and now I’ve been abandoned in the first thirty seconds.”
Rachael laughed. “They’ve been friends a long time. I’m sure they’ll all be back in a minute. I’ll show you our table.”
She led me over to some low couches, and Briana Harris, former star of
I was surprised she’d actually remembered me at all, given that she’d met me for half a minute outside Radio City Music Hall.
“In fact,” she said, taking a sip of wine, “You look like Tamara Bocharov.”
Rach dropped down, and I also sat. She pushed a plate of cheese and grapes at me. “That’s because she’s Bocharov’s daughter.”
I swiveled her way. “Did Mike tell you that?”
“No. I just have extensive Googling skills.”
Briana sat up straight. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
Rachael rolled her eyes. “I guess I was caught up in the ohmigod, archaeology’s awesome thing. Sorry.” She flashed me a smile. “I’m glad you came. I thought you and Mike looked good together.”
I was still processing that they knew about my mother, and that for once I was realizing it wasn’t as big a deal as I’d always blown it up to be. “Really?”
“Okay, not at first. But Mike had never been so tight lipped about anyone before—he sounded almost mad at you when he first mentioned you. But I’d really liked you in our two-second meeting, so I decided to experiment.”
Bri shook her head. “Your tact is incredible.”
“But I was right, wasn’t I? They’re here together. And when Ryan came back from minicamp, he said Mike was—” Rachael stopped and looked at me. “Well, I think I was right.”
I was having a very surreal moment where I pictured Mike and Ryan Carter wearing their uniforms and talking about me while practicing plays. And then
Bri sighed forlornly. “Malcolm didn’t say anything. He doesn’t believe in gossip.”
“Malcolm is obviously a better person then the rest of us. I’ve learned to live with that.”
The two smirked at each other, their long-term friendship obvious, and I felt left out for half a heartbeat before they turned back to me. They were funny and inclusive and I relaxed, even as I noticed—or maybe imagined—people glancing my way several more times.
“So you guys do this a lot?” I asked. “The fancy dress thing?”
“Kinda weird, right?” Rachael popped a tartin smeared with brie and jam into her mouth.
Bri scoffed. “Rachael.”
Rachael chewed and made questioningly large eyes.
Bri turned to me. “This is my Rachael impression. ‘Oh! I have to go to a party and wear beautiful clothes! How peculiar! Excuse me while I look through my closet of sundresses and try to decide what to wear!’”
Rachael finished chewing. “Shut up.”
Bri waved her hands above her chest. “I have fallen down the rabbit’s hole!”
