A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,64

could be… anywhere in the world.’

He was staring at her now. Properly staring and it was a little unnerving. Those grey eyes were fixed on hers and he wasn’t saying anything, simply looking at her and breathing slowly in and out. She couldn’t tell if he was absorbed or if what she had said had made him angry somehow.

‘Ignore me again,’ Keeley said hurriedly. ‘I really should be more grateful to even be here in Paris in December.’

Finally he spoke. ‘No.’ He looked like he was gritting his teeth. Maybe it was simply the cold weather. ‘I am curious for what you say about… this hotel.’

‘Well,’ Keeley said, turning to observe the façade again, ‘my job in England is to pull together themes to create a look that’s universally appealing to buyers looking for their perfect home.’ She smiled at him. ‘Except I don’t like to use the word “themes”. I prefer to use the word “feelings”. Most people, if they’re really honest with themselves, buy things with their emotions, whether it’s houses or cars or a new pair of shoes. Even if they might try to convince themselves it’s for practicality, you can guarantee the thought process has had a “feeling” attached to it.’

‘Shoes?’ Ethan asked, the corners of his mouth rising to form a wry smile.

‘Honestly,’ she told him. ‘Shoes you can run in – practical – are usually bought because you still remember the time your feet hurt so much when you wore heels for too long. Therefore, a feeling.’

‘This coat?’ Ethan offered, arms out, turning in a spin like he was performing on ice.

‘You might think it’s practical,’ Keeley told him. ‘To keep you warm in the winter but…’

‘But?’ he asked, sounding intrigued.

‘But… I think perhaps you bought it because, when you put it on, it took away a memory of when you were once bone-chilling cold.’

*

The breath caught in Ethan’s throat and it was all he could do to hold it together. Astute didn’t even come close. Somehow this woman had seen inside of him. He vividly remembered buying the coat. He had been with Ferne, browsing at one of her favourite flea markets, when he had spotted the nearly-new garment on a rack. The pure wool had felt good on his fingertips, soft yet also somehow strong. He had shrugged off the cheaper version he had been wearing and pulled the coat around him. Straightaway it felt like some kind of suit of armour. Looking at himself in the stallholder’s mirror he had seen two versions of himself. This version in the new coat, the vision of the him he could be, and then the old version. The too-skinny boy who had been bone-chilling cold every night of his life at the orphanage. This coat, although second-hand, had been the most expensive item he had bought up until that day. And it still meant the world.

‘Sorry,’ Keeley spluttered. ‘That was stupid and… way too deep and…’

‘Non,’ Ethan said, shaking his head. ‘I am sure you are right. About people leading with feelings. I simply thought, with vacations, people would want “luxury”.’ That’s what Ferne had wanted. That’s what Ferne had wanted for their clients. And Ethan still very much needed to trust that she had been right. Why wouldn’t she have been right? Perfect Paris was a success story after all.

‘Well, “luxury” means different things to different people,’ Keeley told him. ‘Like, “luxury” to my mum means getting all the Waitrose best stuff to impress her friends. Whereas, to me, “luxury” really does mean “comfort”.’ She drew in another breath as if musing on the subject a little further. ‘I always think the best things are the little cosy touches coming together to make up the bigger finished picture.’

Was this true? His heart was thudding in response to what Keeley was saying, but what was it telling him? That his best friend’s creation of a sleek, opulent brand was flawed? That Perfect Paris was a little too perfect? He didn’t know how to respond. He was so conflicted and he couldn’t get his brain to slow down.

‘You are free tomorrow?’ he asked her. Conflicted or not, something was telling him he wanted to see her again. He wanted to hear what she had to say and get to know more about her ‘feelings’.

‘I…’

‘Excusez-moi, you are on holiday. You are busy. I apologise.’ What was he thinking? He had enough on his mind with Louis breathing down his neck. He should take her reticence as