the airport. It was morning in Paris, and I felt more rested than I had a right to be after such a long flight. Evie went into a dressing room behind the bar and came out looking as fresh as a daisy, chicly turned out in a wrinkle free Dior sheath complimented by a strand of enormous baroque pearls. Boris carried our bags and got into the front of the waiting limousine.
“Why is he with us?” Shayla asked me under her breath, “Is he like a bodyguard or something? Do you expect more reporters?”
“He watches over Evie,” I told her. Shayla nodded solemnly.
“He’s my valet,” Evie explained, noticing Shayla’s curiosity, “I never travel without him.” She reached into her crocodile handbag and pulled out two new passports, “I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring some documents for you girls.” She turned to Shayla, “You’ll need this whenever you travel, so be sure to keep it in a safe place.”
I opened mine, noticing that the picture had been taken from the photo shoot at Evie’s. She never ceased to amaze me with her foresight, and the way she used her money and connections to smooth over all the rough edges of life. If only Ethan had would have allowed me to ask her to stop the land seizure, the congressman might still be alive. Evie would no doubt have found a peaceable way to get the job done.
I remembered the awful moment that my last passport ended up on the bottom of the sea inside a sunken helicopter. That day had been the catalyst, setting into motion the series of events that led me here. Why did that stupid helicopter have to crash? All of Evie’s talk of fate and destiny rolled around in my mind as we drove through the city of Paris and finally reached the Ritz Hotel.
Shayla looked up at the ornate façade of the building in awe.
“I’m famished,” Evie announced dramatically, ushering us through a revolving door into the lobby, leaving Boris to get our luggage to the suite. We planned to eat first and then go to our rooms to change and rest. Later in the afternoon, Monsignor Reynard was scheduled stop by to take Shayla to her first fitting, and introduce her to the girls she’d be sharing an apartment with.
Shayla was nervous, “What if they don’t like me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I soothed her, “Just be yourself and they’ll love you.”
We passed through a palatial lobby filled with giant floral arrangements and were seated right away in the equally luxurious restaurant.
I took in the room’s lavish old world style, from its paneled gilt walls to the high ceilings masterfully painted with tromp l´oeil clouds. Enormous swagged velvet curtains framed a beautiful terrace garden view. The place was dripping with over the top luxury, and looked a lot like Evie’s extravagant apartment. No wonder she felt so at home here.
“Whoa,” Shayla exhaled softly.
“This restaurant is where Lady Diana had her last meal,” Evie pointed out as she unfurled her napkin.
“Really?” said Shayla, looking around with wide eyes, “She was right here?”
“I wonder what she ordered…” I mused, for I couldn’t decipher the French menu.
Evie ordered for us in French, and I regretted not knowing another language. Dad and I had traveled to many different parts of the world, but I only knew little bits and pieces of lots of different languages. I studied Evie, wondering if she’d been married to a Frenchman too. Then I almost laughed out loud, realizing that I did speak mermaid.
Soon the food began to arrive, distracting me from my daydreams. A large plate of sliced fruit and berries served as our centerpiece, and it was almost too beautiful to eat. Individual portions of eggs scrambled with black truffles were served along with buttery croissants and jewel-like jellies and jams. Comically large bowls of hot chocolate crowded the table, along with a silver tea service. Shayla tasted everything carefully, asking Evie what each dish was called in French.
We were completely refreshed when we got to our suite of rooms, and naturally, all of our things were waiting there for us.
Shayla wandered about, getting a good look at the elaborately carved and gilded moldings, floral themed décor and plush furnishings. Evie led us out to the balcony, pointing out the nearby gardens that Marie Antoinette had wandered in, held captive in the final days before her execution. Great, I thought, we have a theme; yet another tragic femme fatale and her sorrowful end. Not