will be ready when you arrive, Your Grace.”
Richard nodded. “And the other item?”
The woman’s cheeks flamed. “I’m still trying to get ahold of them. There is no answer.”
“In my contacts, there is the mobile number for Bellettini. Use it,” he responded.
That was the name of the CEO of Yves Saint Laurent.
What the hell was going on?
I wanted to ask, but by then we were being whisked down a long narrow hallway through a set of double doors. I had expected to at least see some form of customs, so it was a shock to feel fresh cool air hit my face and bare legs.
Outside, waiting along the curb, was a small motorcade; two security SUVs at the front and back of a long limo, and several motorcycle cops. Richard and I were quickly hustled into the limo. The moment the door shut, it seemed eerily quiet compared to the chaos we had just experienced.
As disconcerting as I had found the chaos, being alone and isolated in a limo with Richard seemed worse.
“I don’t understand. How? When?” I couldn’t even form the questions.
Richard gave me a tired smile and stroked my hair before wrapping his hand around my neck to pull me close against his shoulder. He kissed me on the forehead. “You should know by now… I always get what I want, when I want it. No matter the cost.”
As the motorcade pulled away from the Gare du Nord train station, I watched the lights of Paris through the car window and tried not to think about my future with Richard.
For the moment, I just wanted to be lulled by the beauty of the city and imagine we were a normal couple on a normal romantic holiday.
Despite the late hour, the city still hummed with activity. Couples walking arm in arm. Stylish women walking even more stylish little dogs. Outdoor cafés filled with laughing people leaning over tables littered with empty coffee cups and half eaten biscuits.
As we drove over the Seine on the Pont au Change, I caught my first glimpse of Notre Dame. It was sad to see the building looking so dark and cold, but you could see the outline of scaffolding enfolding her in its skeletal embrace.
As the motorcade turned right, I craned my neck to try to possibly catch a glimpse of the lights of the Eiffel Tower. I thought I could see the top but I couldn’t be sure.
Richard chuckled. “Don’t worry. I will take you to see the Eiffel Tower tomorrow.”
Realizing I was sitting on the edge of my seat, leaning over him, I abashedly shifted back and leaned into the plush cushions, trying to appear more like the sophisticated, world-traveled women I assumed he had dated as opposed to the awestruck young American girl I was.
“Do you take the elevator to the top with all the common mortals, or is there some top-secret entrance for Godlike billionaires?”
Richard just smiled. “You must wait and see.”
After several more minutes we turned down a quiet street in the shadows of a large twin-spired gothic cathedral. We stopped alongside two massive hunter green doors. Someone from the first SUV jumped out and opened the doors. The limo had to back up, turn, then back up again before squeezing through the narrow cobblestone passageway that was probably built over a hundred years ago and meant for carriages.
My mouth dropped open as the car pulled into a large circular courtyard. The house before me was all white with tall windows, actual gas-lit lamps flanking the doorway, and several balconies.
The entire place was ablaze with light. Through every window there was the champagne glow of warmth and welcome.
Again, I marveled at how Richard could accomplish all this when a few hours ago he didn’t even know he would be in Paris.
For one insane moment, I wondered if he somehow knew.
That was impossible of course; until I’d found the feather and overreacted, I myself hadn’t known I would try to flee to Paris. How could he possibly have known?
Still, there was this queer feeling in my stomach.
Somehow, someway, Richard was always a few moves ahead of me on the board.
While his home in Mayfair had a more sedate, refined elegance fitting an English gentleman of his stature, his home in Paris was opulent almost to the point of obscene.
Everywhere I looked there was polished marble and gold. Gold chandeliers, gold sconces, gold scroll and leaf design volutes at the top of the marble columns, which rose above the entranceway to