Chapter 117 À Paris
Mia’s POV
+25 BONUS
“Me? Nothing!” Her expression of wounded innocence wouldn’t have fooled a toddler. “He mentioned needing to check on the Paris office weeks ago. Is it my fault their audit coincides with our trip?”
“Scarlett,” I said slowly, “did you arrange a corporate audit just to send your brother to Paris while we’re there?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she laughed. “I don’t have that kind of power.”
“Your husband does,” I pointed out.
She shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips. “Morton may have mentioned some accounting irregularities that required personal attention from the finance team. Pure coincidence.”
“Right,” I said flatly. “Pure coincidence that your brother–whom you’ve been trying to set me up with for months–happens to be going to Paris at the exact same time we are, staying at the exact same hotel.”
“The universe works in mysterious ways,” she said, examining her manicure with sudden interest.
I sighed, leaning back against the headrest. “Scarlett, I know you mean well, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I’m pregnant with twins, still legally divorcing my ex–husband, and focusing on my career. Dating is the absolute last thing on my mind.”
“Who said anything about dating?” she asked innocently. “Thomas is just being a good brother–in–law, looking out for his sister and her pregnant friend in a foreign city. Safety in numbers and all that.”
“Uh–huh,” I said skeptically.
“Look,” her voice softened, “I know you’ve been through hell with Kyle. I was there, remember? I saw what that marriage did to you. But Thomas isn’t Kyle. He’s stable, reliable, and secretly hilarious once you get past the serious exterior.”
“I know he’s a good guy,” I assured her. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
I tried to articulate the complicated tangle of emotions that made the idea of dating feel impossible. “I need to figure out who I am now, em, post–Kyle, pre–motherhood. I’m in this weird limbo where I’m not sure of anything except that I need to focus on myself and these babies.”
Scarlett nodded. “I get it. And I’ll back off the matchmaking. Mostly.”
“Thank you,” I said, with doubt.
“But,” she continued, holding up one perfectly manicured finger, “I reserve the right to point out when eligible, non–terrible men show interest in you. As your best friend, that’s just good information management.”
I laughed despite myself. “Fine. But no more orchestrating ‘coincidental‘ meetings, deal?
“Deal,” she agreed, eyes twinkling. “Though I maintain this particular coincidence had nothing to do with me.”
“Sure it didn’t,” I said dryly. “Just like you had ‘nothing to do with Nate showing up at that gallery opening last month.”
“That was genuine coincidence!” she protested. “How was I supposed to know he donated to that children’s art charity:
“Uh–huh,” I echoed her earlier skepticism. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”
She grinned, unrepentant. “Exactly.”
The remainder of the flight passed uneventfully. By the time we began our descent into Paris, I had dozed off again, waking to Scarlett gently shaking my shoulder.
1/2
Chapter 117 À Paris
“Rise and shine, sleeping, beauty,” she sing–songed. “We’re almost there.”
+25 BONUS
Tblinked groggily, disoriented from my nap. The cabin windows showed evening skies, the time change already confusing my internal clock. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight PM, local time,” Morton answered, returning from his business calls. He looked fresh and alert, as if the transatlantic flight had been a quick commute across town. “We’ll be on the ground in approximately seventeen minutes.”
“How does he do that?” I whispered to Scarlett. “Seven hours on a platte and he looks like he just stepped out of a board meeting,
11
“Morton family secret,” she whispered back. “I think it involves virgin blood and Excel spreadsheets, but I haven’t confirmed yet.”
I stifled a laugh as Morton raised an eyebrow at us, pretending not to hear.
“The car will take us directly to the hotel,” he informed us, settling into his seat for landing. “I’ve arranged for dinner to be. waiting in the suite, as I assumed you’d prefer to rest tonight rather than venture out.”
“My hero, “Scarlett blew him a kiss. “See? This is why I keep him around. He thinks of everything.”
“It seemed logical,” Morton said, though a faint smile played at his lips.
The landing was so smooth I barely felt it, a testament to the pilot’s skill or the quality of the aircraft–probably both. As the jet taxied to a private hangar, I peered out the window at my first glimpse of Paris, though darkness limited the view to scattered lights and the vague outline of buildings.
“Don’t worry,” Scarlett said, noting my attempt to sightsee through the small window. “You’ll have plenty of time to see everything. I’ve planned our route to hit all the major monuments, plus the secret spots only locals know about.”
“How do you know about secret local spots?” I asked, unbuckling as the plane came to a stop.
“I made friends with a concierge at Le Meurice last time I was here,” she said, as if this were obvious. “Baptiste knows everything worth knowing in Paris. He’s already sent over his recommendations for pregnancy–friendly activities.”
Of course Scarlett had a Parisian concierge on speed dial. Why wouldn’t she?
Deplaning was a remarkably efficient process compared to commercial flights. No waiting in the aisle, no jostling for overhead bins–just a gentle transition from aircraft to a waiting luxury vehicle, our luggage magically transported without us lifting a finger.
The sleek black Mercedes that met us had tinted windows and what appeared to be some kind of security features. Morton exchanged a few words with the driver in fluent French before helping Scarlett and me into the spacious back seat.
“Welcome to Paris,” the driver said in accented English, nodding to us in the rearview mirror. “I am Henri. Mr. Morton has instructed me to be at your disposal throughout your stay.”
At this moment, I was really in Paris.
