25. Tomorrow, The Louvre
I wasn’t really sure how I’d got roped in to babysitting Fabergé for the day.
It started with a frantic phone call from Ivy. I stood in the kitchen, absently stirring my mug of tea while I listened to her drama-filled explanation of why she urgently needed a sitter. She was due to attend a pageant seminar downtown that morning, but her regular sitter had fallen ill.
“Can you please watch her?”
“Ivy, what’s a pageant seminar?”
“I have no time to explain,” she huffed in her usual curt manner. “Will you take care of Fabergé or not?”
It was impossible to say no. Ivy had made me the most beautiful wedding dress in the history of all brides – for free. I probably owed her a few months of babysitting. “Can you drop her off?”
“Yes, I can.”
I was about to give her our address when there was a loud knock at the door. Cradling the phone between shoulder and ear, I held my mug of tea with one hand and opened the door with the other. I was stunned to see Ivy and Fabergé. “Wow. You’re here now.”
“Of course we’re here now,” said Ivy, bustling past me, Fabergé in tow. She dumped Fabergé’s bag down on the couch and rattled off a list of rules as she made her way back to the door. “No junk food, no TV and don’t let her squeal.”
“Why would she do that?” I asked, a little afraid.
“She likes to squeal.” Ivy slung her handbag over her shoulder and shrugged. “But it ruins her singing voice and we’re hoping to clean up in the talent section of the Pickle Leaf Pageant next week.”
I nodded, utterly terrified. Small children were a mystery to me.
She hugged little Fabergé tightly, telling her she’d return soon. I prayed she was telling the truth. Ivy disappeared out the front door as quickly as she’d breezed in, making the number of minutes she’d spent in the apartment less than three.
I looked down at my little charge, wondering how on earth I was going to keep her entertained all day, when without warning she opened her mouth and squealed – a horrible, high-pitched scream that made me spill my tea down the front of my shirt. By mid-morning I was exhausted and Fabergé’s singing voice was probably cactus.
“Fabergé, what do you like to do?” I asked, at my wit’s end.
Her mop of brown curls bounced wildly as she jumped around on the couch. “Cartoons.”
I would’ve broken Ivy’s no television rule in a flash – if only we’d had one. A knock at the door a few minutes later made me want to squeal with joy. Convinced it was Ivy, I jumped off the couch and bolted to open it.
“Oh, it’s only you,” I said disappointedly.
“Oh, my feelings are hurt,” mocked Ryan, holding his hand to his heart.
Slamming the door was tempting but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “What do you want?”
“I need a favour.”
I wasn’t sure I could handle doing any more favours that day. I’d reached my charitable limit. On the plus side, the favour he needed might involve leaving the apartment.
“What do you need?”
“I’m having some artwork delivered to the new restaurant today,” he explained. “I need to choose some prints for the walls. I was hoping to get your opinion.”
My eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”
Ryan sighed heavily, probably regretting ever knocking on the door. “Because you’re arty and fluffy and good at that kind of junk.”
I hissed through my teeth, “You think I’m fluffy?”
“No, of course I don’t think you’re fluffy. I think you’re… whimsical,” he amended, turning on the Décarie charm. “Please, Charli. Just help me out.”
“It’s going to cost you, Ryan.”
He grinned errantly and I couldn’t help smiling back. “Name your price.”
“A TV. No, a huge TV,” I revised, waving my hands around for effect. “And it has to be delivered today.”
The confused frown that swept his face lasted only seconds. “Has the novelty of marriage worn off already?” he asked, barely composing himself.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Pick your own artwork.”
I pushed on the door, attempting to close it in his face, but he stepped forward, wedging his foot in the way.
“Okay, okay. I’ll buy you a TV.” I glared at him, prompting him to clarify his offer. “A huge television that will be delivered today – at any cost.”
“Love your work, Ryan.” I quipped, spinning around to face the little girl who was sitting on the couch, munching her way through a bag of contraband chips. “Grab your coat Fabergé, we’re getting out of here.”
Ryan pushed the door wide open and stared at the tubby little girl rushing toward me, dragging her coat behind her. “What on earth is that?” he asked, pointing at the toddler behind me.
“That is a Fabergé.” I scooped her into my arms. “And she’ll be accompanying us.”
He shook his head, frowning. “No.”
“Take it or leave it.” Standing my ground was remarkably easy. I’d been run ragged by a three-year-old all morning and yet I somehow still had the upper hand.
“Fine, pack up your munchkin and let’s go. I have a driver waiting.”
It didn’t take long for me to realise that Ryan had a fear of small children. Fabergé was his Kryptonite. He spent the short drive to the new restaurant trying to restrain her as she bounced around the back seat of the car – without actually touching her.
“Can’t Bente watch her?” he asked, dangling his bunch of keys in front of Fabergé as if that would calm her down. “She is her aunt.”
“Obviously not. That’s why her mother called me.”
“Phone?” Fabergé asked Ryan.
“Kid, I am not giving you my phone.”
Fabergé responded with an ear-splitting squeal. Giving in instantly, he reached for his phone and handed it to her.
“Girls always get the better of you,” I muttered, looking out the window to hide my smile.
A lot had changed at the restaurant in the few weeks since I’d last been there. The blue construction door and scaffolding were gone, and the inside had been transformed in to a bright, albeit empty, space.
We had the run of the place, and Fabergé made the most of it. Her squeal echoed around the empty space; she obviously liked the sound of it.
“Please, shut her up,” begged Ryan.
“How?” I hissed, as annoyed as him.
He called her over and held out his phone, pulling it back as she made a grab for it. “If I give you this, you have to be quiet, okay?”
Fabergé nodded and the deal was complete. She sat on the travertine floor, randomly pressing buttons.
“Well done, Ryan,” I praised, genuinely impressed. “So where is this artwork you want me to see?”
He pointed to the far side of the room and I wondered how I’d missed it. Six large canvases wrapped in brown paper leaned against the wall. “I only want three,” he said, walking toward them. “Choose the best ones and I’ll send the rest back to Adam.”
“What does Adam have to do with this?”
“He knows the artist.” He smirked as he spoke. “He promised he’d get us a good deal.”
Ryan tore the paper off the first picture. I recognised it immediately. The large black and white cityscape photo was one I had taken during my first few weeks in New York. Pride overtook me and I could feel myself beaming like an idiot. “That looks incredible!”
Ryan folded his arms and took a step back, studying it for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “I love your humility.”
“You really want to display these here?”
He nonchalantly shrugged. “It was Adam’s idea but they’re actually not too bad.”
The mere fact that they were in the restaurant was a huge compliment. If he didn’t like them, he’d say so. Ryan wasn’t renowned for protecting people’s feelings.
“I had no idea he planned this.”
“I know. I think he had grandiose ideas for the big reveal. It probably involved mood lighting and roses, but I don’t think he really needs the brownie points, Charlotte. Do you?”
“No. He’s amazing.”
“Oh, please! Amazing and preoccupied. He should have moved faster. I need this done now, which is why we’re here. The furniture arrives tomorrow.”
Ryan moved quickly, tearing the paper off the remaining pictures. He walked over to me, folded his arms and instructed me to pick the best three.
“I love them all.”
“You can’t have them all. Pick three.”
“No. I love them all.”
Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. I wondered if I was causing him pain. “Fabergé is more reasonable than you.”
The mention of her name reminded me that she was there. I spun around to check on the little girl, relieved to see her still sitting on the floor, happily playing with the phone.
“Ryan, it’s a big place. There are four walls,” I waved my arms around the vast empty space. “Hang them all.” I pouted a little but I’m sure it did nothing to help my cause.
“If I agree to that, this whole afternoon is a waste of time. I didn’t need to bring you and the munchkin down here at all.”
“An expensive waste of time,” I taunted.
“Why?”
“You owe me a TV.”
***
The afternoon was much better than the morning. Ivy was getting out of a cab just as we pulled up to my building, so I didn’t even need to take Fabergé back to the apartment.
“Has she been good?” asked Ivy, pulling her out of my arms and into hers, protectively cradling her as she glared at Ryan.
I’d forgotten how much she disliked Bente’s cloakroom buddy. I stood a little closer to him, hoping that if she tried smacking him, I’d at least made the access more difficult.
“Fabergé was perfect,” I replied, embellishing her behaviour report.
“No squealing?”
“None.”
I doubt she believed me but she didn’t press the issue. Ivy had something else on her mind. “I need your help with something else,” she told me. “And there’s no point saying no because I’ve already volunteered you for the job.”
I actually liked Ivy’s harshness. It left absolutely no room for misinterpretation.
“What job?”
“I’m hosting a pageant seminar of my own next week. We need a photographer so the girls can build their portfolios. You’d be perfect.”
Taking pictures of hyped-up toddlers in jewel-encrusted dresses was madness. I accepted the challenge immediately.
Clearly in a hurry, she thanked me, gave Ryan another blistering glare and got back into the cab. I waved to Fabergé as they drove away. Fabergé waved back with one hand – and tapped Ryan’s phone on the car window with the other. Mercifully, he didn’t see it. He was too busy making his way back to his waiting car, in just as much of a rush to escape as Ivy.
“So rude,” I muttered, pretending to be annoyed that he was doing a runner.
“What?” he asked, turning to face me but not slowing his walk. “Do you want me to walk you to your door?”
I grinned at him and he smiled back at me. “Bye, Ryan.”
“Au revoir, Tinker Bell.”
My usual chat with Marvin before heading inside was purposely short. As soon as he mentioned that Adam had arrived home, I was edging toward the door.
As soon as I opened the apartment door, I barrelled toward him, practically leaping in to his arms. Adam moaned, staggering back like I’d knocked the wind out of him. We both fell in a heap on the couch, landing in a position I couldn’t have planned better if I’d tried.
“I love you so much,” I declared fervently. His body shook beneath me as he chuckled. “Adam, you’re not supposed to laugh.”
“You said it as if you’ve only just realised it,” he said, expertly unbuttoning my coat with one hand.
“No. I’ve known it all along.” I shrugged free of my coat and threw it on the floor. “I went to the new restaurant today, with Ryan.”
“He showed you the prints, didn’t he?” he asked, leaning in close to me. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I was surprised. They looked beautiful.”
His lips found mine, a deep sweet kiss that put the conversation on hold for a moment. “They’re beautiful pictures, Charlotte,” he murmured. “The whole world should see them.”
Having them hanging on the walls of a trendy Manhattan restaurant was as good as any gallery showing. “Today, downtown Manhattan. Tomorrow, The Louvre,” I breathed.
“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He moved to kiss me again. “Sooner or later you’ll conquer the world.”
“I’m going to start by conquering the pageant world,” I said theatrically.
He moved his head back, buying enough space to look at me. “You’re going to enter a pageant?” He sounded worried. His frown disappeared as I explained Ivy’s offer.
“I think it might be fun. At least I’ll be busy.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
I craned my neck and tangled my fingers through his hair as he kissed me, getting caught up in a moment I hoped would last the rest of the afternoon, but unfortunately it was short-lived. The interruption came via an unexpected visit from Colin, our long-suffering courier. “I have a delivery for Mrs Décarie,” he said cheerily.
Overlooking the fact he’d called me by my witchy mother-in-law’s name, I signed for it, no questions asked. I wasn’t the least bit curious about the big box that sat blocking the doorway. I knew exactly what it was. Adam, however, had no clue.
“What is it?” he asked, dragging the box inside so we could shut the door.
“It’s a TV.”
He looked at me, cocking one eyebrow. “Am I boring you, Charlotte?”
I leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pulling him against me.
“Not even close.”