“I’ll be right down,” I told her.
We rang off; I grabbed my evening bag (an evening bag! Seriously, I was out-of-control) and headed downstairs.
I was dressed to the eights (my gown being definitely to the nines, or even tens) but, upon seeing Celeste, I noted she still totally outclassed me. Even so, when she saw me, she did this cool thing where her head dipped to the side and her hand elegantly swept through the air, a nonverbal indication she thought I looked great.
And, coming from her especially, that felt great.
Jeez, totally, I liked her.
When we greeted, I reminded myself to grab her upper arms and touch cheek to cheek on both cheeks as she always did with me, with shop assistants and her friend Gertrude who we’d run into at the spa. It was really too bad Americans didn’t do that. It wasn’t only chic, it was sweet.
Then she swept me out of the hotel, I did the cheek thing with Thomas at the car and off we went in Thomas’s big burgundy Jaguar to dinner.
Celeste and Thomas lived on Lake Como and had for nearly a year. His business took him everywhere and Celeste had confided in me while shopping that it was likely they’d be moving again soon.
I hoped (but didn’t share this with her) that maybe he’d be sent to Chicago or New York so I could visit, take all my fabulous clothes and shoes and pretend to be awesome like her again.
And also, I hoped this because I liked her.
They took me to an eatery that was off the beaten path but they declared was the best in a fifty mile radius and they would know considering Celeste also confided to me that, though French and enjoying her food (even if, on her slim frame, it didn’t show), she was a terrible cook so they went out all the time.
They were not wrong about the restaurant and I decided this at first glance. It was fabulous. But as we were shown to our table, I became enchanted. It had lots of Christmas lights strung everywhere and tables with small, compact arrangements of cream flowers set in the middle and peach tablecloths draping low that lined a balustrade of a long, stone terrace that faced the lake. The Christmas lights twinkled off the polished crystal and silver on the tables. And, to top that, there was soft music playing from a real live string quartet at the end of the terrace.
It was the most beautiful restaurant I’d ever been to in my life and in the last three and a half weeks, I’d been to some lovely ones.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathed, walking closely with Celeste who had her hand snug in the crook of my elbow.
“What did I say?” she asked, grinning at me.
“You don’t lie,” I replied, grinning back at her.
“Oh yes I do, ma chérie,” she informed me, lifting her other hand with thumb and forefinger an inch apart then she leaned closer and whispered, “Petites bombards, to Thomas, after shopping.”
My grin became a smile and I noticed Thomas and the maitre d’ had stopped so I looked to him and our table and that was when I saw Sampson Cooper three tables down, sitting facing me and across from him was a brunette. Her back was to me but I could still see she had on a fabulous dress, she had unbelievably beautiful, glossy, long, thick, dark hair and an amazing figure if her shoulders, slim arms and the line of her exposed back were anything to go by.
I stopped breathing again and this time it didn’t feel so good.
Okay.
Shit.
Okay.
Shit!
There it was. I was an idiot. I’d totally misread the situation. Clearly, his supermodel-esque girlfriend slept in or skipped breakfast in order to do pilates or something. And he was just being nice to me.
Shit.
Luckily this time Thomas guided me to the side of the table where I’d have my back to Sam and his woman. Even more fortunately, he did this before Sam saw me.
The maitre d’ held my chair and pushed it in while Thomas moved to do the same with Celeste across from me.
I looked to the lake and my heart restarted but my stomach felt funny and that didn’t feel so good either.
It was late. They ate late here or at least Celeste and Thomas did. They’d picked me up at eight thirty. The sun was beginning to set on the lake and the view was amazing.
I still wanted to cry.
“Kia, is everything all right?” Celeste’s melodious, French-accented voice came at me and I looked to her.
I had to get myself together.
Okay, I was an idiot. Three days ago, I had breakfast with my fantasy man and stupidly thought that I’d see him again. I had not allowed myself to fantasize about what seeing him would mean; I was smart enough not to set myself up for that kind of disappointment. I just looked forward to doing it because he was a nice guy and, in the end when he got me to relax, he was easy to talk to.
But I didn’t think when I’d see him he would be with a beautiful woman.
That sucked.
But, whatever.
Right?