Christmas in Paris Read Online Free Page A

stand.”
    Isabel glanced at the prices and felt a bit dizzy. But then she pictured the Stuart Weitzman satin pumps she’d returned to Bloomingdale’s and the Vera Wang dress that was at a designer consignment store and straightened her shoulders. She was a well-paid analyst at one of the biggest banks in America; she could afford an overpriced platter of escargots.
    â€œOrder whatever you like.” She looked at Alec and her eyes sparkled. “This afternoon we’ll be like Marie Antoinette and just eat cake.”
    *   *   *
    â€œSO TELL ME about you,” Alec said after they ordered lobster bisque and sides of roasted yams. “What should I know besides the fact you have very good aim and excellent taste in shoes?”
    â€œMy father loves baseball, so we attended a lot of Phillies games.” Isabel blushed. “I had the most wonderful childhood: skiing in the Adirondacks and horseback riding on my grandparents’ farm. I attended an all-girls high school and went to Bryn Mawr—”
    â€œYou attended an all-girls school?” Alec interrupted, buttering a baguette.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that?” Isabel bristled. “Agnes Irwin is a wonderful school and I had so many opportunities. I was president of the math club and a Future Business Leader of America.”
    â€œI’m sure it taught you calculus and physics.” He looked at Isabel thoughtfully. “But you’ve had two failed engagements, so maybe it didn’t teach you about men.”
    â€œWhy should you have to learn how to fall in love? It’s the most natural thing in the world,” Isabel protested. “Babies need their mothers and schoolchildren form crushes on their teachers and old people have deep bonds with their pets.”
    â€œFor love to work, two people have to want the same thing at the same time.” Alec leaned back in his chair. “I’ve discovered that’s as likely as a man landing on Jupiter.”
    â€œI’m sure I’ll get it right next time.” She nibbled a breadstick and her eyes were huge. “I love my career, but one can’t live without love.”
    *   *   *
    THEY ATE RICOTTA crepes with raspberry sauce for dessert and strolled along the Champs-Élysées. The sky was pale blue and the clouds were bright white and Isabel felt a tingle of excitement. The store windows were draped in red bows and filled with little black dresses and strands of pearls and quilted satin evening bags.
    They entered the Place de la Concorde, and Isabel saw the giant Christmas tree and wooden chalets lining the square. There were stalls selling gingerbread houses and sausages and jars of fresh preserves. She saw booths with Chinese slippers and glass necklaces.
    â€œWould you like your fortune read?” a woman asked. She had dark hair and wore a patterned scarf and a red felt coat.
    â€œNo, thank you.” Isabel shook her head. “I’m just admiring the pretty necklaces.”
    â€œIt only costs twenty euros,” the woman insisted.
    â€œI’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have time.” Isabel moved away, suddenly nervous.
    She and Alec paused at the next booth, and she felt someone tugging her arm. She turned around and saw the fortune-teller rubbing her hands.
    â€œPlease, I have two children and can’t afford to buy them Christmas presents,” she implored. “They see racing cars and dolls in shop windows and beg for something to unwrap.”
    Isabel opened her purse and took out a twenty-euro note.
    â€œPlease take it.” She handed it to the woman. “And tell your children, Merry Christmas.”
    â€œI cannot accept charity,” the woman protested. “I must read your fortune.”
    Isabel searched for Alec, but he was standing at the next stall, studying a selection of colored pens.
    â€œAll right, I suppose I have a few minutes.”