Nora replied with modesty and said it seemed more like Marie-Louise was a miracle in her life.Something I never could have imagined.
They ended the conversation after Giselle had a little chat with Atticus. He sat very still and stared intently at the screen while his stubby tale thumped madly. “He sees you! I know he misses you too and will be happy to have you home again.” It was all the effort Nora could make to keep her tone cheery. Her heart ached.
“Bonne année, ma chère amie!” Giselle said, blowing kisses, which Nora returned in kind. She hoped the tears she’d fought to hold back hadn’t been apparent.
ChapterThirty-Eight
The streetsof Paris were already busy with New Year’s revelers when a taxi delivered Nora, Chloe, and Olivier to Le Grand Palais just before nine o’clock that evening.
They could spot the stunning glass and steel dome of the iconic structure long before they pulled up to the ornate classical façade, which featured stone columns and sculptures.
“This building is so beautiful just to see from the outside, even if one never gets to go in,” Nora said as they stopped at the entrance.
“Trust me, Mom. Living here doesn’t ever take away from any of the beauty for me. None of this ever becomes ordinary.”
Chloe and Olivier waved to a cluster of people of mixed ages, just past the ticket takers. The group, which included Pierre, were gathered to welcome in the new year at a grand skating party, complete with champagne. Reservations required changing their skates for shoes in time for a midnight Réveillon menu of fine dining in the Belle Époque atmosphere of Le Grand Café, located within the premises.
Pierre had arrived back from Normandy earlier in the day and appeared to be in good humor, engaging in lively conversation with everyone. It was the first time Nora had seen him so relaxed and laughing so much.
The Palais was transformed into a glacial wonderland. Olivier described it as an extraordinary blend of Belle Époque elegance and modern festivity. Beneath twinkling fairy lights, couples waltzed. Kids did spins and raced each other under the watchful eyes of rink attendants.
A DJ kept the skaters in constant motion by spinning an eclectic mix of electro, disco, pop, and French house favorites. In the center of the rink, an LED-lit ice sculpture glowed like a frozen jewel. There was a continual line to take selfies and group shots.
Food stalls tucked under the colonnades offered steaming cups of vin chaud, buttery crêpes, and other enticements. Olivier kept reminding everyone to save their appetites for the midnight meal.
Nora had met several of Chloe and Olivier’s friends, and they all went out of their way to include her by switching skating partners and taking breaks with her in the relaxation spaces.
To her surprise, at one point, Pierre offered his arm and invited her to skate with him. They chatted easily about his trip to Normandy and his plans to leave the following week to drive the art to Nice.
Nora still wondered from time to time exactly what had transpired between them in Provence after her overindulgence with pastis. She had more or less decided it was in the past and just left it at that.
As the group prepared to leave the rink, a sudden commotion shattered the festive buzz. A heavyset skater, arms flailing wildly and obviously out of control, barreled at high speed across the ice, straight at Nora. She was gliding leisurely toward the edge of the rink after snapping a few photos, when she became aware of the impending collision.
Before she knew what had happened, Pierre lunged in front of her and absorbed the full force of the impact.
The crash echoed across the rink—the sound of bodies colliding, followed by the sharp scrape of skates on ice and a collective gasp from nearby skaters. Pierre hit the ice hard and got the wind knocked out of him, while the out-of-control skater tumbled beside him in a jumble of limbs.
Nora spun around, stunned. “Pierre!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him. His face was contorted in pain, but he was conscious and already trying to sit up.
“I’m okay,” he managed, wincing. “You?”
“I didn’t even see him,” she said in a shaky voice as other skaters rushed over to help. For a moment, she hoped Pierre wouldn’t blame her for his fall, given her previous track record.
Olivier and a rink attendant arrived at the same time and asked onlookers to stand back.
The other skater, dazed but unharmed, mumbled an apology as another attendant helped him off the rink. Security was waiting to check if he was inebriated.
Pierre gave a shaky laugh and insisted he was fine as Olivier brushed ice off his father’s clothes. It appeared his legs were fine, but he said he had a lot of pain in his left shoulder and chest, although he was trying to put on a brave front.
Nora still clutched his right arm. Her shock had worn off and was replaced by something tender. “You could have been seriously hurt. Thank you.”
“Better me than you,” Pierre murmured.
Nora was certain she saw pain register in his face.
“I’d do it again,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. Nora blinked, taken aback. She hoped her surprise at his kind words wasn’t obvious.
* * *
