“The benefits are,” Monique snickered.
I kicked her under the table.
“Monique, what aren’t you telling me?” I asked. “Your mom keeps going on about this and I know more is going on.”
Monique let out a long sigh. “I have a chance to take a senior buyer position at Delphine’s. But moving to London—from Paris—it feels so scary.”
I lit up like a kid on Christmas. Having my best friend back with me was amazing. She’d do a wonderful job working at a high-end department store.
“You like London. And we’d be inseparable! We could move in together! I’m looking for a flat right now.”
“See. Would that not be lovely?” Julian asked.
“She’s seeing someone and he doesn’t want her to move,” Constance said. “But he refuses to commit.”
“Tomas?” I asked.
Monique blushed.
“I thought he was done-zo, Mo?”
She winced. “But he’s back-zo now. And he swears he wants to make it work.”
Constance rolled her eyes.
“Mo, if it is meant to be, then it will be. London is a short train journey. And he’s amusician. London has a better music scene.”
He was a “musician” as I would say. Tomas was a commitmentaphobe who refused to “settle” even for someone as fabulous as Monique. I suspected his parents being racist had a lot to do with it. They never liked her. She was well-educated, had impeccable manners, successful, smart, and caring. Her parents were lovely people. Yet, his treated her like shit. They were wealthy French people who felt Monique’s mother was less-than for being raised in Senegal and that both were a shade too dark to invite for dinner.
“I know, I know. And I will go out for an interview in a week.”
“Okay, well, if that is the case, I will find a way back to London and give you the time of your life, so you never want to leave!” I declared.
“See!” Julian said. “See! Listen to Ella! She is right.”
I vowed to convince Mo. I had to! I was spitballing ideas when we were interrupted.
“I apologize for disturbing you,” a waiter said. “But you have been sent a bottle of champagne. Would you like to accept it?”
Julian furrowed his brow. “Who sent it?”
“The Prince of Wales, sir.”
I looked across the dining room towards a window. Duncan nodded, watching like he was fucking Gatsby. God damn him! I knew he wasn’t stalking me since I had gone radio silent after our hookup earlier. However, it was cheeky to send us champagne.
“Well, of course,” Julian said, clearly flattered.
I shook my head.
“My boss,” I sighed.
“Well, I will be glad to accept his offer,” Monique said. “I need you in London, okay? No interlopers.”
“No interlopers,” I promised.
That meant no Duncan booty calls. I could make it work.
The expensive champagne was good, but most champagne tasted the same to me. We decided to stay for dessert, mostly because I refused to let up before I had my cake. Constance knew this and ordered enough for all. She was insistent even after Julian whined about being tired. I loved her for it.
