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“Seriously?” I exclaim. “I didn’t know that!”
He leads me down a pathway, shrubbery blocking my view as we get closer, and then Lady Liberty rises before me. It’s tiny compared to the original, but touching, nonetheless. I know that seeing the one in the harbor when I first arrived in New York felt like a sign that I’d arrived, that I was going to make it. In a bigger, broader way, it must’ve felt like that for immigrants arriving in America too. A symbol of freedom, of possibilities, of a future. To my surprise, I’m overcome a bit and a tear escapes to roll down my cheek.
“Princesse?”
I swipe at my cheek, feeling silly. “Sorry, it’s... the other night, the child in the shanty development? We have places like that in America too, and then there’s this.” I gesture toward the statue here in Paris, but in my mind, I’m seeing the one in New York. “It’s supposed to be welcoming, but...”
“It’s complicated?” Simon offers when I trail off, unsure of what I’m trying to say. I nod, feeling like that’s as close to what I’m feeling as I could express.
We keep walking, going past the Medici Fountain, along the paths in front of the palace, and through tree-lined promenades. Each sight is a new marvel. I feel like a tourist, wanting to stop at each new sight and take photos with my cellphone.
But even more amazing than the historical sights are the people. Everywhere I look, there’s inspiration, from the man on a bicycle who’s pedaling along in khakis and a gray shirt to the boys running through the grass chasing a Frisbee in neon brights.
“This is so amazing,” I tell Simon, smiling happily. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He returns my smile, his thumb tracing over my bottom lip. “This is all the appreciation I need.” He bends down, placing a quick kiss to my cheek before whispering in my ear, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
He strides over to a kiosk, talking to the vendor there. His comfort in himself, the confident and assertive way he holds himself, is attractive beyond measure. I don’t have a lot of dating experience, too focused on work over the years, but I’m not naïve. I know that Simon is unique, a man among men.
And he wants me.
He returns with a blanket and a basket, his plan obvious. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his elbow.
I take it, feeling charmed. He leads me to a patch of grass along another path that’s dappled in sunlight and then spreads the blanket out in the shade. We sit, getting comfortable by slipping off our shoes, and Simon removes his glasses, though he leaves on his hat. I look up at the massive trees that have been meticulously shaped into rectangles above each trunk, creating rows of dramatic views of the Grand Basin and Luxembourg Palace.
I sigh in bliss. “I think I could stay here forever.”
Simon follows my gaze but frowns. “Remember, this is only one side of Paris,Princesse. The magic wears off quickly.”
He’s right. It’s not all beauty and romance. But for now... “Can we pretend? I want to enjoy a pretty day in Paris, having a picnic with a gorgeous man.”
Simon opens the basket to reveal a casual but rich repast of cheeses, meats, and croissants. And of course, three small bottles of wine, one red, one white, one rose.
“If you pull a tube of Ritz out of there, I’m going to lose it,” I tell him with a laugh.
“Sorry, no Ritz. Just the croissants.” He looks into the basket like crackers might magically appear but then takes out a knife to cut a piece of what looks like salami for me. He holds it out and my stomach rumbles. “Please.”
I pluck the piece from the tip of the knife, chewing slowly. It’s not as spicy or salty as I expected, and I recognize that while it might look like salami, it’s something French. “It’s delicious.”
“I’m glad. I was willing to risk somerillauds, but I did not know how you’d enjoy fried pork.”
“Are they anything like a chicharrón?” I ask, thinking of what I could get from some of the bodegas in New York. “If so, you’re looking at a body by chicharrón.”
Simon traces my curves appreciatively with his eyes. “And what a body it is.”
“About that,” I start. “I noticed something yesterday that concerns me.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“The models, they’re all beautiful. But all so thin.” Simon doesn’t seem to follow, his brows bunched together. I explain further. “There’s an entire world out there to be represented, and we didn’t do that yesterday. Women are more than coat hangers for pretty clothing. We’re the purchasers, and if we don’t see ourselves in the pieces, we won’t buy them.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Your model, Jeanette, is curvier than some of the others.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “She’s maybe a size four if I’m being generous. That isn’t curvy. And if that’s what you want, then why are we sitting here together?” It comes out a bit loud, and I definitely sound hurt. I swallow, trying to get myself under control.
Simon places a heavy hand on my thigh, squeezing firmly. “Autumn, what I want and what the industry expects are very different things. And ultimately, Jacqueline makes the decisions about which models are hired. She is old school and not prone to input on what she sees as a given.”
“A given?” I echo.
