AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Last night, Mariella organized a superb sendoff dinner that included twenty-eight of her closest friends. I can count my closest friends on a few fingers.
The evening went on until three in the morning, but that didn’t stop Bryce and I from meeting our chauffeur at precisely eight a.m. for our all-day trip to Château Versailles. I hadn’t been in years, and I was so looking forward to it.
Who needs to sleep when I can spend the day at Versailles?
Bryce broke away from his usual impeccable suits and perfectly tailored shirts in favor of a more casual look. He’s still dashing and handsome.
The day at Versailles is magical. We visit the magnificent château, perfectly manicured gardens, and spectacular fountains before enjoying a private lunch nearby at La Veranda Restaurant located inside the Trianon Palace hotel.
The food and service are outstanding, and for a delusional minute, I kid myself into believing this type of magical day could be a common occurrence in my life.
We continue our guided tour until Bryce declares it’s cocktail hour.
“Let’s head to the Gallery Bar for drinks and appetizers before heading back to Paris.”
I peer up at him. “I’ll never say no to un cinq à sept.”
“A what?”
“Cocktail hour.”
He shakes his head. “Show off.”
I snicker.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me to a cozy bar. It’s surprisingly busy when we arrive, but Bryce explains that a lot of people make the trip outside of Paris to enjoy the bar’s infamous Marie Antoinette tea, infused with rose and apple flavors from the King’s garden.
I’m in awe of so much luxury and decadence. The bar is lined with silver buckets filled to the brim with ice and bottles of champagne. The crowd is a mix of tourists exploring Versailles for the day and Parisians escaping the boisterous city center.
This is the good life.
We’re enjoying champagne and nibbling on an assortment of decadent French pastries when a woman shouts, “Bryce, sexy American. Why you not call me again ever?”
Something in that sentence sounds far too intimate for comfort, and when I look at Bryce for answers, I’m met with a stunned stare. His eyes are locked on a woman standing behind me.
“You’re… in Paris?” Bryce’s voice is mechanical.
A tall, leggy blonde, with hair down to her trim waist, and big green eyes, comes into view.
Great. Just great.
“Shopping in Paris,” she says. “Hermes receive three new bags I buy—you know, they make when you buy.” I wouldn’t know, but okay. “Hermes say they ship to Russia. No,” she waggles a long finger. “I come in private jet of ??? ???? … How you say…” She taps the manicured finger against her chin. “Yes! My papa. Private jet full of Hermes, Chanel, Gucci, Dior, Valentino, Prada, Cartier, Chaumet when come back to Sankt-Peterburg.”
Of course.
“What do you want?” Bryce’s tone is as icy as the Siberian wind.
“You ask me to marry you, give me diamond ring, and because Anastasiya not want to marry, you not call back.” She refers to herself in the third person? “Why, Bryce? We talk.”
He wanted to marry this woman?
“Anastasiya, now is not the time!”
Bryce’s snapping tone goes over Anastasiya’s head.
“When? When we talk, Bryce?”
“Can’t you take a hint?” Bryce asks.
