Page 51 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Thank you. So the next time I talk about debt advisory and restructuring, I expect you to applaud my brilliance.”

I laughed and stood gazing into his eyes by the elevator bank.

“I’ll walk you back to the conference,” he said. “I don’t want you missing your sessions on my account.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d never do that. I was planning to see the Notre-Dame Basilica. I won’t mind if you want to tag along,” I offered.

Admiring the eclectic mix of old and new architecture, we walked from the Palais des Congrès and crossed the Place d’Armes to the Basilica. Mihir insisted on paying for my entry ticket at the Basilica, and I decided not to argue because the beauty of the church had me mesmerized.

As we stepped inside, I stopped in my tracks and squeezed his hand. “It’s glorious! Spectacular!”

He squeezed my hand back as I kept walking toward the altar. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I’m enthralled each time.”

“How many times have you been to Montréal?”

“This is my fourth visit,” he said as we approached the altar.

“Did you know Celine Dion was married in this church?”

“Yes. I was, in fact, in attendance at their wedding,” he joked, and I stifled a laugh.

When we reached the consecrated dais, I dropped his hand and closed my eyes, channeling Appa and his prayers. When I was done, I found Mihir standing by me with hands cupped in front, just like my father.

My heart fluttered at the image, but I placed my phone in his hand and said, “Could you take a few pictures for me?”

“Sure,” he said, and I posed against the azure blue light of the altar.

We walked around the gorgeous church, stopping by the pulpit, against the intricately carved staircase, and the organ on the mezzanine to take pictures.

“My family’s going to love these,” I said, approving the ones he’d taken.

When we were ready to leave, I faced the altar to cross myself, and he said, “I forgot this is a place of worship for you, not a tourist attraction.”

“I was raised with both Christianity and Hinduism. Were you praying right then?”

“I’m agnostic.”

I snorted. “And you call me noncommittal.”

“Are you religious?”

“Not particularly, but I’ve been known to pray on occasion.”

When we stepped back out, the autumn afternoon sun was mellow.

“Let’s get coffee,” he suggested, but I was already walking toward a boutique I had spotted on Notre-Dame Street.

“I want to get something for my cousin’s daughter,” I said as I scanned the jewelry section in the boutique. “She’s a teenager and very difficult to buy for.”

I stopped in front of a display of jewelry.

“These are all handmade by local artists,” the store clerk informed us.

I smiled back. “They are stunning.”

Mihir picked up a pair of earrings and said, “How are these?”

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