‘Don’t you ever fancy going farther afield?’ he’d said, biting on the end of a spring roll. ‘Doing a safari or something?’
‘Um, not really,’ her dad had replied politely.
Because they couldn’t afford it!Sophie had wanted to say, but hadn’t.
She was confident that her parents would come to love Tom the way she did. To see through their differences and find the man inside who, while a little misguided sometimes – mostly on account of his upbringing – meant well and loved her fiercely and protectively and with a passion that sometimes took her breath away.
Things with his folks were odd too. She’d seen more of them than her own parents in the past year – they met up for meals regularly, sometimes at his family home which seemed to her the kind of place that gets featured on one of those property design shows – and sometimes in restaurants. And each time she felt herself trying to become the sort of girlfriend they’d probably hoped for for their son.
She liked them – of course she did. But she’d cringed a little at his dad’s rather loud, sexist comments, at his tendency to treat wait staff in a haughty manner; tried to ignore the fact that Tomseemed completely unaware of the way she felt about the kind of world his parents inhabited.
She looked at him again, as they walked quickly towards the Eiffel Tower – his pace betraying his agitated state of mind – and reminded herself that she wasn’t her parents any more than he was his. And she wasn’t marrying his extended family, just him. And not yet, in any case.
What she was doing now, when he finally got around to dropping onto one knee, was making him happy in the moment, securing their relationship right now. Because she didn’t want it to end. And if that changed, well, she could always give the ring back.
She jumped a little when she realised he was looking at her.
‘What are you thinking?’ he said. ‘You look miles away.’
‘Sorry. Just… you know. It’s nice to be here again. It feels like it’sour place, doesn’t it?’
He laughed. ‘Sophie conquers Paris. I love it.’
‘You know what I mean,’ she said, giving him a dig in the ribs with her finger. He twisted out of her way and grabbed her hand.
‘Sorry, Your Majesty,’ he said, eyes twinkling. ‘Queen Sophie of France. I’d be careful if I were you, the French don’t take kindly to being ruled.’
‘Good point,’ she said with mock sincerity.
An hour later they were at the top, her breath taken away by the view, her mind inundated with a mixture of wonder and the slight fear she always had in high places that she might have a sudden temptation to jump into the void for no particular reason.
She stood as close to the edge as she dared – despite the criss-crossed metal barrier, she was still irrationally afraid of the drop – and gasped as the city lay before her, its tall buildings and mismatched architecture seeming more uniform and map-like than on the lower level.
‘Two hundred and seventy-odd metres,’ Tom said, his mouth close to her ear. He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Better hang on tight.’
‘Any excuse,’ she said, leaning one of her arms around his neck, but not taking her eyes off the view.
There were more people here with them than she’d bargained on and the area felt a little claustrophobic. Soon they’d take the lift down and she’d look at the tower from her preferred angle – feet clamped firmly to the ground – she decided.
His arms seemed to drop from her waist and he moved away slightly. At first, she thought he’d gone to look at the view from the other side – see another area of Paris as it fell flatly away from view. But then there was a cough, and she noticed one or two heads turned her way.
Although she’d been onto him for a while, she’d got one thing wrong. The restaurant tonight was meant to be the after-party. The real event was happening right here, right now at the top of the Eiffel Tower in front of delighted tourists, some of whom had already snapped pictures of Tom kneeling, looking up at her with his earnest eyes and holding an open box in which she saw an almost comically large diamond ring.
‘Oh!’ she said.
‘Sophie Baker, will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, Tom Gardner, I will.’
She was no longer in her body, but playing a part for those around her, imagining how each of the people here would go and tell their story about the proposal at the summit of the Eiffel Tower. The good-looking, earnest boy, the enormous diamond ring. Her delighted, emphatic ‘yes’.
As he slipped the ring on her finger, she felt slightly shaky. ‘Shall we go?’ she said quietly, and he nodded.
He held her hand as they made their way to the lift and put his arm around her. ‘Are you happy?’ he asked her.
‘Yes,’ she said. And she realised that she really was.
15