Page 31 of Coral Memories

Ginger’s gaze drifted over the house, her keen aesthetic eye evaluating the possibilities. Beyond the cottage, fiery coral hues streaked across the evening sky.

An idea bloomed in her mind. “Let’s paint it.”

“Whatever you like. What color do you imagine?”

She lifted her face toward the sunset. “That gorgeous coral shade. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Anything you want.” Bertrand laughed. “We’ll call it the Coral Cottage.”

Ginger smiled with delight. Since she’d left home, her orderly world had shifted beyond what she ever could have imagined. In her soul, she sensed a marvelous adventure unfolding.

This cottage would be their refuge. Feeling safe, she could fully surrender to the glorious unknown.

Bertrand opened the door to reveal a foyer bathed in the rosy glow of flickering candles. But it was the vision beyond that made Ginger smile: A table laden with crystal glasses and a vase of her mother’s roses, set for what appeared to be a celebratory feast.

Realization dawned on her, and she turned to Bertrand. “You’re a sly character.”

“We’ll stay here tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows mischievously before scooping her into his arms and crossing the threshold.

Once he did, their family and friends materialized from hiding, beaming and applauding the newlyweds.

As Bertrand set Ginger on her feet, she turned, taking in every detail. Her father appeared carrying champagne.

“For my daughter and my new son,” he said proudly.

Tears of joy trickled down Ginger’s cheeks as she embraced her father’s sturdy frame. “Thank you, Pa.” He’d finally come around.

Mary Lou joined her husband in a toast to them. “May your lives be an adventure, and may you embrace it with the same passion you’ve embraced this day. Welcome to the family, dear Bertrand.”

“Thank you from the depths of my heart,” he said, raising his glass to them.

With a confident smile, Ginger tapped her glass to Bertrand’s and their journey ahead. “To our future,” she echoed, daring to dream.

9

The hum of cocktail conversations and the glow of chandeliers at the ambassador’s soiree filled Ginger’s senses. Their social life in Paris was active due to Bertrand’s calendar filled with diplomatic affairs.

“Having a good time?” Bertrand asked.

Ginger squeezed his hand. “Always with you.”

He kissed her cheek with a bemused smile that lit her heart. “Come with me. I need to speak with Grant Jones-Smith.”

“The way he looks at me makes me uncomfortable. Can you spare me?”

“Of course, darling. Don’t judge him too harshly; you are a sight to behold, especially in your wedding ensemble. Only we know what happened that night, don’t we?”

Her cheeks warmed at his words. “You’re incorrigible.” And she loved it. “Go on, have your talk with Grant. I’ll watch the room for a bit; it always humors me.”

“I won’t be too long.”

Ginger watched him go. In her eyes, he was easily the most handsome man in the room—or anywhere they went. Shenursed a glass of champagne while Bertrand circulated among colleagues.

She had learned how to occupy herself at these functions. For example, she had already tallied the number of guests—one hundred fifty-three. Idly, she calculated the number of crystals in all the chandeliers, which probably rivaled the number of sequins on one woman’s mauve evening gown. She had moved on to multiplying the hours likely required to construct each light fixture when a man in an evening suit tapped her crystal glass with a resounding ring.

A playful smirk danced on his lips. “You look bored beyond belief.”

He had an American accent. East Coast, she imagined. “I’m watching my husband.”

---