Page 144 of Ten Years and Then…
Bianca was acting weird.
First, she insisted on taking the Metro rather than a taxi to the opera house, even though her feet had to be killing her. He saw the band-aids on the back of both her feet earlier today.
Second, when they got to the restaurant—a big, modern-looking place called L’Entracte, across the street from the Palais Garnier—she’d specifically asked for a table by the window, when in all the years he’d known her, she’d never cared where they sat at a restaurant.
Third, she’d insisted on the seat looking outside, when, again, she’d never bothered with which seat she took at the table.
Oddest of all, she wasn’t idly people-watching. She was staring out intently, as though she expected to see someone she knew at any moment.
“Bee, if you keep looking out the window, your snails are going to wake up and walk right off your plate.” She’d brought back memories of the cruise two years ago when Leanne had ordered them.
If Leanne hadn’t ordered them that first night, she wouldn’t have felt sick and gone to bed early—and Daniel wouldn’t have run into Nora. Maybe they wouldn’t have seen each other at all, if they’d missed each other in the atrium of the Empress of the Seas that first night. And then maybe he wouldn’t have broken up with Leanne. Maybe they’d be married right now, and it would be her across the table from him.
How different might his life be right now, all because of a plate of snails?
No. It wouldn’t have gotten that far. Nora would never not be in his heart.
And here he was thinking about her again, instead of focusing on a new start, or simply enjoying a good meal at a fancy restaurant before seeing the Paris Ballet.
All because of Bianca and her stupid snails.
Nora, the same time
“Remind me why we’re having pizza when we’re in Paris? I can get pizza at home.”
Rachel shrugged. “It’s on the way, and it’s not crowded.” She held up her slice of margherita pizza and waved it vaguely in the air. “And it is very good pizza.”
“Fair enough,” Nora said. This restaurant was halfway between the Bastille metro station and the Opera Bastille, the newer of the two major opera houses in Paris. It wasn’t crowded; there were only a handful of other customers besides her and Rachel. And the pizza was very good. “So what are we seeing tonight? You’ve been really secretive all day.”
Rachel gave her a weird look, as though she’d just been caught in a lie or something. But there wasn’t anything for her to lie about, was there? This was just a vacation, there couldn’t be anything Rachel would need to keep secret.
“I just wanted to surprise you,” she said, taking a bite of pizza before going on. “Anyway, we’re seeing the ballet. La Belle au Bois Dormant.”
What did that mean?
She could puzzle it out. Dormant had to refer to sleep, didn’t it? And La Belle, that was obvious.
“You mean Sleeping Beauty?” Rachel nodded. “Wow! I can’t wait. I was expecting opera, and honestly I was sort of dreading it.” She’d only ever been once, with her mother on a visit to Manhattan when she was nine years old. She couldn’t recall which opera, or even which composer. All she remembered was that it was loud, and long and all in German.
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “That’s what I figured. I remember your father telling me about Karen taking you to see Tristan and Isolde at the Met when you were little. What possessed her to think a fourth grader would want to see that, I’ll never know.”
This would definitely be better. She just hoped Rachel would stop worrying about whatever it was that she was worried about, so she could enjoy the ballet, too.
Daniel, an hour later
The Palais Garnier was even more impressive inside than out. It was well beyond opulent; Daniel wasn’t sure there was a word grand enough to properly describe it. It made the Metropolitan Opera House back home—amazing in its own right, at least it had seemed that way when he’d seen it back in junior high—look small and pitiful by comparison.
They were in the grand lobby, and everywhere he looked, something demanded his attention: the huge, dramatic staircase, the carvings covering nearly every wall, and their fellow theatergoers. Most of the men wore tuxedos, and the few who didn’t wore suits that looked like they probably cost more than he’d spent on his entire wardrobe. And the women—it was like watching highlights from Fashion Week.
He felt woefully underdressed, even though he’d had his suit pressed this afternoon. Bianca, stunning in a red dress and a new hairdo this afternoon that cost more than her mortgage payment, looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her—and even she barely looked like she belonged here.
She also looked like she needed the bathroom. She was fidgeting by a wall, eyes fixed on the main entrance.
This wasn’t her usual people-watching; she was looking for someone. But who?
“Bee,” he said. “If you have to use the little girls’ room, just go already. Otherwise, we ought to get to our seats.”
She checked her watch, stared at the doors for another few seconds and sighed. “You’re right. Just wait here, don’t move an inch.”
