Page 1 of From Paris, with Butter
Chapter 1
Jack had been fiddling with the box in his pocket all evening. Before the first course of caviar and iced consommé had been brought out, he was chewing his bottom lip.
When the scallop ravioli was served, a sweat had broken out on his brow, and by the time the final course—a pair of strawberry meringues—was unveiled, it must have been clear to everyone in the restaurant what he was planning to do.
I had eaten the meringues many times and knew that they were the closest to perfection egg whites and sugar could aspire to, but poor Jack didn’t touch his. He was actually wringing his napkin between his hands as he looked despairingly out the window.
Maybe that was understandable. The view from Le Jules Verne was, of course, unparalleled. Michelin-starred, internationally-renowned, the preferred dining establishment of politicians and celebrities and royalty the world over, the restaurant occupied perhaps the most-coveted patch of real estate in all of Paris.
The City of Lights has no lack of beautiful places, but only one restaurant is situated on the second level of the Eiffel Tower. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, diners could view the lacy metal of the Tower just outside and, beyond that, Paris stretching itself to perfection until it melted into the horizon. No wonder Jack was dazzled.
Come on, Jack, I thought. Don’t make me wait all evening. The sun was setting and, as it dipped another centimeter, its rays struck the Tower and set the metalwork ablaze with golden light. This was the perfect moment.
Thankfully, Jack realized it, too. Wrenching his gaze from the view, he turned back to the table and smiled. In a smooth motion, he reached into his pocket and brought out a small, ivory box. I was grinning even before he openedit.
Inside was a gold ring set with a shining oval diamond.
There was a soft sound as his chair slid over the plush carpet, then Jack was bent on one knee. Without realizing it, I had brought my hands to my face. I was shaky with happiness.
There was just the smallest wobble in Jack’s voice as he spoke. “Ava, you make me the happiest man in the world. I don’t want to go through life with anyone except you. My love, will you marry me?”
There was a fraught moment when the lovely girl who’d been sitting across from Jack all evening—and looking a bit nervous herself—seemed too stunned to speak. She brought a hand to her own face, as if making sure she was still in the real world. Then she broke into a smile, two dimples appearing on her cheeks.
“Of course,” she said breathlessly, and I had a moment of pure delight.
A smattering of applause broke out across the restaurant. As soon as Jack slipped the ring on Ava’s finger—a perfect fit—I was there at the table, a bottle of champagne in my hands.
“A drink to celebrate?”
They grinned at each other, then at me, and Jack reached out to clasp my hand.
“Yes. And thank you for all your help planning this,” he said. “I would have made a mess of it if I’d tried to do it on my own.”
“It was my absolute pleasure,” I said, pouring the champagne into two flutes. They wanted a photo, naturally, so I took several, kneeling to get the angle just right. When I left, they were happily whispering, their heads bent close together.
I checked on my other tables, refilling glasses and making sure no one had been waiting too long for their next course. My head was spinning pleasantly by the time I slipped inside the staff room to catch my breath. Yasmine was already there, checking her dark, glossy hair in a mirror.
She turned to me. “How’d it go?”
“Perfect,” I said, sagging against the wall as I let my breath out. “When he called to make the reservation, he said he wanted to propose right at sunset, so I paced the courses slower to time it right.”
Yasmine smiled. “You’ll get an invite to this wedding too, I’m sure. You must be breaking some kind of record, Margot. How many is this for you now?”
“How many what?” I asked distractedly. I was remembering how happy Jack and his girlfriend—fiancée—had looked.
“How many engagements have you seen here?”
I always kept track. If I thought about it hard enough, I was confident I could pull up a memory of each one.
“One hundred and eighty-seven,” I said with a smile.
Chapter 2
“Thank you! Oh, thank you so much,” Ava said as she hugged each person she passed on her way out of the restaurant at the end of their meal. She was nearly as bubbly as the champagne she’d drunk.
The French are not generally considered huggers (why hug when you can kiss?), but I hugged her and Jack tightly as they left.
Jack had been particularly nervous about the proposal going well, and he and I had traded emails back and forth for weeks going over the details: when he should pop the question, the precise bottle of champagne I’d bring for them to toast their engagement, where he and Ava could go for a celebratory nightcap afterward…
