We arrived at Gare du Nord early in the evening, took a taxi to our hotel facing the Jardin des Tuileries, and checked into our suite on the fifth floor. I wheeled my suitcases into my adjoining room, opened the French doors, and squealed loud enough to catch the attention of a pedestrian strolling on the opposite side of the street. 

“Are you all right?” Alistair asked, fussing with his glasses as he hurried into my room.

“I will never be all right again. Look!” I pointed at the Eiffel Tower glowing like a firecracker against the indigo sky. “Can you believe it? It’s real!”

The professor cocked his head curiously. “Of course. Did you think the Eiffel Tower was part of an elaborate scheme designed to entice tourists to visit?” 

“No, but also…maybe.” I folded my arms over my chest to ward off the autumn chill and smiled dreamily. “It’s more than I ever imagined. I can’t wait to explore tomorrow. I’ve done my research and put together an itinerary. We can go to the Louvre in the morning, walk along the Seine toward Notre-Dame, have lunch in the Latin Quarter, go to Montmartre and see Moulin Rouge. That’s a must! It gives Burlesque vibes. Did you see that movie? Diva heaven. Cher, Christina, Stanley Tucci… Then we’ll go to—”

“Thank you for the invitation, Winnie. I’m afraid I won’t be joining you. I have quite a bit of work to catch up on.”

“Hold up. Aren’t you hungry? Let’s get dinner. We can discuss your schedule and—” 

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m terribly behind. I’m going to require a day or two to devote to my current project,” he replied awkwardly. “I hope you’re comfortable here. Good night.”

I followed him through the elegant hotel room decorated with gilt-framed Impressionist artwork, cornflower blue satin drapery, and a gold and azure duvet on the king-sized bed. It was trés sophisticated and almost as big as my entire apartment. I’d assumed Alistair would have a similar setup, but wow…they gave the professor the chichi suite. 

“Oh, my! You have a living room too? This is sweet, Professor.” I gave a low whistle, perusing the ample sitting area and dining table.

He frowned, blinking as if he’d been totally unaware of his lush surroundings until I’d pointed them out. 

“I-I don’t make the reservations. The heritage fund consults with the museum and—” 

“Lucky you,” I intercepted. “C’mon, I’m hungry and I’m sure you are too. Let’s find a café and order pommes frittes and boo-ju-lay. I don’t even know what boo-ju-lay is, but it’s fun to say and it sounds good.” 

“Beaujolais is a region in Burgundy. They harvest grapes with thin skin and low tannins, rather like a Pinot Noir. Light and fruity.” He coughed and his cheeks pinkened adorably. “That’s more than you wanted to know, I’m sure.”

“Not even close. Tell me all about boo-ju-lay at dinner,” I prodded.

Alistair lowered his gaze, then moved to the door meaningfully, waiting for me to join him under the threshold. “Not tonight. I’ll eat alone. Don’t worry about meals. You’re welcome to place any food or beverage charges on your room. Enjoy yourself, Winnie.”

The door closed in my face before I had a chance to respond. 

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip and mulled my choices. But there really wasn’t another option. I couldn’t coerce a grown-ass man into doing anything he didn’t want to do.

I was on my own.