Emily in Paris (a closed thread)

[Lady_Kit]

Emily listened to the stewardess giving final instructions for the landing at Charles de Gaulle airport; first in French, which was incomprehensible to Emily, then again in English. She frowned, why did her accent never sound like that when she practiced with the lesson tapes? A small sigh escaped her rose tinted lips, and she tried to relax during the final few moments of the flight. Language barrier or no, it was too late now to change her mind.

The trip was to have been her honeymoon, a romantic journey to the City of Lights. Until, that is, she found herself without a groom. Stephen called off the wedding and left town with another woman; leaving Emily, if not at the altar, far too close to cancel all the arrangements. Of course, since she’d been footing the bill for the whole thing, her fiancé being a poor struggling artist, it also left her holding the bills. Some of the arrangements could be changed, but the honeymoon was a problem. No matter how she ranted and raved, the travel agent wouldn’t refund her money or completely change her destination. She was stuck with a trip to Paris. They offered to “cash in” Stevens’ portion of the fares, upgrade all the arrangements to first class and modify the itinerary. When she responded that she didn’t speak French and knew nothing about the city they also agreed to include a translator/companion for the duration of her stay. The deal was done, and Emily could only request that her companion be a woman. Much safer she reasoned than risking an affaire on the rebound.

All this went through her mind as Emily cleared customs and carried her bags into the arrival area. She was a little nervous. Emily was now in a foreign country, and completely in someone elses’ hands. The agent had assured her that he would make sure Emily would be colleted, but one never knew how things would go. She briefly wondered how the agent would have insured that she would be recognized, how he might have described her. “Average height, average weight, blonde hair, nothing special.” She saw herself that way, just average, unknowing that others often saw more than that; saw her graceful carriage, full breasts above curved hips and a soft mane of golden hair that framed her face and fell past her shoulders.

She hadn’t been given a description of the woman she was to meet, but Emilys’ blue-gray eyes soon spotted a sign with her own name boldly written across it. She moved to woman holding the sign and spoke.

Hello, I’m Emily I believe you’re here for me.

 

[Arioso]

Marie-Claire waited at the arrivals gate in Charles de Gaulle airport, holding a small placard with her client's name written on it in her own, neat, elegant script. The agence had explained to her a little about this woman, Emily, and Marie-Claire had felt a brief flare of contempt for American sexual moraes, which remained utterly incomprehensible to her. The Americans somehow managed to combine self-righteous prudery with the most callous, insensitive, selfish sexual escapades that filled their sensationalist press with one "scandal" after another.

In France, it was so much easier. So an ex-president had fucked a woman who wasn't his wife? So what? As long as he did his job...

However, the woman's personal problems were not her business. Marie-Claire prided herself on knowing how to offer each client a pleasurable, rewarding visit to the city of Paris, and being sensitive and attentive to their specific needs. The Paris of romance, she had decided, would not be in good taste for Emily....not when it should have been hers to explore with a new husband.

So Marie-Claire had dressed casually for her first greeting of Emily: black jeans and a black turtleneck that clung to her trim figure, a blue denim jacket, and her silky chestnut brown hair up in a loose twist. Her alert, sable eyes scanned the crowds until she saw a lovely, gentle-looking blonde woman emerge as the frosted glass doors parted. No, that could not be Emily! Surely not -- what sane man would have left her?

But the soft, tender creature turned her eyes toward Marie-Claire and, after reading the sign, she walked straight in Marie-Claire's direction.

"Hello, I'm Emily. I believe you're here for me," the lady spoke in a voice as soft and gentle as her face.

"Bienvenue Emily," Marie-Claire greeted her warmly but in the clipped, efficient tone she shared with all Parisians. "Welcome to France. My name is Marie-Claire, and it will be my pleasure to entertain you in Paris during your stay. May I help you with your bags?"

"Oh, no, it's all right, I only packed these two small--oh--" Emily began, breaking off in mid-sentence as Marie-Claire gently insisted on carrying one of the two small suitcases that Emilly pulled behind her. The American woman recovered graciously and said, "All right, thank you. By the way, your English is superb."

Marie-Claire grinned at her and her deep, chocolate brown eyes twinkled. "Ahh, you wair ee-mah-geen-ing some-woan 'oo would speak like zees?"

When Emily smiled but blushed shyly, Marie-Claire regretted having teased her client. It was inappropriately familiar. "I am sorry, I did not mean to tease you," she apologize. "Please, come this way, we have a car waiting for us at the curb."

As Marie-Claire navigated through the sea of people, dressed in everything from tailored British business suits to West African daishikis and flowing Hindu garb, she described the accommodations that had been arranged for Emily.

"You will be staying in one of the finest suites at the Hotel Continental, along the Seine not far from the Place de la Concorde," Marie-Claire explained, carefully avoiding the term 'honeymoon suite'. Her lithe, elfin frame bounced as she trotted along in her usual, swift, light-footed steps, careful not to rush too quickly for Emily, since the woman was probably very tired from her flight. "I have seen it only once before, but it is beautiful -- it will suit you very well. Very plush and elegant, full of charm, with so many delights to enjoy you will be wanting to settle there for a long time, I imagine."

Marie-Claire smiled good-naturedly at Emily, quietly realizing that many of the words she had used to describe the suite would fit Emily herself.

Once outside, they easily made their way to the polished Mercedes sedan where one of the agence's drivers opened the trunk and helped stow Emily's bags. With a smooth, genteel, "Bonjour Madame", he then opened the rear door for Emily and lightly held her fingertips in his as he guided her inside. Marie-Claire slid in alongside her, and they pulled sharply into traffic.

"Doucement, s'il-vous plait, Bertrand," Marie-Claire reminded her colleague when she saw Emily cringe a little at his aggressive, swerving driving style. Americans always seemed so nervous when they rode with French drivers.

"Comme vous voulez," Bertrand answered easily.

During the first thirty minutes of the ride, when all there was to see was the autoroute, Marie-Claire tried to gauge what Emily would want to do for the evening without overtaxing her too much. She kept her questions simple, asking about dinner preferences, whether Emily would like to freshen up with a shower or a nap, whether the flight had been smooth and not too upsetting, noting all of Emily's responses so that she could plan for the greatest comfort and enjoyment of her client.

Once they reached the city, however, it became much easier. Emily's eyes lit up, losing the slight hint of anxiety and apprehension that had clouded them ever since Marie-Claire had first met her at the airport. It was always this way with those who were visiting Paris for the first time. Marie-Claire gladly answered Emily's questions about the different monuments and neighborhoods they passed...yes, those were the towers of Notre Dame...this was the Marais...that long building was the Louvre Museum.

At last they circled through the Place de la Concorde, its ornate fountains showering crystal droplets of water against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and Marie-Claire could only admire how Emily's blue eyes widened at the sight. When the Mercedes pulled to a stop in front of the majestic, five-star Hotel Continental, Bertrand once again opened the door and helped Emily out. As the two women entered the lobby, he followed behind them with Emily's luggage.

The lobby was pure Second Empire. Marble columns supported a vaulted ceiling, while the walls were graced with magnificent paintings and ornate, gilded mirrors. Crystal chandeliers lit the space, and a regal staff awaited them behind a vast, marble counter. In a heartbeat, Emily had been checked in and welcomed with all the courtesy reserved for royal dignitaries.

Marie-Claire rode up in the narrow, cramped elevator with her. It was a relic of the turn-of-the-century -- beautifully restored, of course, but still so crowded that the two women had to stand flush against each other. Marie-Claire could feel her breasts brushing against Emily's arm.

Once on the top floor, Marie-Claire led Emily to her suite, ushering her into a palatial set of adjoining rooms. From the main room, the salon, Marie-Claire could see a balcony that led out to a stunning view of the river Seine.

"Here you are," Marie-Claire announced brightly. "Is it to your liking?"

 

[Lady_Kit]

Oh…it’s lovely.

Emily said softly as she moved from the doorway to the center of the room. Turning slowly she admired the old world elegance of the space, the timeless beauty of the architecture and furnishings. Gradually her eye found modern touches too, but they were so subtle that they were only an accent. In all it was a feast for the eyes.

It was so very French, so very polished, like her companion. Emily wasn’t sure what her impression of a modern Frenchwoman was before today, but forever after it would be Marie-Claire. How did she make jeans and a turtleneck look so chic? A quick glance at her own rumpled kakis told Emily enough about her own appearance to know that “chic” she would never be. Nor would she ever be so self-possessed.

As Emily tugged uselessly at her wrinkled clothing, she watched Marie-Claire speak briefly with Bertrand giving orders to him, and the hotel employee who had accompanied them from the lobby. Both men nodded, taking direction and confirming information before leaving. Emily was glad for the quiet after their departure; the traffic on the trip from the airport had been unnerving for her. She didn’t drive, and the zig-zaging of automobiles through traffic always left her feeling shaken. The ride up in the tiny elevator hadn’t helped any either; it was so close that at one point she realized her arm was pressed firmly against Marie-Claires’ breast. The close confines and the contact left her feeling warm and uncomfortable.

They said I might still have the “honeymoon suite” unless someone requested it. I suppose by the time we got to the room the travel agent had…Well never mind, it’s a beautiful room and I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable.

The adrenalin rush from her arrival and the first sight of the city was beginning to wear off and Emily began to fervently hope that Marie-Claire had not planned a busy evening for her. Before she could ask about the evenings arrangements, she yawned, quickly apologized, and just as quickly did it again.

I’m sorry, it was a long flight; perhaps a shower will wake me up. Would you mind if I left the dinner decision in your hands? Or have you made plans that I need to get ready for? I suppose if you have an itinerary we could go over that now so I know when to be ready for things.

She could feel herself fading mentally, but wanted to be as professional with Marie-Claire as possible and understand how this companion thing worked. No one had explained that to her, and she hadn’t thought to ask. She knew she wouldn’t, no couldn’t, order Marie-Claire about, but Emily wanted to have some choice in her activities if not direct the whole thing. Though right now the only things on her mind were a bath, some food and a comfortable bed.

 

[Arioso]

Emily's fatigue did not escape Marie-Claire's discreet notice. The young Frenchwoman glanced at the clock on the wall.

Four o'clock.

Perhaps her client could use a short nap. Dinner was taken at eight o'clock at the earliest, leaving plenty of time for Emily to be pampered.

"A shower?" Marie-Claire responded to Emily's suggestion. She wondered why this lady was apologizing, as if she were too much trouble. Did she not realize that she could enjoy anything she wished? "Mais non, if I may propose a bath instead -- it would be so much better for travel weariness."

"Oh, but I didn't want to take too much time in case you had planned--" Emily began, but Marie-Claire gently silenced her with a warm smile.

"Only what you wish will be planned during your stay here," Marie-Claire assured her. "This is not a common package tour; my only task is to tailor every minute to what would please you most. Please, may I indulge you in the jacuzzi bath? Then some quiet rest, I think, and a pleasant dinner after you rest. That is enough for your first evening."

At first, Emily seemed hesitant, but Marie-Claire could tell she was tired enough to be tempted. And the sight of the elegant, marble bath seemed to win her over completely. Marie-Claire started the water, adjusting the temperature to what she hoped would be comfortable yet showing Emily how to work the tap as well, in case she wished to change it. Then she brought out the hotel's complimentary basket of bath oils and salts should Emily wish a little added fragrance to make her bath even more pleasurable.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. This stay is for you. I will telephone and make reservations for dinner at a restaurant I believe you will like. The chef is a cordon bleu and his creations are simple, so they will not upset the stomach, yet so delicious they seduce the tongue," Marie-Claire offered. "We will say eight o'clock, yes? That will permit you a long, soothing bath and a few hours' nap."

"All right...thank you," Emily replied, and Marie-Claire could hear the relief in her voice. The sweet lady seemed glad to be relieved of making any decisions.

With that, Marie-Claire left Emily to undress in private, and crossed to the room phone in the main salon. Her first call was to Le Cinquante-Sept, a restaurant just a few blocks from the hotel. She reserved a table for two and asked that a bottle of Veuve-Cliquot champagne be chilled and waiting for their arrival. Then she called her agence to check in and explain the plans for the evening. Very little needed to be rescheduled -- Marie-Claire had tentatively arranged for a driver to give them a tour of the city at night, but that could wait for another evening when Emily was not so tired.

When Marie-Claire went to check on Emily again, she caught a glimpse of her client through the slightly opened bathroom door. Emily was already submerged in the water, but her bare breasts bobbed at the surface. Delicate, coral pink tips on such smooth, perfect flesh...And Emily's head tilted back ever so slightly, the tension visibly draining away as she closed her eyes and sighed...The enchanting sight struck Marie-Claire like a bolt of lightning. Emily was beautiful! What was wrong with this fiance who had left her -- was he blind?

"Are you comfortable, Emily? Is there anything else I may do before I leave you to relax for the afternoon?" Marie-Claire asked through the door, trying not to glance too directly at the lovely woman inside.

 

[Lady_Kit]

Mmmm yes, I am quite comfortable. In fact, I think that I may stay right here for the week.

“Ah, but then you would look like a prune when you returned to America and what would people think?” Marie-Claire said, and Emily could hear a hint of amusement in her voice.

I suppose you’re right. I’ll get out before I get too wrinkled and have a nap before dinner.

“Good, I will collect you at half past 7.”

Emily turned in the deep tub. Decorously, she pressed her body against the smooth inner wall, trying to hide but instead emphasizing her pink-tinted breasts. The porcelain, in chill contrast to the hot water, caused a shiver of pleasure and the feeling added warmth to her voice as she spoke to Marie-Claire. Thinking the other woman gone, and intending only to call out a goodbye, Emily was surprised to see that the quiet Frenchwoman stood just outside the room. The elegant figure in the doorway was gracefully still, a contradiction in terms, yet completely accurate.

I…I thought you’d gone…I…I’ll see you later, for dinner.

“Yes, later. Au revoir, Emily.”

The door closed in the outer room; Emily sank beneath the scented bubbles and sighed in contentment. Paris, she had finally arrived, without a groom, but perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Marie-Claire would be good company, and seemed sincere in her desire to make the trip as pleasant as possible for Emily.

If this bath is any indicator, the woman knows just what will make me happy.

Sadly, she doubted that she had ever said that about Stephen. As she recalled, Stephen had noticed little that didn’t directly impact him; in the weeks since the breakup she’d identified lots of little things like that about her former fiancé. There was one thing that she’d give Stephen, he was great in bed. And the sex, was something she really missed about him. Maybe she was wrong about a male companion, maybe an affair would mend her heart after all. At the very least, it would cure this nagging horniness she couldn’t work, exercise or masturbate away. The ache for release never seemed to leave her these days!

The water was cool by the time Emily climbed from the tub but it had done its work; her body was completely relaxed and her mind was ready for sleep. She pulled on the robe Marie-Claire left ready for her. Emily rubbed her cheek against the soft collar, nearly purring like a cat at the sensation. She felt a little feline, soft from the tub, warmed in the robe and ready to curl up for that nap Marie-Claire suggested. It took only moments for Emily to fall asleep.

She woke, refreshed and began to get ready for dinner. Thanks to a little pre-trip shopping Emily owned what she thought would be a suitable dress for the evening; a black cocktail dress in a simple style that accentuated her curves and smooth clear skin. She wore her hair up in a soft knot, and her only jewelry was a cameo suspended from a black velvet cord.

Emily had just finished dabbing on a light scent when she heard a knock on the door. A quick look in the mirror revealed no obvious flaws, and Emily was satisfied with that. She just hoped that Marie-Claire would approve.

 

[Arioso]

When Emily opened the door to her hotel room, she saw Marie-Claire standing there in a very clingy, body-conscious red dress. The neckline was modest enough in the front, but when Marie-Claire stepped into the room to see if Emily needed any help with a coat or purse, Emily's eyes widened at how dramatically low the dress plunged in the back, right down to the sensual hollow at the small of her back. Certainly, there was no way that a brassiere could be worn with such a dress.

Marie-Claire, like Emily, had swept her hair up in an elegant twist, although a thick strand of it dangled down just at the edge of her face on the right side. She wore little make-up, save for a deep, sultry red lipstick that highlighted the fullness of her lips.

"Why Emily, you look lovely, and for someone who has made such a long journey," Marie-Claire complimented her. "Travel can be so draining, and yet you look ready to conquer the entire city of Paris."

The young French woman smiled as Emily blushed prettily and said, "Thank you. Is there a car waiting downstairs?"

"Oh, no," Marie-Claire answered with an easy wave of her hand. "One can find a good restaurant here within a four-block walk of nearly any place. Le Cinquante-Sept is less than five minutes on foot from the hotel, and I thought you might like some fresh air and a chance to see a little of the streets of Paris?"

The prospect of not having to go too far from the hotel on her first evening in town seemed to appeal to Emily, whose svelte body relaxed visibly, as if in relief. Once Emily had donned the light coat that she wished to wear over her cocktail dress, the two women took the elevator down to the lobby. Once again, in the tiny, cramped space, their bodies were pressed close together, so much that for an instant, the swells of their breasts caressed in a fleeting, intimate kiss.

For Marie-Claire, the reaction was immediate. Light dimples appeared on the front of her tight dress as her nipples stirred at the pleasurable contact. However, her demeanor remained professional, and she said nothing.

When they stepped out into the mildly warm evening air, relaxed with the promise of spring, the sidewalks were alive with groups of people on their way to dinner or perhaps a play or musical performance. Although it was far from crowded, Emily could see couples -- men with women, as well as pairs of women and even a few pairs of men -- all walking arm-in-arm. It startled her a little when Marie-Claire then offered to take her arm.

"It is not that I wish to be too intrusive, but only to let you try our ways here -- women friends, or mothers and daughters, or sisters, usually take each other's arms when they go out. It is...how shall I say it? It is more intime, but also a show of solidarity so that any ill-mannered or rough men will not bother them."

"Oh, well yes, thank you," Emily smiled brightly, and Marie-Claire guessed that she found the idea charming, if perhaps a little quaint. "When in Paris, I guess..."

"That is the spirit!" Marie-Claire acknowledged warmly and looped her arm through Emily's.

They walked like that for only a few blocks, but lovely blocks they were. Marie-Claire made a point of taking Emily along the river, where the lights of the city sparkled on the flowing river and many well-known monuments stood in stately half-shadow. The recently sand-blasted and restored facade of Notre Dame glowed golden in the surrounding light, clean and new again as it once had been before centuries' worth of soot and filth had accumulated.

After only a few minutes, Emily and Marie-Claire reached a small, elegant restaurant with a subdued, Belle Epoque exterior, and only its address, No. 57, painted above the door in gold. Marie-Claire opened the door for Emily and when they both entered, they were greeted by a quiet older man in the classic attire of a waiter: crisp white dress shirt, tailored black vest and slacks, and a white table-cloth wrapped around his waist like an apron.

"Bonsoir, mesdames," he greeted them in clipped, efficient tones that were nonetheless very warm and polite. When Marie-Claire announced who they were, he became even more genteel and courteous, treating the two ladies like royalty.

The waiter guided them to a lovely table in the corner, right near the front of the restaurant where they could enjoy the view of the river from the window. A white linen cloth covered the table atop which rested a small glass bowl of water in which floated a few, delicate, white flowers and some white votive candles. Other than that simple decor, the setting was very simple: elegant silverware and rolled white linen napkins encircled by simple silver bands.

No sooner were they seated comfortably in the plush, upholstered chairs that offset the spartan elegance of the table than the waiter offered them two menus and announced he would return with their champagne at once.

"I thought you might enjoy it, as a welcome to your vacation in Paris," Marie-Claire explained before directing Emily's attention to the menu. "As you see, it is in French, however I will translate for you. Are there any particular foods that you prefer, or any you dislike?"

 

[Lady_Kit]

When her companion arrived Emily admired the picture Marie-Claire made in her red dress. Though how on earth the woman could wear something that daring in public Emily didn’t know. The scooped neckline of her own dress seemed scandalously low, showing much more cleavage than she normally did. When their bodies touched briefly, breasts to breasts in the elevator, Emily became keenly aware of just how much skin was exposed. It was all the skin that had tingled ever since.

The walk was a welcome distraction from the elevator. Marie-Claire provided a casual commentary on the buildings they passed or the sites to be seen from one spot or another. It was a view of Paris from loving eyes. Emily enjoyed it immensely.

No. 57 was lovely. Simple, understated, elegant, like Marie-Claire. A distinguished waiter who ushered them to a table near the windows received them. Emily understood their table was in a prime location, and that Marie-Claire was well known and respected here. When the waiter left to retrieve a bottle of champagne Marie-Claire questioned Emily about her food preferences.

I like most things, and will try anything once. That isn’t much help, but the trouble is that I have no idea what real French cooking is like. Unless you count crusty bread, a wedge of brie, and a slice of pate. Thats the only thing I can postivly identify as "French." What I’m saying, rather badly is, that it might be best if you ordered for me, at least for tonight. Once I’m a little more familiar with things, I’ll see if I can feed myself.

“Do not fear, you may leave yourself in my hands.” Marie-Claire assured her with a wave of one of those graceful hands; a gesture that Emily already identified with her companion. Emily smiled both at the fluttering hand and the confidence in the lilting French voice. Both seemed utterly charming.

You’re probably wondering why I came to Paris…under the circumstances, that is. Of course you’d never ask, but if I don’t tell you, you won’t really know what it is I hope to find.

Emily leaned forward, the candlelight glowed gently on her skin and deepened the blue of her eyes. She was earnest in her speech, needing for some reason to make Marie-Claire understand that Emily had her own reasons for visiting Paris. This wasn’t just some masochistic post-breakup trip she was taking.

I came to Paris because my Grandfather fell in love with Edith Piaf. He said that seeing her Paris changed his life. I’m hoping it will change mine too. I’m not lovesick, or sensitive about the whole honeymoon thing. I am hurt, and my ego is a little bruised, but I’ll get over it. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone to massage away some of those bruises.

Marie-Claire was saved from the awkwardness of an immediate response by arrival of the champagne; she turned to examine the expertly presented bottle. Emily watched Marie-Claire, aware that the refined woman was probably unused to learning so much about a client so quickly. If at all. She hadn’t meant to cause any discomfort, she’d apologize when they were alone again.

 

[Arioso]

"My dear lady," Marie-Claire began, after a significant pause. "Forgive me if I am too bold in saying so, but it seems that you are hoping to restore your faith in love here. You speak of your grandfather, a man you cared for and admired, yes? He lived his life in a way that you would like to live yours, with an appreciation for the richness and vitality of experience, and a taste for that which is tender and beautiful. You are a thoughtful woman, then. Très bien. Ah, Jean-Pierre is returning to take our order, excuse me for but a moment."

Marie-Claire turned to the discreet, efficient waiter and crisply ordered the same meal for Emily and herself.

"Pour commencer deux salades de chèvre chaud. Ensuite nous désirons le magret de canard, et une bouteille de Chateauneuf du pape."

The well-groomed man nodded succinctly at the order and left as swiftly and silently as he'd arrived. Marie-Claire smiled at Emily and explained, "I ordered for us both some typically French entrees and main courses. We will begin with a salad of lettuce with goat cheese on toasted bread. Then we will have a breast of duck in wine sauce, with roasted potatoes and sauteed vegetables. I hope you like red wine, for I also ordered us a bottle of their Chateauneuf du pape, which is very good."

"Thank you," Emily acknowledged, with a smile that made her blue eyes sparkle in the candlelight. Again, Marie-Claire found herself wondering how her fiancé could ever have left her. "I'm sure it will be fine. As I said, I'm willing to try anything once."

"Well said, by a woman of courage," Marie-Claire declared. Jean-Pierre was approaching once again, this time with two flutes of pale golden champagne. When he had set them before both women, Marie-Claire raised hers and offered Emily a toast. "To your Parisian adventure: may it restore your faith."

Emily grinned back her so gracefully yet shyly that Marie-Claire found her heart warming to this poignant woman...perhaps more than it should toward a client. But it was all right, she would still keep herself professional. They clinked their glasses together and each took a brief sip of the light, almost angelic champagne.

"I hope you will forgive me if I confess that I had assumed you would wish to avoid the Paris of romance completely. But now I see that I was mistaken," Marie-Claire explained delicately but forthrightly. Her rich, sable eyes fixed on Emily in a steady, appraising gaze, as enigmatic as a cat's stare. She weighed her sense of Emily for several moments before continuing. "For you, a little of your grandfather's Piaf, perhaps, but not only that. The Paris of Piaf is charming, familiar and comforting -- but for you, we need also a little of the breathtaking, the unexpected treasure that is subtle yet inspiring. And...well...I hesitate to suggest..."

"What? What would you suggest?"

Emily leaned forward in her seat with that soft, restrained eagerness of someone whose soul has been soothed by the simple kindness of another person finding her interesting again. That gave Marie-Claire the resolve she needed to make her rather unconventional suggestion.

"There is a very fine boutique I know that specializes in lingerie -- they do nothing else. If you had wanted to do any shopping in Paris, it is there that you should do it. For while you can enjoy seeing some of the art we have here, their creations will make you feel like a work of art. And why not return home with something that reminds you that you are a work of art?"

Marie-Claire hoped that she had not overstepped the bounds of decorum by suggesting something so personal, and yet Emily seemed to have wanted to be very open.

 

[Lady_Kit]

The idea of French lingerie skittered around Emilys head until she felt her cheeks grow warm and pink. Lace, delicate embroidery, fine stitching, fabric so soft it felt like a lovers breath against your skin. Emily had imagined it, pictured it, had even tried to shop for it on the Internet though in her heart she knew that to buy Parisian lingerie one must go to Paris. Her pleasure faded as she was reminded of the reason she had searched for such intimate garments; her wedding night. Emily gave herself a mental shake. No self-pity! She would not think of who she was not buying linger for, but instead buy it for herself. And, a girl never knew when something lacy might be required.

If I’m a work of art I’m sure I must be paint-by-numbers, Marie-Claire, but, if bits of lace and fabric can make me feel otherwise, I’m game. Besides, what woman in her right mind would come to Paris and Not buy lingerie? I think that should go on the itinerary.

Marie-Claire smiled and nodded as if to confirm that Emily had made the right decision.

As to the “Paris of romance…” Can one appreciate that Paris when one is alone, Marie-Claire?

She hadn’t meant the words to come from her mouth with such a note of sadness. Nor had she meant any disrespect to Marie Claire, who was of course her companion and proof that she would not be totally alone. Emily reached out and let her cool fingers lightly clasp the delicate hand of Marie Claire. She smiled, the movement of her lips slow and genuine. Then she spoke, her voice was sincere, full of warmth.

But of course, I am not alone. I have my lovely companion, Marie Claire. And the Paris of the Little Sparrow. And the Unexpected Paris. And the search for the treasures to be found in Parisian boutiques.

Emily felt the smile touch her eyes, and with it a hint of moisture. The ache in her heart eased a little. She felt some of her spirit return. It was as if the promise of a brief interlude from her cares, the thought of an adventure gave back a bit of the woman that was stolen when her fiancé left. Blue eyes sparkled like the wine as Emily raised her glass and tilted toward Marie Claire.

To Paris and all that may be found here.

 

[Arioso]

"To true works of art that have yet to be discovered," Marie-Claire replied, lightly tapping the crystal rim of her wine glass to Emily's.

She smiled at the other woman to conceal the inner concern she felt for Emily's wounded self-esteem. Paint by numbers? How could she not appreciate how lovely and charming she was?

With empathy, Marie-Claire rested her free hand atop Emily's which had covered hers. Gently, she stroked the silky skin of Emily's wrist with her thumb, wondering how she might make this woman feel special. As she let her thumb trace lazy circles over the tender flesh where the pulse ran closest to the surface, Marie-Claire thought for a moment that she saw a flush rise to her companion's cheeks. Surely not...no...

Their salads arrived, and Marie-Claire picked up her knife and fork, slicing a morsel of toasted bread topped with goat cheese before spearing some lettuce to go with it. The vinaigrette was simple yet perfectly balanced with the other ingredients.

"I think you can appreciate the Paris of romance, Emily, ma chère, alone or not," Marie-Claire assured her in between leisurely bites. "You have a taste for beauty, and the sensitivity to appreciate what it means to be loved. You would not hurt so much if you did not. To be hurt in love is to cling to the very thing that pains you, as if you did not wish to remove the smoldering coals that were charring your heart because, deep down, you hope that those coals will be the embers that will kindle another fire someday."

Emily's eyes flared with -- well, Marie-Claire wasn't certain of the emotion she saw within. However, the blush that painted Emily's cheeks yet again, and her soft response suggested to Marie-Claire that perhaps she'd spoken too boldly.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to wear my sadness like an old coat--" her soft lips delicately traced out her apology before Marie-Claire interrupted.

"Please, do not apologize, it is I who spoke indiscreetly and without consideration -- and when you should be able to enjoy the excellent preparations of our chef, no less!" Marie-Claire finished with a flair, her eyes twinkling as she attempted to lighten the mood.

To her delight, Emily's answering smile brightened her entire face, making it glow against her golden hair like the soft light of the candles that flickered throughout the restaurant.

As they continued their meal, Marie-Claire explained a little about the restaurant where they were eating -- how the chef was still young and relatively unknown, but that the owner of the restaurant was renowned for discovering budding talent and giving an up-and-coming star the freedom to develop his own style. Soon, their breast of duck arrived, sliced into effortless bites and glistening with wine sauce. They continued eating and chatting, with Emily asking questions about the city she was to visit, and eventually one or two hesitant questions about Marie-Claire's life.

"I have a nice but small apartment in the Marais -- all apartments in Paris are small, unless you live in the sixteenth arrondissement," Marie-Claire explained with a broad grin. "And I enjoy the work I do with the agence, where I have been for about three years. It allows me to meet interesting people, like you, and turn my passions for good living into a calling, if you will."

"I think it's wonderful to be happy in what you do," Emily agreed with an almost envious sigh. "So, is this what you see for your future? Or are there other plans you have as well?"

"Aside from ordering dessert?" Marie-Claire joked. She was pleased when Emily rewarded her with a soft, melodious laugh. Ahh...that was the sound she had been hoping to hear. "At the moment, I am content to keep doing what I do. Perhaps someday, I shall want to travel, or perhaps write for a magazine. I should love to write pieces that open windows for someone else, that transport them even if they cannot go themselves to a place."

For a moment, Marie-Claire wondered if she dared ask Emily about her own plans and hopes for the future...yet she hesitated, knowing that perhaps that would be too delicate a subject for a woman whose fiance had left her.

She was spared from the need to continue when Jeannette, the owner of the restaurant and a past lover of Marie-Claire's, approached the table to greet her guests.

"Bonsoir, Mesdames," came Jeannette's warm welcome. She rested her hand lightly on Marie-Claire's shoulder, her green eyes twinkling affectionately before she looked to Emily and extended her hand. As Emily shook her proffered hand, Marie-Claire noted that both of them had similarly lustrous, golden hair, even if Jeannette's was cut in a much more severe style than Emily's.

"Marie-Claire has told me it is your first visit to Paris," Jeannette continued. "I hope you will enjoy your stay here, madame. Has the meal been to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you, it has been fine," Emily acknowledged.

Marie-Claire sipped her wine while the two other women chatted for a few moments longer. Then, when Jeannette excused herself, she leaned down and brushed two swift, light kisses against Marie-Claire's cheeks and a third on Marie-Claire's lips. Their mouths caressed for only a fleeting second -- not the lingering, sensual kiss of those who were still lovers, but with more affection than was usually shared between plain friends.

When Marie-Claire glanced back at her dining companion, she saw the deep, crimson flush on Emily's cheeks. At once, Marie-Claire reproached herself inwardly for making her client feel so uncomfortable.

"Please forgive me, Emily. I should not have been so open. Jeannette is a very old and dear friend," Marie-Claire apologized. She should have remembered that Americans were oddly uncomfortable with the love shared between two women or two men. Would Emily find it unbearable to have a guide who was a lesbian? Perhaps Marie-Claire should warn her agence that Emily might be requesting an alternate companion for her stay here. However, in an effort to ease the tension, Marie Claire deftly changed the subject and asked, "Have you any preferences for dessert? Remember, you are on vacation -- you can choose your heart's desire without any guilt whatsoever."

 

[Lady_Kit]

I am on vacation, I can choose my hearts desire without guilt. Emily let the concept settle into her mind. For a moment, the idea seemed too big, the freedom it implied hard to grasp. She felt it pressing against the boundaries of her conscience. Thrusting into her like a new lover who is a little larger, a little longer and little thicker than the last. A brief bit of pain, before the pleasure.

But it was true. She had neither friend nor family to witness her behavior here. She could be anyone she wanted. She could do whatever she wanted. Emily settled her gaze on Marie-Claire, she could be with whomever she wanted. Is that what she wanted? What Marie-Claire wanted?

Emily had seen the way that Jeannette touched Marie-Claire, and the response it drew. She still felt lingering a warmth from the sight of them together. Their kiss was more than polite, or even that of "dear friends." The moment wasn't sexual, but somehow coordinated; as if their bodies knew one another well. It had been a kiss of old lovers, yet even with age, one more tender than Emily had ever experienced. She took another sip of her wine, knowing even as she watched her hand tremble that she was indulging in false courage. She took a second sip to wash away the thought. Her head cleared for a moment, and she saw the opportunity few ever have, to change her life, to test a new attitude. To open herself to possibilities.

“Emily? If you are too fatigued for dessert we can leave…?”

Marie-Claire raised her hand slightly. Emily watched her summon the waiter and knew he would soon be told to bring the check and call for their car, but it was too soon to leave.

What? Oh, no, Marie-Claire. I’m fine, wonderful, actually, though I’m not sure if it’s the wine, the company, or sleep deprivation. I was just wool-gathering, thinking of what it would mean to be able to live outside the bounds of ones daily routine; to have a life without care or responsibilities to anyone else.

Too bad that doesn’t work with calories. I can’t help but count those, so you’d better order dessert. In fact, I would very much like to put all the decisions in your hands, Marie-Claire. After all, I expected to make this journey with a new mate, I was prepared to give myself over…completely…

Part of her, the rational common-sense Emily meant only to say that she had made no plan for Pairs, that was to have been Stephens gift, his sharing of this beautiful city. All the preparations beyond the travel reservations had been kept quiet. The other part, the part that made her heart pound with anticipation, the part that wanted what she had seen when she watched the kiss between Marie-Claire and Jeannette. She swallowed at the implications of what she realized she wanted. Could Emily give herself to Marie-Claire the way she would have given herself to her new husband?

The waiter arrived at their table, smiled politely and waited for instructions.

“Will you have dessert, Emily?” Marie-Claire asked, and Emily felt the weight of the unspoken question.

Yes, but you’ll have to guide me. I’m afraid that my palate isn’t used French delicacies.

The play of words was stimulating in a way that conversations with men seldom were. It suddenly seemed like a grand game to Emily, something that engaged her mind in a new way. She wasn’t sure what would happen next. That was up to Marie-Claire. If Emily had misread the situation, she’d probably just lost herself a companion; and she’d be lucky to avoid a lawsuit. If she was right, she’d just effectively said she’d be open to an intimate relationship with Marie-Claire, expressed an interest in a holiday affair. Or that she’d like dessert.