‘Real or fake?’ he asked. Delaying, Nick stopped in front of a patisserie shop to admire an Eiffel Tower made of multi-coloured macarons. ‘D’you reckon they’re made out of cardboard?’
He looked infuriatingly like a little boy with his nose pressed to the sweet shop glass. Layla studied the tower of rainbow colours. She didn’t like being annoyed with him. But if he was going to be this blind and stubborn about something so important, he should have kept his secret to himself. ‘I’ve no idea. They look real to me.’
‘I’ll be back in moment. I’m going to find out.’ He disappeared into the shop, and returned shortly later carrying a box.
‘Well?’ Layla raised an eyebrow. ‘Real?’
‘I’ve no idea. My schoolboy French isn’t as good as I thought. They didn’t have the faintest idea what I was talking about.’ He held open the box, offering it to her and plucking out a strawberry one. ‘I got these, though. On the house.’ He took a bite. ‘Mmm! Turns out the patisserie shop ladies are Vampires fans.’
She picked out a pale green macaron. ‘Being a telly vampire has its perks.’ She took a bite. Sugar and pistachio hit her tastebuds. ‘What’s Mercy of the Vampires in French?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
They walked to the Champs de Mars and sat on a bench gazing up at the massive structure and polishing off the irresistible macarons.
‘Better than vitamin goo?’ she teased.
He answered her with a total non sequitur.
‘Do you think you’ll ever want a baby?’
‘What? Where did that come from?’ Dodging the pang of emotion that hit her with his unexpected question, she added jokily, ‘Stop hogging the macarons.’ He passed her the box and she picked out a chocolate one even though she didn’t want it.
‘I was just thinking. I mean, I didn’t choose to be a dad.’
‘To be honest, I’m not sure if I want a family,’ she answered. She swallowed. Still startled by the question, it felt like she had a whole macaron stuck in her throat. ‘It’s strange, knowing I wasn’t planned.’ She hadn’t discussed any of this with Joe, and here she was having another heart-to-heart with a man she’d really only just met. ‘I love kids. But to tell you the truth I have a weird block when it comes to imagining having children of my own. I can’t picture it.’ Flustered, she added, ‘Maggie’s twins are sweet. So who knows? Maybe someday …’
She stood up, took the cake box to the nearest litter bin and dropped it in, tossing her uneaten macaron in after it.
‘You don’t approve of me wanting to leave things as they are as far as Beth’s concerned.’
‘It’s not for me to approve or disapprove, is it?’
‘I’d hate to be the reason for a messed-up child.’
‘Not meeting you could be just as messed up – for her. If I had a dad who didn’t want to know me, I’d be hurt.’ Nick’s fear of ruining his child’s life made her sad for Beth – and for him.
‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
She smiled. ‘You’re awesome. And you’ll be an awesome dad – if you stop inventing excuses.’
He stood and clasped her fingers in his, linking their hands as if they were meant to fit together. Then he raised her fingers to his lips and gently kissed them. ‘Ditto,’ he said, adding in the voice that was an unraveling combination softness and gravel, ‘You’re awesome too. And some day I bet you’ll be a brilliant mum.’ The gold charms on her bracelet shone in the sunlight. He abruptly changed the subject. ‘This bracelet must be very special. You never take it off. Not even when you paint.’
‘Oh, you know me and lucky charms.’ She shook her wrist so that they jingled. ‘It belonged to my grandmother.’
He pulled an awkward face. ‘The broken condom story grandma?’
‘Yep. The very same. She passed away suddenly. When my dad went through her things, he found an envelope labeled “For Layla”. This bracelet was inside. With a note. In beautiful flowing handwriting. And decorated with little pictures she’d drawn of all the different charms. “Be lucky in love” it said. The funny thing is – until she died – I was fairly certain my grandmother didn’t really like me.’
Nick studied the charms more closely, then he gave her a sexy half-smile. ‘I think you got that wrong.’
Nick’s heart hammered. Layla gripped his hand and they walked towards the Eiffel Tower. ‘You can’t put this off any longer,’ she coaxed. ‘You’ve distracted me with the Louvre, and with coffee and pie, and the best macarons Paris has to offer.’
‘To state the obvious – it’s a long way up.’
‘I know you don’t want to,’ she whispered kindly. ‘But we’ve run out of reasons not to go for it. We’ll climb up to the first stage on foot, and take the lift to the top. The queues are shorter and you’ll get a chance to acclimatize.’ Her eyes sparkled, and she almost succeeded in making him feel motivated.
As his feet touched the first set of stairs, he wished he hadn’t eaten so many macarons. If his nutritionist knew she’d be livid. What was he thinking? Not about the shoot tomorrow, clearly. His stomach heaved. The first couple of sets of stairs were surprisingly okay. So far, so good! As they climbed higher, all he could think about were the gaping gaps in the metal structure that his irrational brain said he could fall through regardless of the fact that he knew he couldn’t.
‘My legs feel strange. I wish I had a double to fall back on.’
‘Welcome to real life,’ she teased. ‘You’re doing great.’ She squeezed his hand.
Arriving at the first viewing level, adrenaline coursed through his veins and he searched for something to grab onto. Nausea clawed at his throat and every sense froze.
‘Look I know you mean well,’ he said, ‘but I think this is far enough.’
She kept a tight hold of his hand. ‘Breathe,’ she encouraged. She chipped gently away at his boundaries. He was used to getting what he wanted.
While they waited in line to take the lift to the very top his heartbeat settled. You can do this. And it will be so worth it. Because you’ll know what to expect tomorrow.
Inside the lift every muscle in his body tensed. When they finally stepped out onto the third viewing floor a mix of pure relief and trepidation flooded through him.
The viewing platform at the top of the tower was far bigger than he’d expected.
‘Breathe,’ Layla said again.
‘Because I might stop if you don’t remind me?’ He only half-joked. He breathed in deeply like she’d suggested. ‘This is my worst nightmare.’
‘Okay?’ She tightened her soft grip on his hand, and he felt surprisingly calm. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Not brilliant.’ He nodded slowly, thinking about it. ‘But okay!’
‘I read up about it online. Once you get above a certain height the distance cancels out the vertigo – for some people. That’s why often people who are afraid of heights are fine about flying.’
‘Weird.’
She smiled. ‘Let’s get some champagne and celebrate.’
‘I’ll go. You – enjoy the view.’ Relieved to have something to focus on he went to the champagne bar while she took photos with her phone. A strategically placed silver ice bucket full of beautiful red roses sat on the bar. ‘For the sake of romance, I’d better have one of those too,’ he told the barman.
By the time he returned with two glasses of champagne, one clenched tightly in each fist, the wobbly feeling in his legs had virtually gone. And he had a red rose jammed jauntily between his teeth.
Her dark eyes shone beneath fluttering lashes. ‘Ooh, pink bubbles.’ He unlocked his fingers to let her take a glass, surprised to feel her soft lips whisper against his cheek. ‘Now you have a lipstick print to go with that fetching rose.’
He removed it from his mouth with his free hand and offered it to her. ‘For you. This calls for a selfie.’
‘I should get a selfie-stick.’
He frowned. ‘That would be a step too far.’
She held up her phone, and he took it from her to do one of his long-armed shots.
‘Say Camembert,’ she cried.
‘No. I’ll look like I’ve seen a ghost if I say that,’ he objected.
‘Gruyère?’
‘Not much better. How about “she’ll sue”? It always works on the red carpet.’ None the wiser, two little frown lines appeared between her brows as they knitted. ‘Smile and pout,’ he explained. ‘You just keep saying “she’ll sue” over and over until you’re out of sight of the cameras. It’s guaranteed to prevent the paps catching you making a hideous face.
He demonstrated, but she shook her head.
‘I’m not convinced. And anyway, we’re not on the red carpet, so I’ll stick with “cheese”, if it’s all the same to you.’ He took the picture before she could say another word, his own mouth poised in a perfect pout.
Taking the phone back, she laughed. ‘You look like a pantomime dame!’
‘Perfect, that was the look I was going for.’
‘And I look sozzled – like I drank an entire bottle of pink champagne.’
‘Let’s take another,’ he said, ‘see if we can do better.’
The second selfie turned out half-reasonable. He braved more than a fleeting look at the view. The ground far below took on a feeling of unreality, the buildings, cars and people spread out below like a model city. She’d worked her magic on him and got him to the top of the Eiffel Tower. For the first time since he was a child he looked down at the ground and he wasn’t afraid.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘For this.’
She got it, she got him. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said after a long moment, ‘but you’re welcome.’
He’d let her get closer than anyone, but she was just passing through. He put on the brakes before he could do anything rash, like ask her to stay – indefinitely.
They finished the champagne and he took their empty glasses to the bar. He didn’t feel woozy, but Monday was only hours away and it was time for this to end.
‘I think it’s time to get back down to earth.’