“A few times a year,” she answered. “I have three sisters there. Two in New York and one in L.A. We’re very close, and as different as night and day, or ‘chalk and cheese’ as the British say. We don’t even look related. One of them is a fashion designer, Venetia Wade, my next oldest sister is a superior court judge, and my sister in L.A. is a TV chef and food guru.”
He was amused. “That’s quite a variety. It must have been fun at your house when you were growing up. What did your father do?”
“He was in finance, and grounded all of us. That’s a lot of female energy under one roof. He handled it very well and was very supportive of my mother’s work. We still have a great time when we get together. Two of them just came over for a week in August with their families. My oldest sister, the foodie, has dogs instead of children.” He laughed.
“Smart girl.”
“I take it you’re not crazy about kids.” She was intrigued by that. He made occasional negative comments about children and marriage.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, pensive for a moment as their food arrived. “I’ve just never wanted any.” He wasn’t a warm, cozy person, but he was obviously very smart, which she did find appealing. He was so quick in his responses and thought processes. “I grew up in a scientific household. My father was a research scientist and worked for a big pharmaceutical company in Texas. My mother was a doctor. They wanted me to be a doctor too, but I’ve always been attracted to business. I find investments fascinating. I love entrepreneurial ventures. What does your ex-husband do, or shouldn’t I ask?” It jolted her when he called Nicolas her ex-husband, but she realized she had to get used to it, since he was going to be.
“He’s a writer, a novelist.” Gregory was intrigued by that.
“That must have been interesting. Bestsellers?”
She nodded. “He’s very well known here. It’s a pretty dull story otherwise. Several of his books have been made into movies. He had an affair with the star on his last one. The usual tabloid trash. They’re having a baby in a couple of weeks.”
He winced when she said it. “Wow, I bet that hurt. You filed for divorce, I assume.”
“I’m working on it. I just started the process. It took me a few months to catch my breath.”
“I’m sorry, Nadia. That must have been nasty to live through. My last divorce was small potatoes compared to that, although finding her getting it on with my trainer wasn’t a happy moment for me either. I moved out that night. I gave her the apartment. You can see why I’m not too keen on marriage. You do get over it, but it leaves scars.” She nodded, well aware that hers were still raw, even if she was feeling better.
“People have affairs here all the time. It’s the one part of French life I’ve never adapted to. I don’t see the point of being married and cheating.”
“How are your kids doing?”
“We’re getting through it. It’s an adjustment. And they’re not too happy about the baby. It’s a boy, which will be a big deal for my husband, since he’s French.”
“It sounds like you’ve been through the wringer,” he said gently, and touched her hand. When he did, it surprised her and she looked across the table at him, and smiled.
“Thank you. It’s been hard, and the whole thing was a shock. I couldn’t have gotten through it without my sisters. They wanted him burned at the stake. I still have to deal with him. He’s my children’s father.”
“That’s another reason not to have kids. It ties you to the bad spouses forever. I’d rather cut my losses and run. All I lost in the divorce, other than money, was a dog. I miss him, but he’s happy with her. I can always get another dog. I might get one here.” He didn’t seem emotionally tied to anyone or anything.
He was so different from the men she knew, so unattached and unencumbered, and he seemed to like his life that way. She wondered if he got lonely but didn’t know him well enough to ask, and he was a client after all.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asked, wanting to know more about him too.
“No, I’m an only child.”
“So is my husband, and one of my nephews. It’s very different. My nephew is very adult for his age, he’s never around kids except in school.”
“That’s how it was for me too. I liked it. I thought other kids were silly. In retrospect, I think I never really had a childhood. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. It gave me a head start as an adult. I didn’t waste a lot of time on beer bongs and frat parties. I was already an adult when I got to college.” He certainly was one now. She realized that that was what was different about him. He wasn’t playful, and there wasn’t a boyish side of him, despite his good looks. He was an adult through and through. In a way, she felt sorry for him and wondered what he did for fun. He was so disciplined and focused on his work. Every meeting had a purpose, even their lunch. It was so he could get to know her better, because she was his decorator. She served a purpose in his life. If she weren’t his designer, she was sure he would never have taken her to lunch. She was certain he was smart in business, but she wondered how intelligent he was about life. The difference between French men and American men was that the French liked to play and have fun. They loved talking to other people. When she had guests over, they stayed late into the night to talk philosophy or politics, or about life. It wasn’t just about eating at night, working by day, set on a straight path like a robot. Gregory was almost like a very handsome bionic man. There wasn’t much fantasy there. If he had spare time he probably went to the gym and worked out. He didn’t call a friend and meet for coffee. American men were different. French men were warmer and more appealing to her.
She loved the way she and Nicolas could talk into the wee hours, chasing an idea, or arguing over an abstract concept. Nicolas was a philosopher, an observer of the human condition, until he went mad over Pascale. Gregory was all about money, how to make it, how to keep it, how to invest it and make it grow. It was a different mindset. On the other hand, he was probably more disciplined and reliable than any of the men she’d known. As he said, he was an adult, and had been all his life.
They lingered over lunch, then he paid the check, they left the hotel, and walked to the Place Vendôme, where he headed to the hotel and she hailed a cab.
“Thank you for a lovely lunch and time with you, Gregory,” she said warmly.
“Call me Greg. I loved it. We’re going to do a great house together, Nadia.”
“I think so too.” She smiled at him.
She slid into the cab, and he waved as the taxi pulled away, to take her back to the Left Bank. The girls weren’t home yet, and she walked into her office and sat down at the desk. Greg was fascinatingly American. He had none of the tousled, casual, slightly off look of French men. He was so clean-cut and straight as an arrow. Nadia couldn’t imagine him doing something silly or childish or making a fool of himself. There was something sexy but stiff about him. And whatever he was, he seemed like a nice man. She couldn’t imagine herself dating him, even once she got free of Nicolas. She was nowhere near that yet. She couldn’t envision herself dating anyone, and certainly not a client. But for now, no matter what she told herself about him, or how unworthy he was, she still felt married to Nicolas, and wondered how long that would last. Her ties to him still held her fast. But in time those ties would dissolve. That was her mission now, to sever all the ties she had to Nicolas. She had already started the process.