How did women meet men when they reached her age? She imagined herself filling in an online profile. What would she say about herself?
Predictable, boring, organized.
Or perhaps she’d learn to relish her single status and travel the world alone. She’d read an article on the plane: You Don’t Need a Man to Be Happy.
Grace didn’t need a man. She needed David. Her best friend. But he, apparently, didn’t need her.
What if he and Lissa had a child together? Sophie would have a stepfamily. What if she chose to spend holidays with her dad, Lissa and the new baby? Grace would hover around the edges of her life.
No! She wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t going to think ahead and make herself miserable.
Fighting her thoughts, she dried her hair, sent a message to both Mimi and Monica, letting them know she’d arrived safely, and then called Sophie.
She was trying hard not to be an intrusive parent, but she needed to hear her daughter’s voice.
“Hi, Mom!” Sophie sounded bubbly and happy. There was the sound of chatter and laughter in the background.
Grace smiled. “Where are you?”
“In a bar. We met a bunch of really fun people. We’re practicing our Spanish.”
A bar? Grace checked her watch to see what time it was in Seville. “You’re having fun?”
“It’s awesome. We went to a great party last night.”
Grace frowned. Sophie had never been a party animal. She’d always been quiet and studious. The only boy she’d ever been interested in was Sam. “Be careful, won’t you?”
“Mom, this is me you’re talking to. I don’t know how to be anything but careful.”
The noise in the background grew louder and Sophie had to shout to be heard.
“I’d better go, Mom. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay! Love you.” Grace hung up, missing David more than ever. She wished she had someone to share the anxiety with.
There was Monica, of course, but her friend worried more than she did.
To distract herself, she pulled out the map her grandmother had given her.
She wished Mimi had agreed to come to Paris with her, then she could have shown Grace all her favorite places in person instead of simply drawing them on a map.
Perhaps she’d go for a stroll before dinner, but first she’d lie down just for a few minutes.
She woke three hours later, disorientated and with less than fifteen minutes until her dinner reservation.
She sprang off the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that was a combination of jet lag and months of sleep deprivation.
She applied her makeup, slid into a dress that was smart but not too over-the-top, grabbed her bag and made her way to dinner. On her own.
She could read a book, but she’d left hers on the plane and hadn’t yet bought another. After dinner she’d find that bookshop her grandmother had talked about, but for now she was going to have to stare out of the window and try hard not to look as if her husband had abandoned her.
The moment she entered the restaurant, she knew this had been a mistake.
This wasn’t a place where single women came to gaze out of windows. This was a place for romance and fine dining.
She was about to turn around and head back to her room, when the headwaiter spotted her.
“Madame Porter.”