Excerpt!

 A Manahttan Heiress in Paris is debuting next week!!!  I can't believe it!  Let's take a sneak peek.  (It's snowing here AGAIN, so I'm escaping into a Seine-side picnic with Jack and Eliza...)

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She slipped on a pair of tinted glasses against the bright day and turned toward the patisserie on the corner to find some macarons. She passed cafes, waiters sweeping the pavements outside as a few morning customers lingered over coffees, ladies rushing past in their stylish suits and summer dresses, their feathered hats, children chasing dogs and rolling their hoops toward the gardens, the elegant, pale stone houses dotted with bright flower boxes rising up above her toward the clear turquoise sky. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the windows, and barely recognized herself in her new striped dress, the smile on her lips she couldn’t suppress. It felt like something new, something strange and wonderful, was just beyond the touch of her fingertips now.

When she came out with her macarons in their neat little, beribboned box, she glimpsed Jack waiting at the end of the street, carrying a bottle of wine. He also wore tinted glasses, and his new gray suit that fit so well over his gorgeous shoulders, flowers in the crook of one arm. For a moment, he looked so distant, so far-away from her, a beautiful mirage. She couldn’t breathe as she stopped just to look at him, couldn’t walk even a step, she was so stunned by him all over again.

He turned his head and saw her, and a smile burst across his face as he removed his glasses. He waved and started toward her, and Eliza felt as if she was suddenly launched into the sun. She rushed toward him, and impulsively went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

He stiffened a tiny bit, his gaze darting over her head, and she shivered as she stepped back. She suddenly felt terribly embarrassed by her need to kiss him, be near him. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

He gave her a gentle smile. “You never could, bird girl. It’s just—it’s such a crowd here…”

“Oh.” Like a cold wave of water washing over her, she remembered how some people at home would have reacted to seeing her touch him there on the street, the trouble they might have gotten into. She glanced around, and just saw people hurrying past them, not even looking at them. One couple even kissed under a signpost at the end of the street, entwined around each other. “But this is Paris! Look at all the couples pretending they’re the only ones in the whole world. Like those people over there!” She waved toward the kissing couple. “I do think they are just about to consummate their wedding vows…”

Jack laughed, and the sweet, lilting, light sound made her relax and smile again. “You’re right. Paris is a new beginning, oui?”

“Oui, bien sur, monsieur,” she agreed firmly.

“And these are for you.” He handed you the bouquet he held, fragrant dark pink roses and white lilacs bound with a creamy ribbon. “They smell a bit like your perfume.” He took the heavy basket from her, tucking his wine inside.

“Do they?” she said in delight, taking a deep breath of the velvety petals. She could hardly believe the thought that he considered her, even remembered her perfume, when they weren’t together.

“Shall we? We need to find the perfect spot along the river, I think.” He held out his hand to her.

Eliza stared down at it, feeling the largeness, the momentousness, of that gesture. She slid her fingers into his, and they closed around her, warm and safe.

Such a tiny, tiny thing, one hand in another on a sunny day. Just for a second, it felt as if the world tilted on its axis, the sky slashing overhead, the river cresting. Then it all settled into absolute perfection.

“Shall we find that spot, then?” she said. “I’m absolutely famished! The lady at the boulangerie said if we walk this way, we can find the best view of Notre-Dame.”

They went down the side street, past toy shops and milliners and book stalls, past concierges staring out their doorways, and at the end climbed down slippery stone steps to the cobbled walkway along the river, still holding hands. They talked of music and art, of Paris museums they wanted to see, and laughed at small boys dashing past with their toy boats, all perfectly ordinary, perfectly wonderful. Eliza wished every day could be just like that.

Along the Seine, they did find a spot with a view of the cathedral, bridges sparkling in the sunlight, artists with their easels capturing the scene. Jack spread out the blanket and poured glasses of the sunset-pink rose wine as Eliza dished out the delicacies she’d spent the morning gathering in the shops. She tucked one of her new roses behind her ear, just under the narrow brim of her white straw hat, and pinned the other to his suit lapel. It was quite a lovely excuse to touch him again.

“Salut,” she said, clinking her glass to his.

“Salut.” He leaned back and studied the sun-lit stones of the cathedral, a small smile on his lips. It made Eliza’s heart warm to see him so relaxed, so happy, in that moment. “Have you ever seen anything so glorious in your life, Eliza?”

Only you, she thought. She tilted back her face to let the sun wash over her, listening to the echo of laughter on the water, the bark of dogs, the ringing of church bells and the splash of waves as a bateau glided past on the water. She dangled her feet over the edge of the embankment, and popped a bit of glorious, gooey cheese into her mouth. “Never. I could never have imagined my life would be—this. If today was a song, what do you think it would be?”