Twenty-One Nights in Paris

Leonie Mack

Description

'An utterly gorgeous romantic read. It made me want to pack my bags for Paris!' Sandy Barker

Irena and Sacha come from two very different worlds.

An heiress to a fortune, Ren’s home-from-home is the Ritz, while the handsome and brooding Sacha has grown up in Paris’s less salubrious suburbs. So when an accident brings them together, romance seems an unlikely outcome.

When Ren’s society engagement reaches a very public end, Irena’s over-protective grandmother wants her home in London. Ren needs an excuse to stay in Paris, and so after some persuasion, Sacha agrees to pose as her new boyfriend. But only for the twenty-one days Ren's grandmother has allowed her to nurse her broken heart before heading home to face the music.

Over the course of three weeks, Ren realises the world outside her exclusive bubble is more beautiful than she could have imagined. While Sacha reluctantly begins to see the goodness of the woman behind the wealth. When their time is up, will Ren want to return to her gilded cage, and will Sacha be able to let go of the woman he’s been ‘pretending’ to fall in love with…

Let Leonie Mack whisk you off to the City of Lights for a tale of love against the odds, and of following your dreams. Perfect for fans of Mandy Baggot, Jo Thomas and Sarah Morgan.

‘I love her beautiful settings and brooding heroes!' Sarah Bennett

What readers are saying about Leonie Mack:

‘This is one of those books where you want to get to the end but you also don't want it to end because you know you're going to miss it when it's done. A great read.’

‘Ah the romance – I really loved every moment, as the two main characters I’d really taken to my heart fought that magnetic pull between them when you really, really wanted them to have their happy ending. This was one of those perfect summer reads, but with a depth and emotion that was particularly satisfying – most definitely one I’d recommend to others.’

‘A burst of pure joy… It has all the feel good elements needed for an irresistible romance you can’t help but root for, even though you know the odds aren’t in their favour!

'Beautifully written, this is a great take on the opposites attract theme.'

Sujets

• Mashups
• Billionaires
• Holidays
• World Literature
• Humorous
• Coming of Age
• Friendship
• Contemporary history
• Billionaire
• Romantic Comedy
• General officer
• 21st Century
• City Life
• General
• Holiday
• Contemporary
• Paris
• Family Life
• Romance
• Fiction
• France
• Europe

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 06 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804158289
• Langue: English

Extrait

TWENTY-ONE NIGHTS IN PARIS



LEONIE MACK
For my dear friend Sarah R – so many good times (including in Paris) and many more to come
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue


Acknowledgments

More from Leonie Mack

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1

‘Why is he holding his own severed head?’ Ren grimaced at the chipped stone sculpture propped up on her friend Malou’s desk. It wasn’t the usual beaux-art or haute couture found at a fine art auction, but the grisly sculpture was certainly antique.
When Malou didn’t answer, Ren glanced around the cluttered office, tucked up under the slate roof of the stately stone building. If she pressed her face to the glass of the dormer window, Ren could make out the dreamy, slender pyramid of the Eiffel Tower past the chimneys and rooftops. On the floors below her were the extensive Paris galleries of Asquith-Lewis, the renowned auction house and fine art dealer. The tree-lined Avenue des Champs-Élysées paraded by around the corner, the grand axis of an illustrious city.
‘He carried his head from Montmartre to the monastery in Saint-Denis,’ Malou finally explained, carefully turning the statue and making notes as she examined it. Ren waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.
‘You’d think he’d put it in a bag or something,’ Ren muttered, but Malou was deep in her work and Ren was only distracting her. As she was now technically her best friend’s employer, she probably shouldn’t do that. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure he’d look good on my mantlepiece,’ she commented.
‘I know, your precious Instagram aesthetic, courtesy of the Asquith-Lewis social media experts. But this one comes from the estate of Pierre Leclercq. That alone is enough to sell it.’
Ah, yes, the important work of winning estate auctions, which her grandmother excelled at, while joking that it must be because she was close to the grave herself. Not that Ren believed her. Grandmama was too tenacious to ever fall off her perch.
She caught sight of a fragment of stained glass in a wooden frame, propped up on the desk behind the ghastly statue. It showed three men with crowns and coloured robes on a vibrant blue background, surrounded by thick, irregular leading.
‘This is perfect for an auction just before Christmas. Is that the Leclercq estate, too?’
‘He was something of a collector of historic artefacts, it seems,’ said Malou. ‘Since Game of Thrones was such a hit, this stuff is sure to fit someone’s aesthetic.’
‘Are you going to have dinner with me tonight?’ Ren asked. ‘I’m heading home on Sunday. If I have to do without you in London these days, you can at least let me buy you dinner at the Ritz once.’
‘Wouldn’t it be awkward, though? I think Charlie’s still mad at me for quitting.’
‘Charlie… didn’t come with me this trip.’
‘Oh? He always comes with you.’
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Ren mumbled around the lump in her throat.
‘Okay, I’ll come if I get to return the favour next time,’ Malou said with a grin. ‘There’s this fabulous Ivorian street food café around the corner from my apartment.’
‘What… kind of hygiene certificate does a street food café need?’
‘You are such a snob!’ Malou said fondly. ‘I have no idea why you’re my friend.’
Ren mustered a smile. She knew Malou was joking, but friendships were a sore point since she’d been forced to realise how few she truly had. She hated to think how lonely she would feel, now, if Malou hadn’t decided to befriend Ren five years ago simply because she liked her. ‘You know very well why you’re my friend,’ Ren said defensively.
‘Because you needed to make appointments to see your fiancé and I used to organise his diary!’ Malou laughed. ‘I was worried when I got this job and moved back to Paris that his new assistant would replace me.’
‘No one will ever replace you,’ Ren said earnestly. These days, she was dealing with Charlie’s new assistant so she didn’t have to see the man himself. ‘If I wasn’t so happy for you that you got this job, I would be annoyed that you left me.’
‘I left Charlie. Never you.’ Leaving Charlie might turn out to be another thing they had in common, Ren thought bitterly.
‘But okay, let’s go for dinner. Anywhere but the Ritz,’ Malou insisted.
‘What’s wrong with the Ritz?’
‘You never leave the Ritz. I’m not suggesting you suddenly get your hair braided or a tattoo, but there are nineteen other arrondissements of Paris you’ve never visited – or eighteen, since you obviously come here to the eighth occasionally.’
‘I’ve been to the seventh, too.’
‘Ah, of course. To visit the Tour Eiffel, I assume?
‘No, the Musée d’Orsay. I’ve never been up the Eiffel Tower.’ Ren glanced at the window and stifled a sigh. ‘I should leave you to it. Text me when you’re done for the day and meet me at the Ritz.’
‘I said not the Ritz!’
‘Just meet me there.’
‘You’re hoping to lure me into l’Espadon!’ Malou accused, not without grounds. L’Espadon was Ren’s favourite of the restaurants at the Ritz.
‘Just think: scallops, or pork medallions in jus – or lobster salad!’
‘And I’m thinking you’re afraid of change,’ Malou replied. Her friend had no idea.
Ren’s phone buzzed and she fetched it out of her pristine white leather handbag. When she saw the short message, her breath deserted her. Her throat seized up. No … Not now. Not like this. She hadn’t finished preparing the company, her grandmother – the world – for this.
Oh, God, she’d held it all together for nothing. Shit!
‘Are you okay?’
She fumbled to shut down her screen before Malou saw. Not that it mattered. Those four words in the text message meant even Malou would find out – probably before the day was out.
Shit! Just before Christmas, before year-end. The investors would have a meltdown, after everything her grandmother had done to build up the business.
As if on cue, her phone rang, Grandmama’s face flashing up on the screen. She quickly silenced the call. Sorry, I’ve been lying to you for six months while I tried to work out how to save our image after Charlie dumped me didn’t feel like something she could blurt out over the phone.
‘Ren? Seriously, you’re scaring me. You look white as a sheet!’
‘I have to go – now.’
‘Go?’
‘Back to London. I’m sorry about dinner.’
‘Is your family all right? Charlie?’
‘Yes, everyone’s okay.’ At least until her grandmother had a heart attack at the news. She twisted the marquise-cut diamond ring on her finger in agitation. She’d been wearing the four carats of vintage Cartier on her left hand for over a year, but now it felt like it was burning.
Ren wanted to flee back to the Ritz, dive under the embroidered silk duvet and forget who she was. Unfortunately, the world would always remind her that she was Irena Asquith-Lewis, and by the end of the day, she knew her name would be splashed all over the news.
Without stopping to kiss Malou on the cheek, she stumbled out of her friend’s office and clutched the banister of the grand marble staircase as she made her way through the galleries to street level. She dismissed the photographer and the social media assistant who were waiting for her in the lobby. She had to get back to London and formulate a new plan, even if it meant talking to Charlie.
Ren burst out of the double doors and fumbled for her phone to call her Paris driver. The message was still there.


Everyone knows. I’m sorry.
She swiped it away and made the phone call.
Bilel was much too diplomatic to comment on the fact that Ren was quietly hyperventilating in his Mercedes. He took her to the Ritz and waited while she threw her things into a suitcase and hastily settled her bill. Less than half an hour later, her assistants had sent a ticket to her phone and she was on her way to the Gare du Nord for a five o’clock train.
She might have been nervous about travelling alone in the gathering dusk, but she was too worried about Grandmama, and about how they would fix this mess, to care. She’d had six months to find a solution of her own and had failed.
The boulevards of Paris were a blur as she stared out of the window without seeing. It felt as if everything had fallen apart at once. Six months, she’d held onto her sanity, her despair, keeping the secret, and now it was all for nothing.
Charlie Routledge didn’t want to marry her. What that meant for the proposed merger of their family businesses – the eminently sensible union of a real estate empire and a centuries-old auction house – was unclear, but Ren was sure it wouldn’t be good.
And what it meant for Ren herself? She was an heiress and a socialite, the personification of the Asquith-Lewis brand that traded on exclusivity and mixing in elite social circles. But she was also thirty and now single, with a lifestyle that made it almost impossible to meet people.
Charlie had been perfect. He was an old family friend, good-natured and attractive, and they had a lot in common, she’d thought. He’d shared Ren’s commitment to her aspirational social media feeds and the expectations of the family business. Apparently that just hadn’t been enough for him.
The black car slowed in traffic and Ren roused herself to some kind of attention. The red lights of the car in front were out of focus. The windscreen wipers were on full. The boulevard shone in the dim light of the waning December afternoon as the car rolled to a slow stop.
‘I’m so sorry, Mademoiselle Ren,’ Bilel said.