Page 49 of Christmas at the Ranch
“I told you it would be fun,” Beatrix said when they were bothdrinking Silver Dollar Coffees—Jameson whiskey and coffee topped with whipped cream. She grinned at Samantha. “Though it’s nothing compared to the things you’re used to doing.”
“The things I’m used to?” Samantha repeated, puzzled.
“I started following you on Instagram,” Beatrix confessed. “The photo of you climbing into a helicopter in the middle of a snowstorm. You’re wearing that divine French ski suit, I googled the label so I could order it for myself.” She sipped her coffee. “And the one of you swimming in a cage with sharks. I saved it to show to Drew. It would be a wonderful thing to do on a belated honeymoon.”
The photo of Samantha getting into the helicopter had been taken at a photo studio in Queens. Samantha hadn’t felt comfortable using it, but the art director insisted. It fit perfectly with the book she was promoting: Sloane Parker risks her life to rescue a group of refugees from a mountain top cabin in Afghanistan.
Samantha poked her whipped cream guiltily with her straw. She hated to lie to Beatrix. But if she told the truth, Beatrix might slip and mention it to Arthur.
“You did dangerous things for years,” Samantha reminded her. “You took a boat down the Amazon River and lived in a village in Thailand.”
“Before I met Drew, I only stayed in touristy places.” Beatrix shrugged. “Sure, they were exotic locations. But there was always the internet and a place to plug in my hair dryer.”
Samantha remembered Drew saying that Beatrix was like no woman he’d ever met. That she was up for anything.
“It’s easy to be adventurous with someone you trust.” Beatrix was still talking. “Drew is so calm and levelheaded. Look at me now. I want the safe things in life: marriage, children, a family.”
Samantha realized Beatrix was quite drunk. Her eyes were starry and there was a sheen to her complexion.
“Did I ever tell you how Drew proposed?” Beatrix leaned forward conspiratorially. “It was last Christmas in Paris. We spent the previous two months building a school in Vietnam. My father gave us three nights in Paris as a Christmas present.” Beatrix smiled. “I spent the first twenty-fours in the bathtub. On the second day we went to a jewelry store on the Left Bank. Drew’s father sent him a watch for Christmas and the band needed to be fixed. While he was talking to the jeweler, I tried on an engagement ring.” Beatrix nursed her drink. “I didn’t mean to. You know how it is, I was standing around and the most beautiful ring sat in the case: a round diamond flanked by the sweetest rubies. The salesclerk asked if I wanted to try it on and I couldn’t resist.
“Drew and I had talked about marriage but only in the haziest way: something that might happen in the future. The minute I put it on, I felt like the French women you see at cafés sipping their café au laits with men whispering in their ear. The salesclerk started gushing that the ring was made for me. It was so tight on my finger, for a moment I couldn’t get it off,” she recalled. “Drew and the jeweler came over and I was so embarrassed.”
Samantha flashed back to doing the same thing when she and Roger were together. It had been one of those perfect New York mornings when the air is clean and the streets are flooded with sunlight. She was walking past Tiffany’s and decided to go inside.
Tiffany’s was just as she imagined: mirrored walls and miles of pale robin’s-egg blue carpet. There was a sweeping staircase to an upper level and cases of diamond pendants and bracelets. A salesgirl approached her and said she must try on the engagement rings.The salesgirl could tell just by looking at Samantha that she was in love.
Samantha slipped on the ring—a pear-shaped diamond on a platinum band—and felt like someone new: sophisticated and sexy and part of something. She quickly took it off but she practically floated through the day: she was living in Manhattan, with a great job and a loving boyfriend.
Now Samantha took a long sip of her coffee. She turned her attention back to Beatrix.
“The next night, we had dinner at a bistro in Montmartre,” Beatrix was saying. “It was one of those places where the chef comes out and makes sure everything is to your liking. Except, he didn’t leave. He served the dessert—some kind of flan—and stood there. Drew got down on one knee and pulled out the ring I had tried on at the jewelry store.” Beatrix smiled at the memory. “Drew said later that he had been so nervous, he asked the owner to wait. He needed someone to give him courage.
“I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t tried on the ring, or if we had gone to a fancy restaurant where they left us alone,” Beatrix finished uncertainly. “Maybe we wouldn’t be engaged.”
“Of course you’d be engaged,” Samantha said, surprised. “Drew loves you. You’re getting married in four days.”
“If you’re really in love, you don’t need courage from someone else, it comes from inside,” Beatrix reflected. “And I’m the one who’s always pushing the relationship forward.” She ran her fingers over her glass. “Sometimes it feels like Drew is along for the ride.”
Samantha flashed on her conversations with Drew. On Samantha’sown feelings for him. But Drew and Beatrix were getting married on New Year’s Eve. Nothing was going to change that.
“Drew is a grown man,” Samantha insisted. “He wouldn’t agree to do something unless he wanted the same thing too.”
Beatrix pushed her hair over her shoulders. She rubbed her lips together and laughed.
“You’re right,” she said, signaling to the waiter to refill their mugs. “All men are hopeless when it comes to weddings. My father was in his tennis whites an hour before their ceremony. He had a tennis match with his best man and forgot the time.”
Samantha was sitting at the dressing table in her room getting ready for bed. Her phone buzzed and she answered.
“Darling, I’m glad I caught you,” her mother began. “We just arrived in Monte Carlo; we’re having the most wonderful time.”
Samantha moved to the bed and curled up against the headboard. Her mother sounded a little tipsy. She almost never drank, but when she did, she talked for ages.
“I thought you were at the ball at the royal palace in Liechtenstein.” Samantha frowned.
“That was last night, I posted the photos on Instagram,” her mother continued. “A car picked us up at the airport and brought us to Hôtel Hermitage. You should see it! It looks like those meringue cakes they have on display at Kroger’s supermarket. There were even gifts waiting in our room. A cravat for your father andla pochettefor me.” Her voice tinkled with laughter. “That’s French for a necktie and clutch purse.
“This afternoon we toured the Exotic Garden and then sat atthe bar in the hotel. French women are so elegant and the men are terrible flirts. It’s all perfectly innocent.” She paused doubtfully. “Except for Victor. I told him, just because I agreed to an aperitif didn’t mean he could ask for my room number.”
