As they rose, Raoul asked, “Will you join me for lunch tomorrow?”
He was being kind, of course. Teresa knew that no man could ever be attracted to her. Especially someone as wonderful as Raoul Giradot. She was sure that he was kind to everyone.
“I would enjoy that,” Teresa said.
When she went to meet Raoul the following day, he said boyishly, “I’ve been given the afternoon off. If you’re not too busy, why don’t we drive down to Nice?”
They drove along the Moyenne Corniche with his car top down, the city spread out like a magic carpet below them. Teresa leaned back in her seat and thought: I’ve never been so happy. And then, filled with guilt: I’m being happy for Monique.
Monique was to return from Paris the following day. Raoul would be Teresa’s gift to her sister. She was realistic enough to know that the Raouls of the world were not for her. Teresa had had enough pain in her life, and she had long since learned what was real and what was impossible. The handsome man seated beside her driving the car was an impossible dream she dared not even let herself think about.
They had lunch at Le Chantecler in the Negresco Hotel in Nice. It was a superb meal, but afterward Teresa had no recollection of what she had eaten. It seemed to her that she and Raoul had not stopped talking. They had so much to say to each other. He was witty and charming, and he appeared to find Teresa interesting—really interesting. He asked her opinion about many things and listened attentively to her answers. They agreed on almost everything. It was as though they were soul mates. If Teresa had any regrets about what was about to happen, she resolutely forced them out of her mind.
“Would you like to come to dinner at the château tomorrow night? My sister is returning from Paris. I would like you to meet her.”
“I’d be delighted, Teresa.”
When Monique returned home the following day, Teresa hurried to greet her at the door.
In spite of her resolve, she could not help asking, “Did you meet anyone interesting in Paris?” And she held her breath, waiting for her sister’s answer.
“The same boring men,” Monique replied.
So God had made the final decision.
“I’ve invited someone to dinner tonight,” Teresa said. “I think you’re going to like him.”
I must never let anyone know how much I care for him, Teresa thought.
That evening at seven-thirty promptly, the butler ushered Raoul Giradot into the drawing room, where Teresa, Monique, and their parents were waiting.
“This is my mother and father. Monsieur Raoul Giradot.”
“How do you do?”
Teresa took a deep breath. “And my sister, Monique.”
“How do you do?” Monique’s expression was polite, nothing more.
Teresa looked at Raoul, expecting him to be stunned by Monique’s beauty.
“Enchanted.” Merely courteous.
Teresa stood there holding her breath, waiting for the sparks that she knew would start flying between them. But Raoul was looking at Teresa.
“You look lovely tonight, Teresa.”
She blushed and stammered, “Th—thank you.”
Everything about that evening was topsy-turvy. Teresa’s plan to bring Monique and Raoul together, to watch them get married, to have Raoul as a brother-in-law—none of it even began to happen. Incredibly, Raoul’s attention was focused entirely on Teresa. It was like some impossible dream come true. She felt like Cinderella, only she was the ugly sister and the prince had chosen her. It was unreal, but it was happening, and Teresa found herself struggling to resist Raoul and his charm because she knew that it was too good to be true, and she dreaded being hurt again. All these years she had hidden her emotions, guarding against the pain that came with rejection. Now, instinctively, she tried to do the same. But Raoul was irresistible.
“I heard your daughter sing,” Raoul said. “She is a miracle!”
Teresa found herself blushing.
“Everyone loves Teresa’s voice,” Monique said sweetly.
It was a heady evening. But the best was yet to come.
When dinner was finished, Raoul said to Teresa’s parents, “Your grounds look lovely.” Then he turned to Teresa. “Would you show me the gardens?”