Page 46 of It Happened In Paris

“How can you be so sure?”

He held up a finger. “One: Paris is her first granddaughter and she’ll stop at nothing to parade the little darling around to all her friends.” He held up another finger. “And Two: Sheraised two boys, so trust me when I say that Paris is going to get everything the little girl’s heart desires from her grandmother.”

“I don’t want Paris spoiled with things. I just want her to be loved.”

“How about both? Because once Miriam meets our girl, there’s no limit to her spending money on her, but only because she’ll love her. Okay?” He came forward and cupped my face.

“If you say so.”

“And as for you, my sweet cupcake…” he kissed me, “If I care for you, that’s all that matters. You have that mix of small-town charm from Chelsea and a hint of Parisian sophistication. Miriam will welcome you with open arms. Can you trust me and let go of your worries?”

I nodded just in time, as the rapid click-clack of high heels approached down the hospital corridor.

Miriam Buchanan-Astor entered as if gracing a red carpet, fully expecting adoration. Dressed in true city style—from her elegant heels and chic frock with matching coat to the designer scarf casually tossed over one shoulder—she commanded attention.

Trailing behind her was a man carrying several packages. I recognized him from Chelsea’s wedding. He’d been introduced as Miriam’s second husband, Mr. Astor. I found it interesting when Chelsea mentioned how he adored Miriam, but preferred to let her always take the spotlight, as if he could even steal it from her. He set the packages down by the fort in the room's corner, then waved hello at Richard and me.

“Where is my granddaughter?” Miriam asked, fluttering her long eyelashes as she breezed past greetings and pleasantries.

“She’s studying with a math tutor in the common room. We’re trying to get her caught up on what she’s missed at school since this all began,” I explained, drawing attention to myself.

Miriam appraised me with a once-over. I silently congratulated myself for wearing the cashmere sweater dress, booties, and a stylish scarf draped at my neck—all thanks to the wealthy man by my side. I hoped my outfit would help make a good impression.

“Vivian, my dear, just look at you,” she cooed as she extended her hands, which I took warmly. “Ever since we met at your lovely shop in Holly Creek, I admired your style and your delectable confections. When Richard spoke about you and Paris, my heart practically burst with joy. I’m so happy for both of you.” She then produced a tissue from her designer purse and dabbed her nose.

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you again, Miriam,” I replied politely, keeping things cordial

Turning to Richard, she added, “And you, my brave son—sacrificing a piece of yourself for your new daughter? I couldn’t be prouder! Your father would have been, too.”

“Thanks, Mother. I’m happy you’re here.” Richard embraced her before returning to stand by my side.

She murmured a concern, “Though I worry about you and this surgery, darling.”

“The tutoring time is nearly over. Let me go fetch Paris,” I said, relieved to step out as Miriam’s signature Chanel perfume filled the room. Even though Paris and I had spoken earlier about the situation, I wanted a few more minutes to remind her what to expect.

Finding them at a small table and chairs in the common room, I lingered near Paris and her tutor, happy to see the little one quickly grasping basic first-grade addition and subtraction. I hoped this academic disruption wouldn’t cause her being held back a year.

Once the lesson ended, Paris hugged me, and I crouched down to her level. “Remember, Richard’s mother is visiting.Her name is Miriam—you met her at my shop. I know you’ll be on your best behavior. She’s going to adore you, okay? So, no worries.”

“I’m not worried, Mommy. Is she like Gramma Flora? Look, I even drew a picture for her,” Paris said with adorable pride, showing me a drawing that looked like an apple pie with smiley faces. Oh no. Paris might expect Miriam to be the warm, homely Flora versus the sophisticated Miriam. I hoped she could grow to love both.

“Lovely. We can give that to her later. Right now, let’s meet Miriam, okay?” I took Paris’s hand and led her back to the room. Initially, she hid a little behind me.

Miriam bubbled with excitement, “There you are! I’ve always longed for a little girl in the family. Paris,ma petite, sais-tu à quel point tu es spéciale?”

My daughter’s face lit up.“Tu parles français aussi?”

“Mais, oui,” she replied.

Shockingly, Miriam spoke nearly perfect French. Did Richard? By his puzzled expression, it suggested he did not, so I translated: “She said, ‘Do you know how special you are?’”

“That’s right—because you’re my first Buchanan grandchild. Very special indeed.” Miriam clutched her heart.

“Gramma Flora doesn’t know any French,” Paris noted.

“But she can bake delicious strawberry pies,” I reminded her.

“Well, we all have our own talents,” Miriam replied. “Now, Paris, why don’t you come up here? I brought some gifts just for you.” With a manicured hand, she patted the hospital bed and motioned toward a neat pile of wrapped boxes, well experienced in how to bribe a child to do her bidding.

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