Status Updates From Sophie Valroux's Paris Star...

"It's going to be the longest six days of my life." Lola scrambled up to us, followed by Laetitia and Jean-Marc. Lola tugged on my skirt. "After you and Papa get married, you will really be ma maman?" I swooped Lola up. "Yes, I'll be your belle-mere." Her head bobbed up and down with confused happiness. She wrapped her little arms around my neck, squeezing it. I breathed in her baby powder fragrance and her strawberr

"I'm so sorry, Sophie," said Phillipa, her strong English accent oozing with pained worry. "I'm doing my best. Really, I am. I'm trying to keep up, but sometimes I feel like I can't. But you? There's something going on that you're not telling me about. It's not grief. And it's not Remi. Who are you now? Because I've met many of you." "Are you calling me nuts?" She had every right to think I was insane. "Look, I'm alw

Ten, I curled up on the bed with Etoile and Grand-mere's apron, hoping her spirit truly lived on in me, because I'd need a lot of it to survive the next few tortuous days.
Friday morning arrived with an unexpected bonus: Amelie would be preparing her dishes in one of the Musee d'Orsay's other kitchens with Jean-Jaques Gaston, leaving me to cook side by side with O'Shea. I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't have to de

Remi clasped my hand. "So there are no wayward relatives who can stake a claim?" I asked, blowing out a sigh of relief. "Non," said Monsieur Beaumont. "Your grand-pere was an only child, as was your grand-mere. The inheritance is rightfully yours, and the bank accounts and all properties will be released to you." He placed a stack of documents in front of us, flipped through the pages, and said, "Sign here." Flip. "S

"He has an insatiable appetite." I just stood there, supremely confused and slightly pissed off. "Sophie," said Nicolas. "I want to invite you to cook at an event I'm hosting. You've certainly proven your worth." "Where is this event, and when?" I asked, blinking rapidly. He put the "creep" in "creepster," the way he stared at me, not breaking eye contact. "Paris, at the Musee d'Orsay, in mid-September," he responded

A few weeks prior, my answer to his proposal had made his smile wither like a crepe falling onto a burner after a pan-flip accident. "Can we just be engaged to be engaged?" And then, after asking if we could take our time, I'd said, "The chateau is booked solid and there won't be any breaks until after Christmas," Remi shook his head as if to clear it. "Will you just put the ring on your finger? I don't want to be yo