Alexandre's POV
I took her to a restaurant on the Quai de la Tournelle.
Not the kind of place I usually took people — not clients, not business associates, not the careful category of people who populated most of my professional life. Those lunches happened in places with corner tables and discreet maître d's and wine lists that communicated, without being vulgar about it, that this was a serious establishment for serious people.
This was different.
Small. Unpretentious. Eight tables, a chalkboard menu, a view of the Seine through windows that hadn't been replaced since approximately 1987 and were better for it. I had found it seven years ago walking home from something I couldn't remember and had been coming back irregularly ever since. I had never brought anyone here.
Claire looked
