The grandiosity and scale of the palace was matched only by the gilt. It inundated the senses until it became common—the irony of reducing its worth to the banal and the ensuing ennui that inevitably followed. The opulence didn’t intimidate; rather, it radiated the reason the population revolted. This was beauty at a price—viewed with equal parts caution and awe.
“This place has a ton of mythological references in the murals and names,” Marc leaned in and whispered over my shoulder. “You’ll be very busy writing everything down.”
I pulled out my pen and sketchbook as we trailed behind the tour guide. The ceilings gave my craned neck a workout—murals and panels, without an unpainted inch in sight.
“Why are you here in Paris?” he asked. “What made you pick this city?”
“My aunt kind of sprang the vacation on me.”
“Like a present?”
How could I explain the weird truth? I had to take lessons to control the prophecies I see, and my clairvoyant aunt abducted me to Paris because only she can teach me. A little too much information for a second day together. Better to be vague before I lost my guide.
“Yes, a last-minute one. I’m sure she’ll appreciate my company when her tea shop opens, but it’s also an opportunity to see the art in person. The textbooks can’t do it justice.”
“When I went to see The Night Watch at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, I stood there, staring at it for what seemed like hours. It’s huge and you feel as though you’re in the square with the men. No photo in any book could re-create that experience.” Marc tightened the strap of his messenger bag.
“I’m jealous. Most of the traveling I’ve done has been to all-inclusive resorts in the Caribbean with my cousins, or eating and shopping trips with my parents in Asia. I need to travel more with an art-food itinerary in mind.”
Our group moved into the War Salon. Murals covered the arched ceiling. The guide explained the planned art was mythological until King Louis XIV’s decision to depict his military prowess instead. The tourist experience wouldn’t be complete without being herded as human cattle from one attraction to another.
A British couple in front of us carried a small drinking thermos. “Is that allowed in here?” I asked in a low whisper.
“If it’s alcohol, I don’t think so,” Marc whispered back. “Security inspected our bags twice. They must think it’s okay.”
The brunette struggled with the cap. I didn’t need my aunt’s clairvoyance to know this wasn’t going to end well. She handed the bottle back to her partner, who strained to open it. The lid popped off, hitting Marc in the shoulder. The thermos gaped open for me to see the dark liquid inside.
My stomach clenched. A prophecy formed like a gumball in my mouth.
Please, not now.
Twelve
The taste of chewy caramels flooded my mouth—sweet and sticky. The pressure built against my teeth until the only way to relieve it was to allow the prediction to escape.
“He will propose with his grandmother’s ring. The one you’ve coveted since last year’s meeting.”
The brunette gasped. His shaky fingers tightened the lid into place.
“You’re proposing?” she asked.
“Yes.” He blushed. “It was supposed to be a surprise, Clara.”
She screeched, threw herself into his arms, and sprinkled his face with loud kisses. He dropped their pack and kissed her full on the lips. Clara’s name was inscribed on the canister. It was her future I foretold. The thread of joy from the prediction sang within me as the residual physical reminder.
Beside me, Marc clapped his hands with the rest of the tour group. The applause prompted another set of kisses from the happy couple. I picked up the forgotten container, which had rolled near my feet. I handed it to them when the cheering died down.
Clara embraced me before skipping off with her beloved.
The thread of happiness bubbling inside was tempered by my rising embarrassment from the impromptu fortune-telling. I’d been so focused on the couple that I missed Marc’s reaction.
An acute piercing pain bore into my right temple. I stumbled back. Gripping the side of my head, I closed my eyes and sucked in my breath, trying to push down a rising nausea.
Marc reached out and helped steady me. “Are you all right?”
“I need to stay still for a bit,” I whispered. “Migraine.”
The pounding headache ebbed into a manageable dull throb. Marc offered me one of the bottles of water in his bag. I unscrewed the cap and took a healthy swig.
“Better?”
“I think I know how Zeus felt when Athena was in his head,” I replied with a wobbly smirk.
Marc laughed.
“I’ll be okay. Migraines have a trigger and I know I tripped mine.” I twisted the cap of the water bottle shut and handed it to him.
“My cousin gets really bad ones. His are caused by barometric pressure. There isn’t much he can do prevention-wise.” He took the bottle and tucked it back into his bag. “Is there anything I can do to help? Are you on any meds that you need to take?”
“Nothing I can do but avoid the trigger. I guess the situation is similar to your cousin’s.” I took his hand in mine. “I’m going to be okay.”
He squeezed my hand before leaning in to ask, “What happened before with the Brits? How did you do that?”
The question I’d been asking myself all my life without an answer. In the past, whenever pressed, I’d give a joke response and change the subject. Now, though, I felt a genuine friendship with Marc, which demanded honesty.
“It’s sort of like intuition dialed way up.”
“You remind me of one of my aunties, Tita MaryJo,” he said. “She knows everything. She has great detective skills.”
“That’s a polite way of saying she’s nosy. Are you saying that I am?”
Marc blushed and then coughed. “I said that wrong. I guess what I’m saying is that intuition is based on observation and empathy. You could have overheard or seen something.” He covered his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t believe I compared you to my aunt. That’s not what I was aiming for.”
His embarrassment was adorable. Marc had nosy aunts like I did. “All I heard is that you called me a great detective.”
“Thank you,” he sighed.
We entered the Hall of Mirrors. The corridor seemed to stretch to infinity. Mirrors flanked one side while tall windows faced the other, strengthening the illusion that the large corridor-like chamber was outside. Cloudy skies and the steady rain darkened the atmosphere. The forest of crystal chandeliers overhead, and those near the windows, reflected against the polished floors, creating a sensation of walking through an endless, sparkling sky. A symphony of soft thunder and rhythmic raindrops echoed from outside.
Very romantic.
Marc craned his neck and admired the murals on the ceiling. “Want to stay a little longer? The last time I was here, it was always onto the next spot.”
“Is this your favorite room in Versailles?” I asked.
“It is. You haven’t seen the rest of the palace though. I feel selfish asking you to stay.”
Our reflection glowed in one of the many large mirrors on the wall. I liked what I saw.
“Yes, this is where I want to be right now.”
Marc approached a staff member near the entrance and returned to my side. “She said it was fine to leave the tour group. We can stay here for a bit and rejoin them later if we want.”
He took off his leather jacket and laid it out on the floor. “There’re no chairs around here so we’ll have to make do.”
I sat down on his jacket, cross-legged on the floor. “If they had chairs, no one would leave the room.”
He lowered himself onto the floor next to me. “I checked the forecast. There is no rain tomorrow for our trip to Monet’s garden in Giverny.”
“Tell me, why is this your favorite place?”
He rifled through his messenger bag for his sketchbook and ink pens. “Because this room, to me, encapsulates the ideal fairy-tale castle. Reminds me of the ballroom scene from Beauty and the Beast.”
“I see it.” I brought out my art supplies. “Is this one of the reasons why you wanted to go to Paris?”
“Yes. This was the best place for me and my career. Let’s just say that when I told my family I needed to come here, they weren’t surprised. That was two years ago, and I feel like I’m ready to move on. I’ve learned what I can in Paris. I might come back again in the future.”
More clues. I tallied up the ones I had, and I still didn’t have enough to make a good guess. “I don’t have a clear idea of what you do yet, but I’m narrowing it down.”
“Do you want a hint?” A playful smile teased his lips.
I laughed and shook my head. “That’s cheating.”
His nearness strengthened the scent of coffee, vanilla, and sugar. My pencil slipped from my fingers and rolled onto the floor. I leaned down and reached for it, only to have his hand meet mine. The warmth of his skin sent blood rushing to my neckline and up to my cheeks.
Marc’s fingers lingered over mine for two more heartbeats before he pulled away.