Jason gave me an innocent look. Then he shrugged and said, “You kids have fun. I’ll just be here enjoying my wine all by myself.” He heaved a sigh that was so forlorn, I felt as if I were abandoning a puppy in the middle of the twelve-lane roundabout that circled the Arc de Triomphe. I shook it off. What had gotten into him? “Good night, Jason,” I said firmly. I took the arm Jean Claude offered, noting for the first time how beautiful his suit was. It was immaculately cut and hung on him as if it was bespoke, which it undoubtedly was.
