Breathe Me - C.R. Jane Page 0,31

fidget in my seat, unable to get comfortable, despite the fact that I'm sitting in first class. It cost me a small fortune to book a first-class ticket to Paris. But in a few months, I won't have to worry about money ever again, so why not spend my last months like a queen?

What's that saying? Live like you’re dying?

Guess I get that chance now.

The flight attendant comes by with a glass of champagne before takeoff, and I take it and drain the whole glass. Because why not?

The airplane starts to move, and I look out the window as the outside world begins to speed by. My hand beats a nervous rhythm on the armrest.

"Scared of flying?" the older gentleman sitting next to me asks. He has kind eyes. I noticed that as soon as I sat down. You don't see that much. It reminds me of Dad’s, that inherent goodness visible for everyone to see. A pang of sorrow hits me just then. I miss him so much.

"No. I'm scared of landing," I tell him. At first, he looks confused, but then I see when he gets it.

"I met my wife in Paris," he tells me. I lean in avidly, ready to hear whatever story he has to tell. I've always been a sucker for love stories, even if mine ended terribly.

"Saw her in the Louvre during a business trip. She was staring at Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. I should have known who she would be to me right then and there." His eyes crinkle in amusement as he thinks about that moment. "She snorted just then. And people were looking at her because she was all by herself. Well, being the cocky young fellow that I was, I walked right up to her and demanded to know what was so funny about poor Psyche." He laughed as he thought about it. "She turned to me and said that she wasn't laughing at the sculpture, she was snorting because of how long I'd been staring at her rear end."

Now I'm laughing, desperately wishing that his wife was here right now and that I could meet her.

"Well, everything moved at light speed after that, and we were married within a month."

"That's beautiful," I breathe, picturing the scene in my head. I've never been to Paris, or the Louvre, but I've seen enough movies to at least be able to imagine it.

"Yes it was," he says fondly, patting my hand that is still tapping at the armrest. "Paris is a place for love. You'll see," he says before picking up his book in his lap and starting to read.

“Paris is for lovers,” I whisper to myself.

Hours later, I'm a little bit drunk on champagne and a lot jet-lagged, but I'm here. In Paris. About to see them.

I'm sitting on the left side of the plane so I get a shot of the Eiffel Tower, and my nerves go through the roof.

"It's going to be alright," my neighbor, Edgar, says to me in response to the sick look that I'm sure is on my face.

I nod, finding it a bit hard to breathe at the moment, but I offer him a weak smile. He's been an excellent companion during the long flight. Not even blinking once at the copious amounts of champagne I've drunk. He did make sure I ate all three of the meals offered…and yes, they really do offer much better food in first class, just in case you were wondering.

Edgar is an angel, basically, and I don't think I would have made it here without a panic attack without him.

The plane lands, and we gather our things and get off the plane before everyone else, just another perk to sitting in first class.

Walking into the terminal makes it all very real. And suddenly, I feel like the biggest fool ever. I don't even know if they're going to meet me.

In the drunken haze that I wrote those letters, I somehow thought it would be romantic to have them meet me in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower at sunset. I've always wanted to see the tower light up with those sparkly lights, and at the time, I thought it would be the perfect backdrop to our reunion.

Now I'm imagining myself standing there alone as the day fades to night, their faces nowhere to be seen.

"Courage, chérie," Edgar tells me, squeezing my hand once more before striding away. I hear a loud laugh, and I see a beautiful older