stream and the world work, but the flight home from Paris seems to take a million hours longer than the flight I took there.
I spend all eleven hours writhing in my seat, chewing on my nails, and downing glasses of wine until the flight attendant kindly suggests I’ve had enough, and the person next to me is convinced I’m the world’s worst flier.
The only thing I’ve been able to hide are my tears. Every time I feel my nose growing hot and my eyes burning, I get up from my seat and try to make it to the bathroom. They’re all probably thinking I’m throwing up in here, but I’m actually crying my eyes out.
I’m mourning everything I’ve lost.
I’m mourning Olivier.
The man I love, the man I fear I won’t ever see again.
After Pascal antagonized me in the catacombs, I knew I didn’t really have much choice in the matter, and there wasn’t a lot of time to make any decisions. Yes, I wanted to go to the police and tell them that I was being threatened, that my mother was as well. I wanted to fill them in on what has been happening.
But I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I’m a backpacker who has officially been in Europe for too long, overstaying my visa, and the person I would be accusing is one of the richest men in France. I would be laughed at—the idea that Pascal would have any interest in me. In fact, because Olivier had kept me hidden, there was no real evidence that I was even involved with him at all.
And the fact is, my flight was leaving soon. I couldn’t risk all that, only to not show up for it, to have Pascal get on the flight instead.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I left.
I went back to Olivier’s, and I packed my bags in a flurry. I left a note that, if I had more time, would have been filled with a million sentences of how much I love him, how much he matters to me. How much he’s changed my world, my life. I’m not just leaving him behind, I’m leaving the person I never knew I could become.
The only thing I could write was that I loved him, and that I had to do this, and I was sorry I couldn’t think of any other way.
“We’re landing soon,” the flight attendant says to me, motioning to the seatback that I’ve had reclined as far as it will go—which is pretty far, considering I’m in business class. I don’t know what Pascal was thinking; you’d think he would have gone out of his way to be extra cruel and stick me in a middle seat in coach by the bathroom, but instead it’s business class with all the perks. Too bad I can’t enjoy it one bit.
“Sorry, I must not have heard the announcements,” I mumble as I make the seat pop upright.
“That’s okay,” she says and then gives me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry—I’m sure you’ll be back in Paris before you know it.”
She continues her walk down the aisle, checking on everyone else. I guess she knows the face of someone who has to leave before they’re ready.
The truth is, I would have never been ready to leave. When I decided to stay with Olivier, I never gave any thought to how long it would be. To what my future would be. Did I think I would live in France forever, illegally? Did I think we could continue our honeymoon period for months, years? Then what? Would I ever go back to school? Would I ever see my mother? Did I expect Olivier to come over to the States and live there?
I mean, Pascal was right. I hate to admit it, but Olivier’s life is rooted in France. It was always a one-way street with us. Even though we loved each other, things were always on his turf, in his life.
Maybe this is for the best. Maybe Pascal is doing us both a favor.
I shake my head, having a hard time accepting that. Pascal is pure evil, that’s what he is. Or at least partially evil. Even though all signs point to his having something to do with Ludovic’s death, I have a strange feeling that he had nothing to do with it. Or, rather, that maybe Seraphine’s theory was just that: a theory. Perhaps it really was a heart attack. It happens all the time, even to