Toxic - Zoe Blake Page 0,25

while processing my order. Can’t say I blamed him. He probably didn’t get many women dressed in full-length evening gowns demanding passage on the last train heading to Paris. There was also the matter of my not having a passport.

I hadn’t really planned this well at all.

Fortunately, a few hundred-pound notes slipped across the counter were sufficient for him to look the other way. I’d worry about the Paris side of the trip later.

Before heading one level down to catch my Eurostar train, I stopped by the shopping arcade and bought a cheap black scarf from one of the tourist stands. Shoving the rather conspicuous pink and white diamond brooch into my purse, I wrapped the scarf around my shoulders, hoping it would help conceal the dress a bit.

As I made my way deeper into the train station, I passed The Meeting Place sculpture. I had never really liked the massive bronze statue before, but now I looked at the two lovers embracing and could only think of Richard.

What the hell have I done?

Making my way to platform seven, I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the boarding announcement for my train. I don’t think my nerves could have taken a single minute of waiting to board. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and looking around the platform, expecting Richard or one of his men to jump out at me at any moment.

The train car was empty when I first entered. Making my way down the narrow aisle past the royal blue and dark grey seats, I found my assigned window seat. Sitting down, I shifted my shoulders toward the window and tried to look as small and unassuming as possible.

As I looked out the window, all I could really see was my reflection staring back at me.

What the hell have I done?

Leaving for London after a nasty fight was one thing… this time I was leaving the country! I would admit that when I stole that footman’s phone earlier, I had fantasized about looking up flights to America, but I hadn’t honestly thought I would go through with it. It’s like when you write a nasty email to a friend after a fight, but then delete it. It made you feel good to think about it, but you never really planned on sending it.

By the time we were ready to go to dinner, I had convinced myself I was overreacting about the dead bird. It had probably been some dumb prank, and I was reading way way way too much into it. Then when I’d found the bloody feather in my purse and overheard his conversation with Harris… something inside of me just broke. I went numb.

I should have gotten out of the car that instant but hadn’t.

I had stayed by his side.

Then we’d fucked in the lift… and I’d known I was lost.

How could I be so in love with a man who I suspected was about to kill me and yet still get wet for him… in a fucking public elevator no less?

I was sick in the head. Twisted. Messed up beyond redemption.

And it was all Richard’s fault.

Ever since I had met that man, my life had been a spinning kaleidoscope of dizzying colors and flashes of light. It seemed wonderful at first but eventually if you stared into the narrow shimmering tunnel too long you became disoriented. You could no longer tell what was real and what was imaginary.

He was toxic for me, of that there was no mistake.

My problem was I had become addicted to him, to the way he made me feel. I now craved that dizzying lightheaded kaleidoscope feel he gave me every time he touched me.

If I was ever to be able to sort out my feelings and reactions to him, I needed space… far away from him.

I would travel to Paris and plead with the authorities to take me to the United States Embassy. There I would get a replacement passport, and then pawn the brooch for money to get back home.

Home.

The United States didn’t feel like home anymore.

Richard felt like home.

What the hell have I done?

The train car slowly filled with the murmurings and shuffles of passengers, as one by one people found their seats. Tapping my foot, I anxiously waited for the train to pull away from the station. The moment the bar car opened, I was getting a double of the strongest liquor they had. Something that would burn and scar its way down my throat. Something that