Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Until mid-January. But I’m afraid she might not leave because she’s having so much fun.” I looked past her to my sister on the other side of the bar, sitting at a table with a glass of wine in her hand. Two guys sat across from her because she’d joined them thirty minutes ago, taking advantage of the cheese platter and fresh baguette sitting in front of them. Magnetic, she attracted everyone’s attention around her, not even intentionally. She was like a black hole, her pull so strong even light couldn’t escape. She always managed to be the center of attention, and most of the time, it didn’t bother me, but there were times when it became too much. I loved my sister more than life, but I was happy to see her go back home to New York.
Samantha chuckled. “Paris is a special place. Couldn’t blame her.”
Neither could I.
“Have you told her yet?”
My eyes stared at her across the room, watching her laugh uproariously at something one of the guys said, looking even more beautiful when she laughed like that. The rest of the tables were full of young people like us, students enjoying their Christmas break, first dates, and tenth dates. It wasn’t a tourist spot, so it was special, a wine bar full of all the other delicacies I couldn’t get enough of like assorted cheese, chocolate croissants, pâté, a variety of freshly baked breads, and escargot. I came for the wine, but I always stayed for hours because of the food. “No.”
“How do you think she’ll take it?”
“She’ll be furious. And she’ll probably move here to join me.” I’d relocated to Paris because I’d joined a study abroad program that allowed me to stay for a semester, but I loved it so much that I’d decided to be a student full time, to study classic French literature, to work as a barista in a café to pay my bills, to learn some French, completely adopt the lifestyle because it felt like home almost instantly.
Melanie was under the impression that I would return home once my education was finished.
But I had other plans.
I felt obligated to return because I was all she had—and she was all I had. But I’d been taking care of my sister our entire lives, and it was time for me to do something for myself, to have my own independence apart from her.
But she would be livid with my decision.
“Would you hate that?” Samantha asked.
“No, as long as she doesn’t expect to live with me.” My sister was a few years younger than me, but she’d never grabbed on to independence the way I did. Why would she, when she always had someone to take care of her? If it wasn’t me, it was a guy who had fallen under her spell. Why would she buy a drink at a bar when someone would pay her tab? I accepted who she was, exactly in the package she came in. I just didn’t want to be her caretaker anymore, and I feared if she moved here, that was exactly what would happen.
“So…” She swirled her glass of rosé, her short dark hair in frizzy curls. “Anything going to happen with you and Gabriel?”
I preferred French men to American men because they were more passionate than the men I was used to. They were great lovers, but they were also more independent, knew exactly how to care for themselves, and were proud, eager to stand on their own feet. They could be a little standoffish at times, but underneath that dark exterior was deep complexity. “I was thinking about…” My thoughts became distracted when I saw one of the guys Melanie was talking to rise from the table and approach the counter to speak to the waitress behind the counter.
His beard was gone, and his hair had been cut—but it was him.
I recognized those eyes, those distinctive facial features.
He took the tab from the woman, put the bills on it, and then turned back to the table. Words were exchanged with Melanie and the other guy in the group, and they rose from the table to leave.
Fuck that.
I left Samantha with no explanation and went after them, catching up just as they made it outside. “Melanie.”
She turned to me, her cheeks flushed from the wine that made her belly warm, from the good conversation that she thought was genuine and not a trap. “Raven, we’re going to a party. You want to come along?”
There was a car parked at the curb, and one of the guys already had the back door open. The man I recognized spoke to him quietly, exchanging words in French.
“You aren’t going. Let’s go back inside.” I grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her inside.
She twisted out of the grasp. “What the hell are you doing?”