I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose, blinking back tears, burning in my eyes.
"Why am I already regretting this?" I whisper to myself and clear my throat to push away the knot of emotions forming in there.
It was Max's idea, really. He insisted on me coming here, even threatening to pull a move similar to last year and break his leg if it made me go, so I found myself agreeing. There’s no way I could take another three months of his not at all subtle suffering. One time was more than enough.
It’s the last straw I'm gripping before I give up.
Because the number Reed gave me? Well, turns out it was wrong.
I tried calling him the very day I found out who he was. There was a hot, burning urge in me to tell him off for lying to me, however understandable his reasoning might have been. Our time together made me feel like I’d known him for years and all of a sudden, I felt like I didn’t know him at all.
I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it's already been a few months. The way my finger trembled over his name in my contacts, how I tapped beside the call icon twice because my hand was shaking so much with nervousness.
And the way my heart sank when the female robot voice sounded from my phone:
The number you have dialed is not connected.
Other people would probably say,Girl, get the hint. He didn't want you to contact him after all.But my brother thought differently. Before I could throw my phone against the nearest wall, pissed that Reed lied to me, yet again, it started buzzing in my hand, my brother's name blinking on the screen like he’d somehow sensed what was going on.
He convinced me Reed just messed up, but I’m not sure I can believe that.
"There is only one thing that connects you with Reed, and that's Paris," Max pointed out, hope glimmering in his eyes, along with his urge to see cupid at work. "Go back there in a year. Maybe you'll meet again."
So one year to the date, I packed my bag and traveled all the way to Paris for the off-chance that the famous model actually wanted to give me his right number. It sounds crazy. And hopeless.
I asked him skeptically whether he thought this famous supermodel who could probably have any woman in the world would remember little old me after all this time and actually think of me fondly enough to fly halfway across the world for the off-chance he'd meet me again.
"What if he does and you'll never know?"Max said with a shrug, and I remember the way my shoulders had slumped, the way they always do when it turns out Max has a point.
"Okay," I whispered before lifting my head and shooting him a glare. "But if he's not there, we don't speak another word about it. Deal?"
We shook hands on it, and truth be told, this deal is the only reason I'm here. Because my hope is close to zero; there is just no way. Even if he was in Paris, what if we just keep missing each other? It’s a big city, and I, for one, don’t want to spend my hard-earned vacation days sitting around or doing the exact same thing as last year, for the one in a billion chance that Reed is here. That sounds miserable.
Well. I will give it my best shot. I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath.
Let's do this. Even if it's only to get Max to shut up.
Finding the hotel again is so much easier now that I know where to go and walking through the way-too-slow revolving door feels like stepping into a portal to the past. Everything still looks exactly the same. Even André and Julia are working at the reception, the only difference being Julia’s hair color.
I even splurged on a suite, too spoiled by the upgrade last time to settle for anything less. No Eiffel Tower view this time, but I can live with that. Once I’ve unpacked the essentials, I let myself fall back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress with a quiet sigh and closing my eyes for just a moment.
"This is ridiculous," I whisper into the empty room, gulping down a knot of emotions forming in my throat. "So fucking ridiculous."
But I made a promise to Max, and I fully intend to keep it. Although I have no idea where to start.
It’s still early afternoon. Thinking back, Reed and I had no interaction on that first day, beyond him running me over and me telling him off in the lobby. So I might as well get some sightseeing in today and try to come up with a gameplan when I’m back.
The metro is packed as I make my way toward Notre Dame—one of the biggest things still left unchecked on my to-see list. I didn’t get the chance last time, but a few months ago, I read that the iconic cathedral would finally reopen its doors after years of reconstruction.
Now, I'm no stranger to old churches. Hell, I'm pretty sure I've been to at least three that are older than Notre Dame, back in London. But this? I look up at the giant structure when I step in front of it again, this time without the scaffolds and a ticket to have a look at the inside on my phone.
My throat tightens. This is it. The place of my childhood nightmares. God, I just hope this brings me some closure and doesn’t make me dream of being caught in a fire again.
Heart beating into my throat, I step inside and my breath catches when I see the full beauty of it. Vaulted ceilings stretch high above me, ribbed and massive, their stonework carved in incredibly fine detail. Colored light spills in through the towering stained-glass windows, scattering fractured reds and blues across the worn stone floor.
"Holy shit," I mutter, slowly turning around myself, before I slowly wander further inside.
This is it? The place from that giant painting in the Louvre? My heart beats into my throat when the gravity of its history hits me. This is where kings were crowned. That thought is kind of incredible.
