Chapter Six #2
Rayan still remembered how careful they’d been in Montreal—an unspoken agreement sustained by little more than eye contact.
When had that agreement changed? It was impossible to deny that things had shifted.
The threat of danger that had overshadowed their relationship from the beginning had faded and something else had taken its place—a growing acceptance of what they were to each other.
“No,” Rayan said with a shrug. “Your friend was mistaken, that’s all.”
“He’s not a friend,” she said brusquely. “But I’m hoping that’s the end of it.”
Elise’s reluctance to talk about her reasons for leaving Paris, back at the museum, made more sense after yesterday’s unexpected confrontation.
He recalled how she’d gripped his arm when Theo had approached them on the sidewalk outside the hotel.
“I’m so sorry, Rayan,” she’d whispered in a panicked voice.
Nothing about Theo had given Rayan cause for concern, yet his appearance had clearly frightened Elise.
“You’re hoping?” he asked.
“I know,” she corrected with a conviction that rang false.
But it wasn’t Rayan’s place to press. The woman’s life was none of his business.
“Do you want anything else while I’m up?” Elise asked, getting to her feet.
“No, thank you,” he said, and she continued to the buffet table.
While she was gone, Mathias appeared at the entrance to the restaurant.
Rayan had left him sleeping in the room and had come downstairs to find something to eat.
Mathias had never been much of a breakfast person.
He walked over to the table and eyed Elise’s coffee cup before pulling out the chair to Rayan’s right and taking a seat.
“Interrupting something?” His tone was surly, and Rayan knew he’d have preferred another hour in bed.
Rayan shook his head, with a smile, and Mathias set about ordering coffee.
When Elise returned, she placed her plate down and greeted Mathias airily. “Don’t usually see you this early.”
“You look tired, Dumont,” Mathias baited. “Rough night?”
She busied herself with buttering a piece of bread, attempting to appear nonchalant. The waiter brought Mathias his coffee.
“So,” Elise said, setting down her knife. “When did you two—”
“No,” Mathias interjected, putting an end to the line of questioning before it began. He was much better at it than Rayan, who’d found himself outmaneuvered at the museum. She was skilled—he’d give her that.
“Okay, okay.” Elise picked up her fork to spear a slice of fruit on her plate. “I thought we could stop by the Sacré-C?ur on our way out of town,” she announced between bites of melon. “It has one of the best views in the city.”
“You do like to push,” Mathias said. “This isn’t a vacation. We’re here on business. And now that it’s done, we go home.”
“We’ve had this discussion before.” Elise glanced at Rayan. “He doesn’t see the glitter of Paris, only the grime. He’s immune to her charms.”
“And you’re too susceptible to them,” Mathias retorted.
“I’ve never been to Montreal, but I guarantee whatever charms it has could fit into a single neighborhood in Paris.”
She wasn’t wrong. From what Rayan had seen so far, the city was a marvel. There was something new to be found around every corner. He’d heard little about the time Mathias had spent here while at university, but he knew the man didn’t hold Paris in any special regard.
“I’d like to go,” Rayan said. He’d read about the Basilica in a book about the Paris Commune and was curious to see it in person.
Elise turned to Mathias. “You could wait in the car,” she offered, scooping up a forkful of eggs and bringing it to her mouth.
“Like your chauffeur?”
“It’ll be fun,” Elise said, some of the color returning to her cheeks.
“Fun,” Mathias muttered and picked up his coffee.
They checked out of the hotel and drove to Montmartre, a cobblestoned neighborhood full of charming old buildings.
The Sacré-C?ur Basilica was perched on the hilltop overlooking the district.
Mathias parked on a street nearby, and together, they made their way up a steep set of steps that led to the famous landmark.
It was late morning, and already, a crowd had gathered on the forecourt in front of the church, taking in the iconic view of the city below.
Elise walked beside Rayan and regaled him with tales of the surrounding area and the building’s history.
Mathias hung back, uninterested, the smoke from his cigarette rising above his head.
“There was a lot of opposition during construction, which continued after it was built,” Elise said as they headed toward the carved wooden doors at the entrance.
“Around the time the Statue of Liberty was transported to America, opponents even proposed installing a full-size copy of the statue on top of Montmartre, directly in front of the Basilica.”
Rayan stared up at the towering white structure. “Clearly, that never came to pass.”
Elise laughed. “No, thank God.”
Mathias opted against joining them, and Rayan and Elise went inside alone. The church was dimly lit, and the ceiling curved upward in a series of cavernous domes.
“This is the most notable work inside.” Elise pointed to the giant mosaic of Christ looming above them. “ Le Triomphe du Sacré-C?ur de Jésus. It took three artists to create and is made up of over twenty thousand pieces.”
Rayan stepped forward to inspect the depiction of the man clothed in white, a golden heart shining from his chest. The image was intricate but disquieting, and as they continued through the interior of the Basilica, the glittering eyes of Christ seemed to follow him.
They emerged from the building, and Elise spotted an old woman at a small booth in the plaza outside the church. She was sitting on a foldout chair beside a painted sign of an open hand.
“I promise I won’t be long. I’ve always wanted to get my palm read.” Elise reached into her purse for her wallet and headed toward the woman.
Rayan found Mathias standing by the railing at the far end of the plaza. He was looking out at the city stretching into the distance, a cigarette between his fingers.
“You can’t say it’s not beautiful,” Rayan said.
A smile pulled at the corners of Mathias’s lips. “I can say whatever I want.”
Rayan rested his elbows on the stone ledge of the railing and watched the people milling about in the park below. “What was it like when you lived here?”
“Like crossing something off a list.”
“Must have been freeing, though. Being away from everything.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if you’d never returned to Montreal?”
Their eyes met, and Mathias’s face darkened. “I was always going back. I was always going to join. I had it planned out since I was a kid.”
“To be like your father?”
“To eclipse him,” Mathias said in a hard voice. His gaze returned to the view, and he took one last drag before flicking his cigarette to the ground at his feet. “Go and tell our tour guide enough with the distractions. I want to get back on the road.”
Rayan walked over to where Elise sat across from the palm reader. Their heads were bowed together, and her hand was in the old woman’s lap. The woman released her hand when he approached, and Elise raised her sleeve to swipe at her eyes.
“We’re heading out,” he said.
Elise nodded. “Right, okay.” Her voice quivered. She stood and began to gather her things.
Rayan felt a pinch on his arm. He turned to find the old woman staring up at him, her milky eyes studying his face.
“You’re an interesting one.” She captured his wrist and pulled back his fingers to peer into his palm. “Two large islands on your lifeline. Things have not been easy,” she murmured. “But your heart line runs deep.” Rayan jerked his hand away, and the woman let out a cackle. “That one’s for free.”
He backed away and followed Elise down the stairs to the street. Mathias was ahead of them, already at the car.
“Did she tell you something?” Elise asked, glancing back up the steps. “She was scary accurate.”
“No,” Rayan said, unnerved by the eerie encounter. “She just wanted money.”