Chapter Two #3
I stay silent, letting the older gentleman speak whatever words he needed to get off his chest. Because when he says, “if she brings you peace amongst the chaos, if she seeks to be in your arms even when you’re angry, either of you, if she chooses you over and over again, looks at you like you’re the most interesting creature she’s ever set her eyes upon, even if she has no idea what you’re talking about, and loves you despite what a complete shite you are sometimes, you keep her.
And you never let her go. A woman like that only comes once in a lifetime.
She will love you so fiercely nothing will ever compare. ”
I stay quiet.
My mind reeling, going back to the night I confronted her. How she fought to be in my arms when I pushed her away. How tears streamed down her face and she moved her jaw, opened her mouth to speak, and stammered the words, “I’m sorry,” swallowing as though every strained stutter was painful.
My heart sinks into the bottom of the Atlantic.
________
We arrive in Paris and get a taxi, then are shuttled to a small Parisian home on the outskirts of the city, and the front door opens, I understand what Henry means.
An older, small petite brunette no taller than five foot two with silver eyes, a button nose, a gorgeous smile opens the door.
While she’s ecstatic to see Damon, her eyes widen at the sight of me… and then Henry.
The longing, the sadness, the love after twenty years is still clearly there. “Henry.” She says, her accent full and beautiful it sounds like “Hon-ree.”
“Amelia.” He says with a rasp and steps away from my side and simply goes to her, taking her into his arms and kisses her deeply.
Pulling away and I see they both have tears streaming down their faces.
He speaks soft words to her only she can hear, never pulling his face away from hers completely, as if in a hypnotic trance only lovers have .
My heart thumps in my chest at the sight of two lovers reuniting after decades, and I can’t imagine the pain they went through to get to this point, here and now, finally together again because their son murdered their daughter’s killer because my girlfriend conveniently found a ledger in the restricted section of the student library where she rode me like a succubus in heat until we both exploded in ecstasy.
Even with the embarrassing truth that I came in my slacks that morning and had to hide behind my cardigan – I miss her with every atom that I am.
Damon says something in French to his parents and the lovers part, a blushing Amelia leads us through her quaint home. Where Henry’s was large, Amelia seems to live humbly and well by her means. I’m sure being an advocate for missing girls must be financially taxing.
There’s a knock on the door and where I felt anxiety from before meeting Amelia, it skyrockets and my heart begins to beat wildly in my chest, blood rushing to my ears.
Damon goes to retrieve Jonas and Raven and when she sees me, she barely has a chance to look at me before Amelia has her in a hug, kissing her cheeks, then Jonas’ and then it’s like she finally realizes I’ve been in the same room this entire time as she laughs, and does the same to me.
Accepting me.
But they wouldn’t be in on it, would they? His mother and father? Right?
When Amelia turns to make conversation with Raven, she replies in ASL, which Damon translates.
Things get serious as we take our places in Amelia’s small living room.
The furniture is small so I decide to stay standing and Damon starts talking in a low hum.
I go to the window, looking out, taking in the dead scenery of winter.
When Amelia exclaims in rapid fire French, I know Damon has told her he killed Whitmore. Where I should feel guilty, where I should be thinking of ways to turn in the Syndicate, to turn in the trio behind me to the proper authorities, Amelia's gratitude and wails make my heart thump lazily.
The only time I ever saw this side of things was when I caught the bad guys before offing their victim or in a court of law, watching them get carried away after a guilty verdict.
Now, I’m in a room full of murderers, that took justice into their own hands, witnessing gratitude firsthand.
I have to get out.
But I can’t.
I’m stuck here.
In Paris, the city of love.
With them .
_______
We have a French dinner, coq au vin, a wine braised chicken stew that is probably the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, and then we leave for a hotel. The four of us. Henry stayed behind.
“He’s not coming with?”
Damon laughs. “No, and I would stay but I’m not exactly in the mood to hear my parents making up for lost time.”
And so we go to the Four Seasons Hotel, George V, as ostentatious as it is luxurious but I remember I’m staying with two murderous billionaires, and one almost millionaire murderous doctor. Or maybe he is a millionaire, considering I looked up his father’s net worth.
Damon. Another trust fund baby.
“I can’t afford this.” I say as the bellhop takes their luggage, but I hold onto mine, looking around, uncomfortable.
“Nonsense, I got you your own suite.” Damon says nonchalantly.
“Like Tyler Prescott had his?” It’s the wrong thing to say but what exactly can I say?
I did my research on him, too. Suicide, they said.
Yet there was no note. Alcohol level well above the legal limit, sure.
The razor blade was found inside the tub once it was drained.
No DNA. By this point, I’m no longer the idiot in the group.
I know my class was the only class Raven chose that had nothing to do with music.
She took my class solely to learn… and learn she did.
Raven stops in her tracks, having overheard me, shakes her head softly, then squares her shoulders. Jonas narrows his eyes at me, upper lip curling back in disgust then takes her hand in his and follows the bellhop to the gold-tipped ancient front desk.
Damon’s silver stare turns icy cold like melting glaciers and it shakes my soul.
I’m in Paris with three killers. One who’s already successfully drugged me. I scowl back at Damon. How is this not running through his head? How uncomfortable I am? That nothing has changed for me. I have some answers but now I have more questions.
“The concierge will hand you your key, we’ll have no access to your room.
I didn’t bring my equipment, GHB would be something difficult to conceal from TSA, and if I’m honest, I’m exhausted.
It’s been a tumultuous week and I’d like to watch Jonas fuck my little bird in the tub, put her to sleep so I can wake her up with my dick and then pass the fuck out because it’s been days since I’ve been in her sweet little cunt.
“If you want to stay here, where your room and your food are already paid for, be my fucking guest. If you’d like to go out in the cold and shell out three-thousand dollars a night of your own money in a city full of pickpockets, you’re also welcome to do so.
Just don’t come back when you realize your wallet and passport have been stolen and you have nowhere to go in a country where you don’t know the language. ” He growls.
My room is next to theirs and I’m grateful I can’t hear their late-night activities.
In the morning, I wake to the low sounds of a cello playing something haunting and mournful.
I wake to thoughts of Raven because my dreams are the only way I still allow myself to have access to her.
I go, open the French double doors, taking in the sight of the sun rising over the horizon behind the glittering Eiffel tower and watch her play .
Because I’ve never seen something more tragically beautiful than her.