25. Tatiana
TATIANA
P aris.
The City of Love. The City of Light.
Christmas lights glimmered. The Eiffel Tower lit up like a magical kingdom, pulling you into his charm with the ambience of love and holidays.
The weather was cold and crisp, but the city didn’t rest. It was in full swing, music on the streets, busy cafés and beautiful lights and decorations everywhere you looked.
And we could see it all from our hotel room at Triangle d’Or. Hotel Marignan Champs-Elysées was romantic. So freaking romantic that I actually regretted not having my husband here with me.
I sighed.
Twenty-four hours. I had done a good job of destroying his chances at following us because we had yet to see a single Russian man. Although Isla’s phone had blown up with messages and calls from her brother demanding she call him.
She didn’t.
“Let’s go have fun,” I squealed.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but I’d be damned if I’d let our evening go to waste. We had at least several evening hours to burn.
“Yay! I’m ready.”
Five minutes of digging through the clothes and we both settled for a dress. Although we’d freeze our butts off. But you cannot be in Paris and not dress accordingly. I opted for a dark blue knee-length dress that flares from my waist down and a pair of nude Louboutin Pigalle heels.
I twirled around. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous.” On the other side of the bed, Isla twirled around. Her nude dress was more subtle than my blue one, but it only accented her natural beauty. “And me?”
Her pink Louboutin Dolly Pumps gave Isla an extra three inches and matched her wide belt around her slim waist. The accessory and color coordination was perfect. It was sophisticated but didn’t make her look too young.
“You should wear this tomorrow,” I remarked. “Marchetti will drool.”
She grinned, her cheeks flushing. “I have something better for tomorrow. I bought it in the lobby earlier.”
I shook my head. “No credit cards, right?”
“All cash baby.”
“Such a good accomplice,” I commended her.
She bowed lightly. “I aim to please.”
Ten minutes later, we roamed the streets of Paris. I’d been to Paris a long time ago with Vasili when I was barely ten. It was a vastly different experience now.
Hand in hand, we started walking down the sidewalk.
Silence followed us but it was a comfortable one.
I sucked in a deep breath, the cold invading my lungs.
Compared to Russia, it wasn’t as cold. Yet, compared to New Orleans it was freezing.
I wrapped my coat tightly around myself and glanced at Isla to ensure she wasn’t cold.
Both of us wore similar black dress coats and matching black French Berets.
When I handed it to her, she protested but I insisted. I told her “When in France, you wear a French hat.”
“Hats were a good call.” She smiled, fixing it so it was tilted fashionably and we continued down the sidewalk.
It didn’t take long to get to the humble, slow-moving river, the Seine. The river flowed through Troyes and through the heart of the city. My step halted and I watched the lights reflect across the surface of the river. The beauty of it hit me and a memory I had forgotten came rushing through.
“Adrian, why can’t we stop in Paris on the way home?”
“I have work.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “You took time to come to Russia. We can take an extra two days and stop in Paris.”
Adrian had taken me to a parking lot in Russia before ending at the hotel room. Our honeymoon was frankly shitty and totally not what I had been expecting. Not even a dinner at a restaurant. Instead, he ordered room service. Yesterday and today.
“No. When I’m dead, go to Paris.”
I blinked confused, then repeated slowly. “When you’re dead…”
His gaze met mine. Unemotional. Cold. Leveled.
“Go to Paris,” he finished the sentence.
Clenching my fists, I gritted, “Then let’s go walk the streets of Moscow.”
It was an understatement of the century to say I was pissed off. I deserved better than this. If I uttered a single word to Vasili that my honeymoon sucked, he’d handle it but I didn’t want to have to do that. I didn’t want to hear ‘I told you not to date him’ from my eldest brother.
Adrian returned his eyes to the screen and I stomped my foot, fury threatening to boil over.
“Adrian!”
The streets and sights of Moscow were better than staring at these four walls. If he’d devoured me and we’d spent them between the sheets, I could be convinced to stay in. But he hadn’t even touched me.
“You can go,” he retorted, never lifting his eyes off the screen. “I’ll wait for you here.”
Anger boiled deep inside me, but I refused to start an argument on my honeymoon. No matter how shitty it was. So I grabbed a coat and left without a backward glance.
And here I was. In Paris. Years too late. A life too short.
“Are you okay?” Isla’s breath clouded the air, her eyes on me full of worry. I nodded, turning my attention to the Seine. I stared down the river, the sounds of soft, romantic music traveling on the breeze.
“It’s ironic, you know,” I started softly, something deep inside me aching.
Somehow both of my marriages had ended up starting the same way.
Elopement. Rushing to Russia. “Adrian, my first husband, took me to Russia for our honeymoon too.” She frowned, watching me confused.
I shook my head, then sighed. “It’s a long story,” I added.
She remained silent, waiting for me to continue. Except, I didn’t know where this story would take me. Another disappointment? Another clue?
“I’m glad I got to come here with you,” I said warmly.
“Me too.” She squeezed my hand. “W-was he good to you?”
Bitterness could be like poison, slithering through your veins until you forgot everything but the wrongs.
It was so easy to get lost in the wrongs.
His. Mine. Ours. It didn’t even matter. I remembered the boy who snuck ice cream to me when Vasili said no.
The boy who beat up my bullies in high school when Sasha was in the service.
In recent weeks, or maybe even months, I had come to the realization that Adrian had been good to me. Until we got married.
Then instead of bringing us closer together, our marriage had torn us apart. And, with each discovery, the seeds of doubt grew and suspicion started to form. Adrian wasn’t who I thought he was.
“Yes,” I finally answered because anything else was too complicated. Adrian was gone and now, I just wanted to learn the truth. Have him rest in peace. Find peace for myself. We had earned it. I turned to her and smiled. “We are in the most romantic city in the world. Let’s enjoy it tonight.”
And we did. We strolled through the centuries old streets. Its stunning architecture shone in a completely different light.
A Paris night cruise along the Seine River. Drinks at a Rooftop Bar. We swung by an Art Déco Pool. Then ate in Montmartre.
We even shopped. We drifted in and out of the stores. French sales women were more than eager to sell us anything and everything. They called us rich Russians. I didn’t bother correcting them until we were leaving the store with bags of dresses and shoes.
“By the way, we’re Americans,” Isla told them, stealing the words out of my mouth.
The two of us giggled as the door shut behind us with a bell. She looped her hand through mine and we strutted down the sidewalk. Her steps halted and my eyes took in the lingerie store.
My eyes flicked to her then back to the store. “Why are we standing here?”
“Maybe–”
I shook my head, not letting her finish. “No, no. If your brother learned I took you to a lingerie store and you bought shit to seduce Marchetti, it’d be my head.”
She rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. According to the messages I got from my brother, it’ll be my head if anything happens to you.”
A beat skipped in my chest. Warmth erupted in my heart. So many feelings bloomed in my chest. Illias cared enough for me to threaten his sister. His baby sister. The pressure in my chest grew, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Just as I opened my mouth, a feeling of being watched slid down my spine. I turned my head and a dark shadow turned his back to me. Familiar broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Muscular ass.
“Is that Nikita?” I asked, narrowing my eyes on the man walking away from us.
“If that was Nikita, he’d kick our asses,” Isla remarked. She was right. And he certainly wouldn’t be walking away from us.
My pulse sped up. It pounded in my throat. Buzzed in my ears.
Lingerie store forgotten, I rushed after the familiar figure.
He flickered a glance over his shoulder, giving me a glimpse of his profile. A tremor rolled through my body. Anxiety brewed in my chest and ran through me like frost in the winter. It swelled in my chest until it became hard to breathe.
I shook my head. No, no, no . It couldn’t be him. Calm down. Breathe, Tatiana.
Inhaling a deep breath, I exhaled it slowly. Then repeated it, and all the while my steps never faltered.
“Tatiana,” Isla called out. “Wait.”
I didn’t stop, my steps picking up speed and my Louboutin heels clicking against the pavement.
The familiar stranger turned the corner and disappeared from my view.
I started running, listening for Isla’s heels behind me. Click. Click. Click. The sound of our heels hitting the sidewalk blended together as I chased the phantom who’d been watching me. I reached the street and turned the corner, then stopped abruptly.
“Jesus, what’s that about?” Isla’s breath was labored as she bent over and put her hands on her knees. “These heels are a bitch to run in.”
She lifted her head, still half bent over, her eyes darting over the dark alley, then back to me.
“What is it?” she asked, still breathing heavily.
My eyes locked on the alley, I started to question myself. The man kept walking, although he wasn’t running.
“Nikita?” I called out. His step never even faltered. No acknowledgment. The guy didn’t even turn to see who called out.
I was just about to call out again when a bus cut off my view of the shadow man. Zoom. I barely blinked my eyes, the bus was gone and so was the man.
Nobody. There was nothing there. Gone just like that.
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” I rasped, staring down the empty street.
“Why?”
I swallowed, dread growing in the pit of my stomach.
Because I might be losing my mind.