23. Paname
PANAME
Arriving in Paris, wearing a wrinkled silk dress and carrying no luggage, is a very different experience than landing at Charles de Gaulle in college was.
I step off the train behind a woman with white hair, who is carrying a toy poodle, the relief that I arrived quickly washed away by a rising tide of panic.
What do I do now? I’m not naive enough to think my father’s men won’t chase me past Italy’s borders.
Nico’s men might be helping him. I’m sure they’ve located the stolen car I abandoned and found out where I bought a ticket to.
Should I climb on another train? Keep moving?
Paris is the only European city I’m familiar with. I spent four months here my junior year. But it doesn’t feel far enough from Salvatore and his demands.
He must be furious. I stole from him, then ran.
I left my phone behind, paranoid they could trace it.
I didn’t waste time packing any clothes, worried I’d lose my nerve or someone would come looking if I waited.
I snuck down a back staircase, snagged a set of keys from the valet stand while they were preoccupied parking other cars, and walked through the maze of vehicles until I found the corresponding one.
Retraced the route of my mandatory shopping trip with my stepmother, driving to the local airport and boarding the next flight to Milan.
I took a cab from the airport to Milan’s train station and purchased a ticket to Paris, hoping switching modes of transportation might make it harder for them to follow me.
I withdrew as many euros as my father’s card would allow me to before finding the right track in the station.
That black square of plastic, my passport, and the drive I stole are the extent of my personal possessions.
Enzo was right: I’m soft. I’ve been taken care of my entire life, provided a place to live and plenty of money.
I’ve been lonely, but I’ve always had resources.
There’s a crucial difference in feeling alone and being alone, one I’m faced with now.
It’s paralyzing—the total lack of support or direction.
What would Lev do?
The question flashes in my brain like a beacon, a reminder I’m not as dutiful or mundane as most people see me as. No one, not even Salvatore or Isabella, knows about him.
He’s the reason I swam five miles in my father’s pool yesterday.
I no longer think never being taught to survive in water was a simple oversight.
All my bills were paid, even after I started earning a salary—not by my father’s generosity, but as a way for him to control every aspect of my life. To keep me reliant on him.
What would Lev do?
I’m observant. I noticed the fake name he used and how we never frequented the same hotel twice. He carried multiple phones. And he did it all with an air of confidence that discouraged questions and encouraged compliance.
Lev wouldn’t stand in the middle of a bustling train station. Between my stillness and the cream-colored evening gown that resembles a wedding dress, I’m someone strangers will remember seeing.
I stride toward a convenience store located off the main train hall with renewed purpose.
It’s small, the elderly man behind the register preoccupied with the newspaper.
The sight reminds me of Isabella and how she’d peer over the crossword in the kitchen each morning.
I hope she’s okay. She did nothing to help me escape; she left before I did.
But the timing of our conversation is suspicious, and I’m sure she’ll be questioned as part of the search for me.
If—when—I make it somewhere safe, I’ll mail a letter and hope it reaches her. She wrote her family frequently; I have her home address memorized.
The store is small, but it has the essentials I’m looking for. A hoodie and sweatpants clearly targeted at tourists, basic toiletries, and a bottle of water. I grab a few snacks and a canvas backpack too.
In an effort to preserve my limited amount of cash, I use the credit card again.
They’ll figure out I came here anyway. The charge goes through, so the card hasn’t been locked.
I’m a little offended they think it’ll be so simple to track me down.
At least being underestimated is something I can use to my advantage.
I carry my purchases into the nearest restroom, finally changing out of the wrinkled dress I wore overnight. I toss the fancy gown in the trash can, smiling for the first time since I arrived in Italy at the sight of the pristine silk mixed in with crumpled paper towels.
I transfer everything else I bought into the backpack, slipping the drive into the front pouch of the Eiffel Tower sweatshirt until I can find a safer spot to stash it. If I’m found, it’s the only bargaining power I have.
I fight the urge to look around as I exit the restroom, envisioning a horde of men descending on me. Would they do that? Grab me in public? Probably. Who would stop them?
Despite the heat, I fight a shiver as I step outside.
Now I know why these clothes were discounted.
How many tourists buy warm clothing at the start of summer?
I start walking, stuck with my heels for the time being, wishing I’d noted when the train after mine left Milan.
It would be nice to know how much of a head start I have.
It’s probably more important I figure out where I’m going.
This visit couldn’t be more different from my last trip here. No accommodation booked, no phone to call a rideshare, no one to contact for help.
A blister forming on the back of my heel makes the first stop obvious.
I step into the first clothing store I come across, purchasing the cheapest pair of sneakers and socks I can find.
I also buy a T-shirt, changing in another restroom, then tying the sweatshirt around my waist. There’s a bus stop down the street.
I pay the fare to climb aboard, relaxing a little when the bus begins moving and the train station is out of sight.
I ride the bus until the route ends and I’m forced back out into the blaze of heat.
Unintentionally, I’ve wound up near the iconic landmark printed on my new sweatshirt.
Its distinctive shape sends a wistful pang through me.
I loved my semester here. It felt like the same fresh start that college had been, except I was older and able to take better advantage of it.
I wish those fond memories weren’t getting muddled by this nightmare.
I walk toward the crowds swarming the base of the monument, feeling sweat trickle down the column of my spine. Even outdoors, a cacophony of noise swirls around, overlapping languages and random conversations a constant soundtrack.
I find a free bench that’s partially shaded—although the temperature feels the same—and take a seat.
Pull out the water and a snack from my backpack, trying not to panic at the prospect of my next meal or the approaching evening.
I touch my new necklace and try to summon some strength from it.
I can be fierce. Right now, there’s no acceptable alternative.
Farther down the busy path, a man is playing a violin. I don’t recognize the song, but seeing and hearing the familiar slide of the bow across strings is soothing.
I listen until the song ends, then stand and keep moving.