Once Milo leaves me in the hotel lobby, I turn to go back up to our suite. Then I realize Toto’s following me.
“I’m sorry, pal. I can’t take you with me to Nîmes.”
I pick up Toto and give him a hug as I take him to Maurice in reception.
“Hello, Ms. Bismark. How can I help?”
“I’m just coming by to thank you for everything.”
“Checking out early?”
“No,” I say. “But today is going to be crazy. You know Slayer’s performing today in Nîmes. We have a late night and then we’re headed out tomorrow. If I don’t say goodbye to you now, I may not get the chance. I’ll miss you. And I’m certainly going to miss this little guy.”
I pass Toto to Maurice, who rings for a bellman. As he’s led away, the little dog turns his white and tan face towards me, yipping as he disappears through the garden doors.
“It was our pleasure to serve you, Ms. Bix. We hope to see you back again.”
I smile, and as I walk away from the concierge desk, I see a stack of international newspapers. One colorful cover draws my attention.
I step closer and gasp. It’s Slayer and Valentina, kissing on the front page.
My heart sinks as my eyes dart to the headline. A cold chill settles over me. I take the newspaper to Maurice.
“Can you read Italian, by any chance?”
“Oh, yes. We’re multilingual at this desk,” he says. “Would you like me to read it to you?”
“Please.”
He scans the headline, then pales. “Oh my,” he says, looking up to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bismark. But the news isn’t very good. I know Slayer is your boyfriend but?—”
“It’s okay. Just tell me what it says.”
He takes a deep breath. “If mademoiselle insists. The article says Slayer and Valentina announced their engagement last night.”
His eyes soften as he looks up at me.
“Apparently they were high school sweethearts. And they realized they’ve been apart far too long. I’m sorry,” he says again, handing the paper back to me.
I nod. “It’s okay, Maurice. I suspected it as soon as they met.”
I turn once again and return to the elevators, my mind humming. This changes everything. I’m not even Slayer’s fake girlfriend anymore. He has an Italian contessa fiancée now—one with a villa and the jet-set life built in.
Milo is right. It’s time I take off my ruby slippers and go back to my old life.
Back upstairs, I check the flight schedule for the next plane to New York. And silently congratulate myself for requesting that return ticket on a commercial airline. The next flight isn't until late this afternoon, though, so I have a few spare hours.
I make the bed so housekeeping doesn’t think I’m a total slob. As I fluff up the pillows, I find my turtle.
“Sorry, Oscar,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to squash you. Thanks for being here with me last night. Back home we can tell my friends all about our adventures together.”
Packing quickly, I put him at the top of my suitcase, tucking himin so he’s not crushed again. Then I zip it up and place it by the door.
Nothing to do now but wait.
Or…take Carlos up on his offer to audition.
I take out the card he gave me last night and dial his number.
