“Oui,” she says kindly.
I watch tourists take photos of the glass pyramid, laughing, alive, free. The world goes on.
Mine has stopped.
When I reach the apartment—hisapartment—I feel as if I’m trespassing.
There’s evidence of him everywhere. His memory. Where we made love. The wine he brought one night, the empty bottle now a candle stand. I can almost hear him say my name in the dark, the low rumble of his voice that used to make me melt.
Now, it hurts…like a bitch.
I start to pack, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I shove clothes into my suitcase, not caring what fits, what tears.
Cece helps.
I open my sketchpad and burst into tears when I see his face that I sketched one evening like a lovesick fool.
“Tara,” Cece breathes. “Oh,chérie….”
I look up, trying to smile, but it collapses before it reaches my eyes. “I didn’t even know I was staying inhis apartment. Can you believe that? He never said it was his.”
She kneels beside me, taking my cold hands in hers. “I’m so sorry.”
My voice trembles. “He thinks I sold…I sold that photo of us…how could he think that?”
“Quel connard?*.” She shakes her head, annoyed. “I’m not sleeping with you, but even I know that is not who you are. He should know better! What exactly did he say to you?”
I swallow hard. “He told me to get out.”
Cece’s eyes flash. “Thatconnasse?* Simone.”
I blink. “What?”
“I know it’s her,” Cece hisses. “She’s been hanging around him for months, like a vulture. If anyone has the contacts to feed the press, it’s that woman. This is exactly her kind of poison.”
It makes sense. “But…she put her son out there, too.”
“She’s a horrible human being who will do exactly that kind of thing.” Cece’s hands curl into fists. “How did she get that photo out of your phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You send it to anyone?”
“Ah…I sent it to Aubert and Gustave. They sent me the photostheytook.”
Cece gives me a satisfied look. “She got into her son’s phone.Garantie?*!”
Sounds plausible, but it doesn’t change a damn thing, does it? Gustave and I are done. And in a way that hurts.
“It’s over and…I had such hopes, Cece. Foolish ones.”
Cece takes my hands in hers and squeezes. “He’s a fool. A handsome, aristocratic fool.”
That makes me laugh—sort of. It’s broken, half a sob.
“I didn’t want any of this,” I whisper. “I didn’t want his money or his world. I…I thought he saw me.”
“You have more integrity in your little finger than all of them put together. Don’t you dare let them take that from you.”
