Tears spill down my cheeks. “It doesn’t feel like integrity. It feels like heartbreak.”
Cece brushes my hair from my face and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’ll survive this, Tara. He doesn’t deserve you.”
I huff out a laugh through my tears. “Or want me, either.”
“Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s pack. You’re going home. To your family who love you. To sunshine and real tacos.”
Together, we finish packing. When the finalzipper slides shut, a strange stillness settles over me. I feel hollow, yet somehow lighter. The worst has passed, though I know the wounds it’s left behind will take a long time to heal.
I spend the night at Cece’s place, and the next day, after hugs and promises to keep in touch, I take a cab to Charles de Gaulle. I managed to get the last seat on a full flight, direct from CDG to LAX.
On the plane, I look down at Paris—the Seine winding like a silver ribbon through the rooftops. The city looks peaceful from up here. A dream I should never have believed in.
* The count’s mistress (French)
* Very bold (French)
* What an asshole (French)
* Bitch (French)
* Guaranteed (French)
CHAPTER 22
Gustave
The silence of my apartment is unbearable.
Every corner echoes with her—her laugh, her bright eyes, the way she filled this space with warmth simply by being in it.
So, I spend hour after hour in my office, working.
I can’t sleep. I can’t think.
When I close my eyes, I see her.
Tara.
I miss her. God help me, I miss her.
And I hate myself for it—for letting her in, for believing, even for one fragile moment, that I could live beyond the cage I was born into.
A storm brews outside my window, Paris is slick with rain, the city lights smeared on the glass. I stand watching it, whiskey in hand, until the knock comes at my door.
My assistant pokes her head in. “Ah…MademoiselleGiselle Durand is here.”
I nod. “Ask her to come in.”
I finish the whiskey and take my seat. I school my face to not show emotion. She’ll want to find out, like all the gossipers, how I feel about what happened…about the scandal.
My parents called and told me how inappropriate I've been.
Simone has yelled at me for not being discreet enough.
Aubert has told me I’m a fool—he doesn’t believe that Tara would sell me out. But he’s a boy, what does he know?
Giselle walks in, immaculate as always. “Thank you for seeing me.”
