“Consider this a warning, Simone.” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my suit pants. “Do not touch Tara again. Do not speak of her. If you do, you will have chosen obliteration over an ember of dignity.”
As I walk out of the salon, past the ormolu and the silk, past the chandelier that has seen a thousand polite betrayals, I feel relief.
Outside, Paris breathes as it always does. I walk to my car with the satisfaction of a man who has closed a door, soundly, with both hands.
“Charles de Gaulle, s’il vous plaît?*,” I tell my driver.
“Oui, monsieur?*.”
* The harvest (French)
* Aunt (French)
* Ladies first (French)
* Darling (male)
* Charles De Gaulle, please
* Yes, sir
CHAPTER 25
Tara
Marisol’s birthday at Mi Tierra is a full-blown family takeover.
Papi closed the restaurant early.
We pushed all the tables together under the strings ofpapel picadothat fluttered in the air conditioning. But the family is spread out, having a blast. Someone’s spilled beer on the floor, the lights are low and golden, and Tio Diego is already leading a loud round ofCielito Lindowith his band.
Tia Camila claps along with the beat, her bracelets jingling, while Mama dances with Marco.
Marisol is glowing. She’s turned 21, so she can legally drink, and she certainly is.
Papi is behind the counter with a beer in one hand and a ladle in the other, shouting for everyone to try his new salsa recipe that “will cure heartbreak and hangovers, guaranteed.”
Lies!
It’s chaos—glorious, noisy, beautiful chaos.
I love being home—and find it healing.
It’s been a few weeks since Paris and losing my career, but thanks to their unconditional love, I am feeling better.
The Louvre, improbably, got back in touch—asking if I’d like to return to Paris.
Right. I told them,“Non, merci.”
Cece later told me that Gustave had been asking about me, and that she’d taken great pleasure in telling him to go fuck himself. I didn’t even ask what he said in return.
I am not sure if Gustave reached out. I don’t want to know, either.
I blocked him at the same time I did Aubert. He’d messaged me, kind and concerned, and that had taken me down a bad path. I can’t deal with anyone fromthatworld—not yet. My wounds are still raw. My heart, still broken.
Healing will take time. Smiling without effort will take time.
For now, I’m faking it…until I make it, whenever that is.
