Maybe someone stronger, a woman with the fortitude to handle three men in the freakingmafia,would’ve been able to do that.
I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing my palms up and down my sleeves as I drifted aimlessly away from the bookstore.
People passed me—couples laughing, families pointing at landmarks. Everyone else seemed to fit into this postcard version of the city.
I felt like a smudge across the bottom corner.
Some part of me knew Jonathan and Devin were probably panicking right now. And Alex, well, he was probably angry. I didn’t know which was worse.
“You’re someone we bought.”
The words replayed like some poisonous lullaby.
It wasn’t as though he’d said anything untrue. I was technically their prisoner. I might’ve gotten used to nicer hotels and better food and Declarations of Protection™ that came wrapped in affection, but, at the end of the day, they owned me.
So why did it feel like he’d punched through something fragile inside me?
Maybe because I’d let myself forget.
I ducked down a side street, then another, not really paying attention to where I was going. My thoughts kept spiraling.
Was this Stockholm Syndrome? Was I falling for people who literally kidnapped me? Was I some kind of idiot who confused survival instinct with romance?
Did I want them to love me?
God. Was I falling in love with them?
A fresh wave of tears burned my eyes.
I wiped them away impatiently and looked around, trying to get my bearings. The buildings all looked similar—old stone facades, wrought-iron balconies, little chalkboard menus outside bistros. It was pretty, sure, but also confusing in the way mazes are confusing.
I turned around, hoping to spot the Seine, the bookstore’s green shutters, something. But the street behind me looked as unfamiliar as the one in front.
Okay. Great. I’d gotten myself lost in Paris.
Panic crept into my chest like cold water seeping under a locked door.
I reached for my phone before remembering I didn’t have international data. The guys had said to stick with them if I needed to call or navigate anything. And now they weren’t here.
Because I’d run.
And now I was alone.
A shaky breath escaped me. “Okay. Calm down. Just retrace your steps.”
Except I couldn’t remember which way I’d come. Everything had blurred together while I was busy wallowing in emotional meltdown territory. I took one hesitant step back the way I thought I’d walked from?—
“Bonsoir, jolie fille.”
I flinched.
A man leaned in the doorway of a nearby shop, dark eyes raking over me with unmistakable interest. He pushed off the wall and approached, his smile too smooth, too practiced.
“Uh…hi,” I said carefully.
He said something else in French, low and lilting, but I had no idea what it meant. My confused look made his smile widen.
“You are…tourist, yes?”
