Streetlights glowed outside. Footsteps echoed in the apartment hallway now and then, then faded. I sank onto the sofa in the dimness, no lights on, replaying the whole day from start to finish.
The way Ezio looked at Leo.
Something in that look: suspicion, probing, or...
He asked Leo's age.
Five.
I'd thrown out the ex-husband excuse to brush him off, but he wasn't dumb. One quick calculation, and he'd know.
My fingers clenched the throw pillow.
What now?
Leave?
Grab Leo and go tonight, back to France, back to that small town, pick up our life. But what about Juliet?
And—
How long could I run?
He'd seen Leo. If he suspected, he'd dig. He'd pull every string, check me, check Leo, every detail of the last five years.
No escaping that.
My palms slicked with sweat.
I grabbed my phone, scrolled to Ella's number, and dialed.
It rang twice before she picked up.
"What's up?" Her voice had that lazy pre-bed haze.
"Ella," my voice shook, "he saw Leo."
Silence on the other end.
"Fuck," she sucked in a breath, "what happened?"
"He came by today," I said, "with Juliet to see me. Leo was playing on the lawn, they—they ran into each other."
"And then?"
"Then," I shut my eyes, "he asked Leo's age, asked about his birthday."
"You told him?"
"Age yes, birthday no."
"So he..."
"He probably figured it out," I said, "Ella, he's not stupid."
More silence.
"What're you gonna do?" she asked.
