Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Settling on the sofa, I open my laptop and email a few design drafts and quotes. I get rid of the junk mail in my inbox and upload new social media content. My fingers hover over the search field in my browser. After a short hesitation, I type in the TGV website. A page with travel information comes up. Out of curiosity, I click on the link for Paris. A train leaves at 5 am, arriving in Paris three hours and fifty-three minutes later. I click on the price. The last-minute tickets are selling at a discount. Biting my lip, I hold my finger over the button.
What am I doing? I don’t know if it’s speaking to Lina and feeling like there’s something fundamental missing from my life, the regret of letting Maxime leave in the way I did, or the big glass of wine I finished, but in an impulsive moment, I sweep my finger over the button. My heart starts thrumming with the risk I’m taking when a popup window requests my credit card details.
Without thinking about it more, I get my card and type in the details. Six seconds later, I’m booked on the early morning train to Paris.
I eat, clean the apartment, pack a bag, have a shower, and hardly sleep. I’m up before my alarm, dressing in a red fitted dress with a matching jacket and black heels. I pin my hair up and apply makeup before studying my reflection in the mirror. I look older. I look like someone who’s lived ten years in one. Dismissing my image, I grab my bag, lock up, and drive to the station.
On my way to Paris, I send a text message to Veronica telling her I won’t be in and instructing her to keep up the fort. I ask Janice, who lives closer to the boutique, to put a sign in the window saying we’re exceptionally closed today. I get some work done, and by the time the train pulls up in Paris, I’m nervous. I should warn Maxime of my arrival, but I still don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m doing this. I tell myself I want to surprise him, but the truth is I’m keeping my options open in case I want to back out.
I get a taxi and give the driver the address. Less than thirty minutes later, we stop at the hotel. I confirm at the front desk that Maxime is in. Since he booked a double room, there’s no need to upgrade. After proving my identity, I convince the concierge to give me a card for the room so I can surprise my husband.
With my heart beating a strange, crazy rhythm, I take the elevator. When I stop in front of Maxime’s door, my nerves almost fail me. I consider turning around and going back where I came from, but when I think of taking the train home after I’ve already come this far, I take a deep breath and swipe the card.
A voice I don’t recognize filters from inside when I open the door. I pause. Maxime’s louder voice overrides the first, and then they speak simultaneously. Both men stop talking when the door shuts with a click.
A man appears from around the wall separating the bedroom from the entrance.
My throat goes dry.
It’s the man I saw at Alexis’s apartment on the night they tortured the woman. He smells like sweat and cabbage, clutching a shoebox under his arm.
He bares his teeth in a gesture that resembles a smile. “Your wife’s here.”
A curse sounds.
Maxime rounds the corner with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His gray eyes are expressionless, his voice flat. “What are you doing here?”
I look between the men. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Bad surprise,” the man says. “At least for you, Mr. Belshaw.”
I drop my bag on the floor, my body going rigid in an involuntary flight response. “What’s going on, Maxime? What is he doing here?”
“Go downstairs,” Maxime says.
The man steps closer to me. “I brought something for your husband, but I think you’ll appreciate it more.”
I glance at the box, my scalp prickling with premonition. “What is it?”
Unfazed, Maxime takes a sip of his drink. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Maxime is making a deal with a torturer? After what this man did to that woman?
“The deal has just changed.” The man turns to me with a feverish light in his eyes. “Your letters.”
Coldness travels over my body. “What letters?”
He tips his head in Maxime’s direction. “The ones he never mailed.”
“She knows,” Maxime says with a lazy drawl. “And the letters are at home in my safe.”
“I took them out of the envelopes and put blank paper inside,” he says. “I stole them from your study when Alexis moved in, before you had time to move everything out.”