Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(28)

My stomach rolls violently. “Yes. She was only planning to be gone two weeks. She had to be back to work and she never showed.”

“Oh no,” Chantal replies, looking appalled. “You didn’t tell me. I had no idea.” She turns to the woman and they exchange a rapid back-and-forth before Chantal casts me a grim look.

“There just isn’t any chance she got married. They’d know.

Maybe she and her iancé were overzealous and didn’t do their research. They could have gone out of the country to get married since two weeks isn’t enough time here.”

Except there’s no record of her leaving, but I don’t say that.

“Thanks, Chantal. I’ll look into other options.” I ight the urge to call Chris and tell him what I’ve discovered. “I need to go to the consulate in the morning. I lost my passport and I want to ask questions about my friend. Could you go with me as part of my lesson?”

“Of course.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Don’t fret. I’m sure she’s ine. In fact, I bet she loved the food so much, she decided to move here and they’ve planned a spectacular wedding event once they’ve settled in.”

My laugh at her joke is instant, and I embrace her suggestion with enthusiasm, hungry to believe Ella is safe and happy.

“Maybe she even likes tartare,” I joke.

She grins her approval. “I know what you’ll like.” She loops her arm in mine. “Let me show you what ‘chocolate’ French style is, and do some shopping. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Chocolate” turns out to be a hot-cocoa-like drink served with whipped cream on top at a little café of the Champs-

élysées. Absolutely decadent, it’s so incredibly rich that even the chocolate lover in me can’t manage more than one small cup. After our stop in the café, Chantal and I spend an hour shopping at name-brand stores and I struggle with the returned sense of being watched. I’m beginning to think this creepy feeling has more to do with being in a wholly unfamiliar place than anything else.

I’ve just settled in a chair outside a dressing room while Chantal tries on a sexy red dress for a date she has Saturday night, when my phone rings. It’s Chris calling during a short break in meetings.

“How’s shopping going?” he asks.

“No luck yet.”

“Sara.” His voice is illed with part reprimand, part disappointment.

Why is he pushing me so hard on this? “I’m looking, I promise.”

Several seconds tick by. “I’m not your father.”

My lashes lower and I struggle with the history he’s hit me with; with a father who’d tried to hold me captive with his money. With my fear of becoming my mother, who was more my father’s subject than his wife.

“I know, Chris.” My voice is barely audible.

“Do you, baby? Because you aren’t convincing me.”

“Yes.” And I do. Chris is exactly what Chantal had said: special. “There’s no comparison.”

“You aren’t going to get used to having money again and then have me disappear on you. I’m not going anywhere. I made that mistake once. I won’t make it twice.”

“I don’t care about the money. I care about us.”

“Then get what you need and what you want. That’s good for us.”

I hear only sincerity and love in his voice. “This really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“It’s part of us creating a new life, Sara. You have to be able to let go of the past.” He pauses. “And so do I.”

He’s right. And coming here was part of that, for him and me.

Unbidden, Ella slides into my mind. Maybe leaving her job and even me behind was the only way she could embrace her new life?

“I’ll ind something I love,” I promise. “How is it going there?”

We chat a bit more and we’re about to hang up when Chris says teasingly, “Spend money. That’s an order.”

To which I reply, “Or else?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Yes, I do. “Oh, now you’re just tempting me to burn this black AmEx you gave me.”

“Sometimes, Sara,” he says, his voice all sandpaper rough and wickedly suggestive, “the reward is better than the punishment.” He hangs up and I laugh, biting my bottom lip as potential rewards play in my mind.

Chantal exits the dressing room, a sexy vision in the clingy red dress. “Ooooh, that’s a devilish laugh you just gave. I’d love to have been on that call to hear what Chris said.”

“My lips are sealed.” I give her a once-over. “You’re looking pretty devilish yourself. I wonder if they have that in my size?”

Her expression lights with excitement. “Finally! Let’s get you out of denim and into red silk before you change your mind.”

Two hours later, Chantal and I exit one of many stores we’ve visited, and though it’s only ive thirty, we’re greeted by darkness, and the chilly weather makes me wish this black leather jacket was a bit thicker.

With seven bags of various sizes and weights now to my name, I am following Chantal to the entrance of a lingerie store, appalled to discover there is not a Victoria’s Secret in Paris, when Chantal’s phone beeps with a text. Chantal ishes her phone from her purse, her brow furrowing as she reads the message. “My mother’s sick with a stomach bug and needs me to look after my grandmother.” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry.