Page 120 of Hunting Pretty

Behind us, the tall doors opened onto the balcony; gauzy white curtains billowed as the Eiffel Tower sparkled in the lavender dusk. The soft sweet scent of the white hydrangeas and bloodred roses that filled the balcony flower box drifted in along with the scent of baking pastries.

I took a picture for social media and posted it, making sure that the Eiffel Tower could be seen in the background.

Ifhespotted it, he’d know exactly where I was.

He was smart enough that he could probably even calculate based on the angle of the setting sun and the famous landmark exactly which hotel and room I was staying in.

At least, I hoped he was still watching me even if from afar.

Ugh, stupid, Ava.

“We look ridiculous.” I laughed, pushing up my new oversized Chanel sunglasses as I stumbled over the hem of my new Dior tulle skirt.

Lisa lowered her YSL shades, the tip of her giant whiteGiambattista Valli Spring hat covering one eye like a fringe and eyeing me in the mirror. “Darling, we lookrich.”

I tossed my Maison Laulhère beret onto the pile of boxes and bags and fell onto the Versailles floral chaise.

I kicked off my Chanel kitten heels and groaned as I massaged the balls of my feet. “Do we have to go out tonight? I’m wrecked already.”

“Oh no.” Lisa waggled her Bvlgari-bejeweled finger at me. “We’re in fucking Pariii, babe, we are goingout.”

Lisa ordered Espresso Martinis for us, shoved one in my hand, and pushed me into my bedroom to get ready while she got ready in hers.

I knew it was stupid, but I left my curtains open as I put on a slinky black silk sheath dress and strappy heels.

I knew he wasn’t watching from one of the cute wrought-iron Juliet balconies from across the way, but it made me feel a little better to pretend.

After I’d swiped a brush through my hair, drew black cat liner on my eyes, and slicked a red lipstick on, I took what was left of my martini onto the balcony to get a few minutes of quiet before Lisa barreled in with all her enthusiasm and terrible French accent.

The Eiffel Tower, shimmering and beautiful, was just about as big of a reminder as I could get that I was a whole-ass country away fromhim.

As I caught bits of French from the cobbled streets below, I tried to relax, as I’d been trying to do all day.

In the windows of the buildings across the street, everyone was black silhouettes against soft yellow light. Most were preparing for a night out just like us, slipping in earrings, adjusting ties.

I kept looking for that one window where a silhouetted figure stood still, looking at me across the boulevard.

But he wasn’t here. Hedidn’tfollow me. Hewasn’twatching.

Lisa and I ducked into a narrow alley in the heart of Paris, barely noticeable if you didn’t know where to look.

A small wrought-iron sign hung above the arched entrance, readingLe Corbeau Noir—The Black Raven—in faded gold letters.

Its dark wooden door was heavy, creaking as I pushed it open, and immediately, I was swallowed by a world that felt like it belonged to another century.

Inside, the dim lighting cast long shadows across the deep burgundy walls, illuminated only by flickering sconces and iron chandeliers that hung low from the high ceilings.

The air was thick with the scent of sweet cherries, whiskey, and something darker, like the place itself held centuries of secrets.

Clusters of plush velvet armchairs circled around low mahogany tables. Heavy velvet curtains draped over the windows, keeping out the sounds and lights of the busy streets outside, making the place feel timeless, as if no one who entered ever really left.

Le Corbeau Noir was more than just a bar. It felt like a sanctuary for the lost, the broken, and those who sought comfort in the quiet murmur of Parisian nights.

Already it was packed with hot locals who unbuttoned their white-collared shirts just so and kept hand-rolled cigarettes at the ready, tucked behind their ears among perfectly tousled hair.

“Lord,” Lisa said, putting her hands together, “please bring me a hot Frenchman tonight. I’ve been so good.”

I jostled her playfully and we made our way to the black marble bar stretched across one side, polished to a gleam so dark it looked like spilled blood.

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