Page 37 of One Time in Paris
The sheer ridiculousness of it made her laugh—sharp and breathless, like it had slipped out by accident.
Aiden’s brows furrowed. “You all right?”
“I think I’ve just realized just what it is you do for a living—whoyou are. And it’s?—”
“Crashed your processing system?” Davy provided helpfully.
His lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
“Aiden! You’re the CEO of a major defense contractor.” Isla’s eyes widened as she stared at him. “What are youdoinghere? Maybe I’ve been living in Costa Rica too long. It’s just. ..so insane to think about.”
Aiden gave her an odd frown, then exchanged a look with Davy.
“You spent too long on earth, and now it’s hard to remember what it’s like to walk with angels?” Davy asked with a laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, Isla. You don’t know what it’s like to be around normal people. You’ve spent most of your life with the upper crust.”
Isla sipped her chai, feeling shaky.
My God, I’m having an identity crisis.
Davy wasn’t wrong.
Her father had been wealthy from old money in England. That was how she knew the Camdens.
But her mother—a bisexual hippie from Costa Rica who loved yoga and the beach?
When she’d lived with her mother, it was like Isla had a completely different life. Likeshewas a different person. She’d left that, mostly, when she went to boarding school in Connecticut and moved to London, where her friends were actors and models. Film and theater folks. Maybe not as wealthy, but definitely not just average run-of-the-mill people.
And then she’d gone back to Costa Rica, where the people she saw on a daily basis were Sergio and her mum . . . Kyle.
Tourists and locals.
All people who’d lived ordinary lives. Maybe Kyle’s sisters lived in more elite circles now, but they hadn’t before.
Sergio wasn’t wealthy at all. She’d met his family.
And the inn guests? Even though it was a boutique inn, they were just average citizens.
I don’t know who I am anymore. Which world I belong in.
I’m not sure I belong in either world.
Before she could say anything—not that she was even sure she wanted to voice any of these thoughts—the van pulled up in front of a sixty-five-foot-tall Eiffel Tower replica with a red cowboy hat on top.
Davy hopped out, already speaking into her headset, and Isla glanced up at Aiden, her heartbeat slow and shallow.
“You look pale,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m not sure I feel so well.”
“Why don’t we step out of the van? Get some fresh air?”
She nodded, and he opened the door, then helped her out. He held on to her elbow gently and, rather than guiding her toward the group for the production, he led her closer to the Eiffel Tower, then released her. “That’s...something, isn’t it?”
Isla lifted her gaze toward the cowboy hat, then smiled. “It’s kind of sweet, I have to admit. I didn’t know if I would like it, but now that I see it, I do.”
“Texans know how to put their brand on things, don’t they? I saw a shirt in a store earlier withI Love Parison it. Except where there would normally be a heart shape, there was a shape of the state.”
“Of course.” She smiled, trying to catch her breath, still feeling jittery and out of sorts. Her hand trembled when she lifted her chai to her lips again.
