Page 97 of The Best Wild Idea
“You won’t be able to fly out with any of them,” she tells me, apologetically. Then she leans in closer to add more quietly, “It’s system-wide. You won’t even be able to board a ship or train to anywhere outside France.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, widening my eyes at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, frowning. She’s trying to look apologetic, but there’s an unmistakable suspicion behind her eyes. I can’t blame her for looking at me like that. I’m sure this type of thing doesn’t happen every day.
I glance behind me at the line of impatient travelers waiting to speak with her next. I don’t want to attract more attention to myself if I don’t have to.
“Thanks anyway,” I tell her, forcing a smile. It’s not this agent’s fault that I fell for Silas biggest-asshole-of-all-time Davenport.
I step out of line and drag my bags behind me to a quieter part of the airport, one buckled to the next so I can handle them all myself, then pull my phone out to call Silas. There’s no getting around it. We have to talk.
Annoyed, I listen to his phone ring until the voicemail cue picks up. I stare down at the phone in shock. So much for urgently sitting beside it, waiting for me to call.
I call Ryan next. If anyone will have a handle on Silas’ state of mind and his whereabouts, it’ll be him. Plus, he’s called me enough times for me to know he’s concerned, too.
“Juliet!” Ryan sounds a bit breathless after picking up on the first half-ring. “How are—”
“Where is he, Ryan?” I interrupt, anger filling my voice. We’re a little past pleasantries at this point. “And please tell me why the hell I’m grounded in Paris?”
“He’s on his way to see you. They’re all in the air right now, which is why you can’t get ahold of him, if you tried.” A fresh wave of guilt sloshes around the walls of my stomach. The crew must have had to scramble everything together to change their flights around today, just to follow me here sooner than planned.
It didn’t have to be like this, I remind myself. Silas didn’t have to call whatever connection he has here in France to corner me.
He also didn’t have to fuck me in order to make good on a promise either, but here we are.
“Will you release my passport, then?” I ask, not bothering to check whether or not it was Silas who made that call. Of course it was. No normal, everyday human has the power to ground a civilian passport in another country, but Silas has friends and associates in every corner of the globe with power and authorityover things that someone like me — someone who has zero power — could only dream of.
“Where are you? I can direct the crew over to—”
“Oh no, I don’t want you directing anyone to me. I want you to make the call to release my travel restrictions. Now, please. This isn’t a normal thing to do when two people are having a disagreement and you know it, so just make the call, Ryan.”
A heavy silence follows and I know I’m not going to win this.
I lean my head back and fight the tears from coming.
“He’s just worried about you,” he answers, quietly.
I imagine Silas waking up to an empty hotel suite, instantly panicking when he saw the letter I left out for him on the bathroom counter. Realizing all my luggage was gone too.
“I get that. But when I’m worried about someone, I don’t usually confine them to a foreign country just so I can go have a conversation with them. He hasn’t changed at all.”
Silence again.
“Are you at the airport?” he finally asks.
“Yes.” I sigh, angrily. There’s no getting around this. “But I’m not sticking around here, just waiting for him to swoop in and convince me that he’s sorry. If he wants to have a conversation with me, he can come and find me himself. Clearly, he’s very good at that.”
My blood is boiling. I hang up the phone and walk outside to call a taxi or Uber or whatever it is that’s available as quickly as possible. Then I double-check the text I received back from Monica after asking for the name of the hotel where my final letter from Grant is waiting. Paris was supposed to be our final stop together. I was going to book a later flight, retrieve the letter, and hop back on a plane to fly back home tonight, but now I just need to get that letter and apparently find a new way out of here, if at all possible. If not, we’ll have to talk here, but at least I can try.
Le Petite Fleur.
“Le Petite Fleur,” I tell the taxi driver when he pulls over. I throw my bags in the trunk, not bothering to wait for him to assist me. “Accéléré, s’il te plaît,” I add, calling upon the three years of high school French I’d taken over a decade ago.Please hurry.
“Tu l’as eu,” he says, behind the wheel.You got it.
I’ve never been here, but I take in as much of the city as I can while we pull away from the curb to start the drive. Tall buildings and tiny cafés roll past the backseat window of the black sedan while I try to keep the blurry edges of my eyesight from spilling over to ruin the view racing by. I never imagined that my first time seeing thiscity of lovewould be while running from two unimaginable heartaches.
When I arrive at the hotel, I have to convince the staff to hand Grant’s final letter over to me without Silas present, but I’ve come prepared.
