Page 13 of The Crimson Lily
“I need to know I can trust you!” I rasp, choking on my own words.
He releases me and lets me collapse to my knees. I sniffle a few times at his feet. I try to stand up to escape, but I trip and fall again. His scornful gaze lands on me as I struggle to get back up again.
“You don’t need to trust me,” he scoffs. “My business is none of your business.”
I am overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of guilt. I crawl back up and turn back to him, looking down, feeling sinful. He still has his glare on me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper with cracks in my voice. “I think someone’s after me, and I think they’re here…in Paris.”
He probably didn’t hear me. He grunts, grabs his duffle bag, and marches out of the room. I don’t know if I’m ever going to see him again. I collapse on the floor and empty my eyes. He’s gone. I don’t feel safe anymore.
6
Ihave one of my horrible migraines when I wake up this Friday morning. I call the hotel helpline to ask for aspirin, which they bring in a few seconds later. I pop two pills and a coffee, then practically teleport to the grand corridors of the magnificent Louvre.
I’ve not been able to control myself anymore. After last night, after seeing my life flash before Maksim’s eyes, I was taken by the notion that, should these be my last moments, I need to see the Louvre once again. I need to refresh my memory of its beauty and its thousand treasures. I felt numb earlier. Now, I am a little girl again in her favorite adventure park, wearing jeans and a pastel-pink shirt. I’m walking through the place, and I just know where I need to go, so I follow my legs as they lead me to the collection of statues of Greek gods. I follow them as they take me to Ancient Egypt, to Africa, and to the Renaissance gallery with a myriad of paintings scattered across walls and ceiling and framed in gold.
As I’m slowly making my way to the Louvre’s most famous jewel in the Salle des États, I hear a voice behind me. It is low, raucous, like a man who has smoked for years and only stopped recently. He speaks softly, calm and relaxed. I recognize thisvoice. All the little hairs on the nape of my neck bristle in panic. I am petrified. I don’t dare move.
Two men walk behind me, farther away, among other visitors. But this man’s voice resonates from all four walls to my ears.
“I can’t recall how many times I’ve been in this room, Mr. Zhang,” the man says, almost with a hint of mirth in his gravelly voice.
I hate this voice instantly.
Mr. Zhang laughs nervously—I don’t like his voice either.
I turn around to check if the man who spoke is looking at me. To check if the man with red hair, mutton chops, a dark-blue shirt, denim jeans, and brown leather shoes has spotted me. He hasn’t, so I hurry away. I rush out of William de Loit’s line of sight. I don’t take the right turn to the Salle des États. I don’t even catch a glimpse of the Mona Lisa surrounded by at least twenty people. I head to the end of the hallway, make my way downstairs, and immediately go for the exit.
But not before being pulled into a corner and having a hand pressed against my mouth. I squeal, struggling against the stranger’s grip. I am giving him elbows, kicking his shins, trying to pinch his hand so he’ll let go of me. I don’t want to be here. I want to escape, to vanish and never come back.
The man holding me leans closer to my ear and hushes me with a soft whisper. “If someone’s after you, you shouldn’t come where the wolves want you.”
Maksim.
All muscles in my body relax. I close my eyes and purse my lips, letting the fear that gripped me slowly evanesce. I am no longer afraid. I am safe, close to him. Maybe a little too close. Maksim releases me, and I turn to him.
I give him an assertive punch to the chest.
“Don’t scare me like that!” I shout, my eyes shooting arrows. Then I notice people are looking, so I giggle exaggeratedly and act stupid.
Once I’ve calmed down, I meet his eyes again and think about his last sentence. “What do you mean, ‘the wolves’?” I ask insistently. “And how did you know I was here?”
“I followed you out of the hotel,” he replies.
Wow, I’m actually more astounded by the fact I didn’t notice him than by the creepy stalker attitude. I was going to say something, but he starts pacing away.
“Let’s get out of here before you get seen,” he declares without looking at me.
I’m about to catch up to him when yet another familiar voice addresses and startles me.
“Liliana?” a man asks.
Busted. So much for the black hair…
I turn around, nervous, expecting to see a ghost from my past. Because I darn well recognized that voice. And now, I recognize the man.
“Alejandro…” I murmur.
