Chapter 8

By the time I reached the aquarium”s exit, Eliza was gone. My eyes settled on the discarded flower left on the concrete. I picked it up, twirling it in my fingertips as I looked around, hoping she was around the corner. She wasn’t.

I slumped onto a bench, cursing myself for asking questions. She’d come out of her shell so brightly; I should have been more careful not to scare her away. Something was tearing her apart, something she was obviously afraid to face—and it was the reason she was in Paris.

I stood from the bench and tossed the flower in the nearest trash can before sulking away from the aquarium.

Willa would be out with Wren today, and Addie was with Holland. I didn’t want to return to an empty, silent apartment. I stepped on the metro and rode it to the barn. It was an hour-long ride; I didn’t arrive until three, when most other riders would be packing up and leaving. A few waved as I trudged through the aisle toward Ghost’s stall.

My giant horse poked his head out when he recognized my footsteps. I rested my forehead against his, letting out a long breath.

No matter how many people I said goodbye to, I always had my horse.

Without bothering with a saddle, I pulled his bridle over his head, let him out of his stall, and walked him to the nearest mounting block. Once I was on his bare back, I led him outside. Every rider here would look down on me riding like this—without a saddle, in tennis shoes, with my hair down—but I didn’t care. Ghost trotted happily outside, through the trees and along the trails.

I shouldn’t have greeted her in the first place. Every hello always ended in a goodbye.

I was in Paris to heal from a goodbye, not find new ones to tear open the already bleeding wounds in my heart.

It was better that she was gone now, when it was only a crush and her pretty dimples she was taking with her and not my whole heart.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I pulled it out; it was only a text from Willa with a photo attached. Apparently, we’d both had the same idea today, and she’d come home with a baguette and flowers too. I texted back some laughing emojis, shaking my head before turning my attention back to Ghost. He’d stopped walking and was trying to eat some weeds. With a chuckle, I tugged him up and turned him back toward the barn, guiding him onto the small race track outside. Early in the morning, the track was filled with training riders. There was only one other as I closed the gate behind Ghost and me. He tossed his head in excitement, itching to bolt the moment I loosened my grip on his reins.

“Bonjour, Sophie!”

The other rider on the track trotted up to greet Ghost and me. Our horses touched noses, and I offered her a smile. Jane was primarily a dressage rider, and she was the only other rider in the barn who lived full time in Paris. I didn’t know her well, but her bay mare was stalled next to Ghost’s, so she was the only one I talked to—even though she didn’t speak English very well.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” I greeted her in French.

Jane shrugged. “The barn is nice in the afternoon.” Her eyes dragged over Ghost and me. “No saddle?”

“I needed just to be here with him, I guess.”

She patted her horse’s neck, nodding in understanding. “Want to race?”

A smile spread across my face. Without answering, I nudged my heels into Ghost’s sides. Behind us, Jane whooped in excitement, spurring her horse forward. I held onto my horse with my thighs, leaning forward and giving him as much rein as he needed to run. Ghost was an enormous horse, standing at seventeen hands high, with strides much longer than Jane’s not quite sixteen-hand mare behind me. When I glanced back at her, she laughed and leaned as far forward as possible.

“Hope you enjoy looking at Ghost’s ass!” I called.

She flipped me off.

I was forced to look forward again as Ghost angled to take the curve of the track as if he was made for racing.

I needed this today—the feeling of freedom, the feeling of falling into something that was more familiar to me than my breath. The wind in my hair, the huffing of the beast beneath me, the sweat on my brow—it was all a part of me, and it had been for two hundred years.

Jane gained speed once she let her mare have more rein, coming up beside Ghost and me against the railing. I guided Ghost away from her to give them room to run. We exchanged another delighted smile, and then I let Ghost go. He kicked into a speed that shocked even me, bolting away from Jane and her horse seconds before passing the finish line.

I whooped in joy, tossing my arms high in the air. Ghost slowed from a full gallop to a slow trot and eventually to a walk.

“I can’t believe you didn’t fall off,” Jane panted as she caught up with us. “He’s so fast!”

“Years of practice,” I laughed, dramatically tossing my ponytail over my shoulder. She didn’t need to know I had two hundred years of experience on the back of a horse or that it was nearly impossible to throw me from my seat.

Jane extended her hand to shake mine. “Good run.”

I waved as she trotted toward the barn, then leaned down to pat Ghost’s neck. “Thank you, buddy.”

He snorted as if he understood I was thanking him for more than the win.

“You smell like a horse’s ass,” Willa greeted me as I pushed open the door to our apartment.

I flipped her off. I hadn’t brought a spare change of clothes to the barn, so after riding Ghost bareback, I was drenched in sweat and his. The sweat had soaked into my clothes along with the dirt from the track, leaving me looking like I’d rolled in the mud myself.

I rubbed the tiredness from my eyes, blinking in surprise when I saw Wren in the kitchen. He drizzled honey over the cup of tea he was making and didn’t look up, though his head tilted toward me—like he always needed to be aware of me.

“Hey, Wren,” I said carefully.

“Sophie.” He did not look at me.

I looked at Willa, whose teasing smile had faded to sympathetic. I shook my head, silently telling her not to bring it up. If Wren wasn’t comfortable with me, I wouldn’t force him to be—no matter how badly I wanted to shake his shoulders and apologize profusely.

“Right.” I straightened and locked the front door behind me. “I’m going to shower, then watch a movie in my room. Let me know if you need me.”

Willa waved with a frown. Wren didn’t turn. I slunk into my room, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it.

“I’m sorry, Willa.” Wren’s quiet words shattered my heart, and I covered my mouth to hide my sob so neither of them heard it. “I’m trying.”

Willa hurried across the room, and I listened to Wren’s long, slow breath that indicated she’d hugged him. “I know you are, baby.”

Wren sighed. “I don’t mean to hurt her.”

“She knows,” Willa whispered.

“I know,” I mouthed, clutching my chest.

I hated causing Wren’s pain and that he couldn’t look at me without being reminded of what I’d done to him a hundred years ago. I hated that my best friend was caught in the middle.

I hated that we were all trying so hard.

I pushed off the door and walked to my bathroom, turning on the shower and hoping the sound of the water hid my sniffles. I didn’t want either of them to feel worse than they already did. Stripping out of my muddy clothes, I tossed them in the hamper and stood naked in front of the mirror to brush the mud and tangles out of my hair.

When the shower was warm enough, I stepped in and sank to the ground, letting the hot water pour directly over my head. Finally, tears fell, red streaks instantly washed away in the water. Today had been an absolute rollercoaster of emotions, and they were all catching up with me. I rubbed my face vigorously, as if I could stop the onslaught of emotion that threatened to drown me.

It felt like my heart was bleeding again, oozing all the pain I tried to keep hidden.

I grabbed the shampoo bottle, shimmying out of the direct pour of water as I dumped a good amount onto my hand. The smell of oranges filled the air around me as I massaged it into my hair, taking deep breaths. The smell reminded me of springtime at home, when I was human, and the world seemed too large for a little girl like me.

It reminded me of the trees on our family’s acreage, lining the backyard. I remembered running through them as a child, plucking oranges from the trees and bringing them inside, where my mother would peel them for me or make them into juice.

And since today was determined to shatter me, it reminded me of the night my mother died, when I tried to push an orange into her hand and tell her everything would be okay—only for the orange to hit the ground because she was no longer strong enough to hold on. I wailed for my father and brother to come into the room.

My mother didn’t live another hour.

I shook the memory away, my stomach churning. I held my breath as I washed the shampoo out of my hair, letting the water pour over my head until every soap bubble and memory was gone. By the time the shower was over and I’d patched up the eternally bleeding wound in my heart with craft glue and tape—enough to hold it until next time the pain became too much.

After I dried off, I dressed in my comfiest pajamas and started climbing into bed when I only heard one heartbeat in the apartment instead of two. I opened my door, taking a breath to see Willa sitting on the couch alone. She looked half asleep and perked up when she heard my door open.

“Did Wren leave?” I croaked.

She pursed her lips, hesitating to answer.

“Did he leave because of me?”

Willa’s shoulders slumped. “He’s trying so hard, Sophie. But he wasn’t doing well today, and couldn’t be here.”

I blinked back tears, my vision temporarily turning red around the edges. Swallowing thickly, I looked at the TV. “What are we watching?”

“Regency romance,” Willa said, patting the cushion beside her.

I crossed the room and sat, scooping Echo into my arms and kissing the cat on the head before setting her back on the blanket.

Living with Willa was easy. It was a peaceful life, one I worried I wouldn’t find after leaving Italy last year. As it turned out, living with my best friend was one of the only things that eased my aching, bleeding heart. We spent our nights watching romance or trying new recipes and our days exploring the city we lived in.

“I found that vampire from the Louvre today,” I said a few minutes into watching TV, unable to keep it inside any longer.

Willa raised her eyebrow. “And?”

My shoulders slumped. “And something about her calls to every broken part of my soul.”

Willa frowned, placing her hand on my knee. “Tell me what happened.”

I relayed every conversation I’d had with Eliza so far: how she was an entirely different person today, one full of wonder and joy, and how I was more than positive her threats at the Louvre had been out of instinct and her disappearances had been out of fear. I described the sadness in her eyes, the twinkle when she saw the jellyfish, and the sound of her laugh when we rode the carousel. When I talked about her dimples and her laugh, Willa’s eyes softened and she watched me knowingly but said nothing.

“Anyway,” I finished. “It’s not like any of that matters. I’ll never see her again.”

Willa licked her lips. “You should talk to your brother.”

“Why?”

“Because he has experience falling for someone who was running from their pain,” Willa said.