FIFTY-TWO ARABELLA

FIFTY-TWO

Arabella

I FEEL like the Princess and the Pea. Isn’t that the story where the girl was held captive in a tower? Or maybe that was Rapunzel. Yes, it was Rapunzel, and she could only escape by letting her hair down and the prince crawled up to save her, using her long hair like a rope. Or something like that.

I think I’m getting my fairy tales confused.

Whatever. How about this: I feel like a princess locked away from her prince but instead of an imposing castle in the middle of nowhere, I’m in the Coco Chanel suite at The Ritz, locked in my room and my mother won’t let me out. Like that’s going to convince me to stay and do this apprenticeship.

My mother has clearly lost it. She refuses to listen to me, and I didn’t bother arguing with her once I heard from Rowan when he was at the airport. His plane was set to leave at five o’clock his time, which would have him arriving around six thirty in the morning here. Dreadfully early, but I don’t care. I just want to see him. I need him to get me out of here and take me home. Back to his parents’ house.

Where I feel like I belong.

He called me when he got to the plane, full of reassurances, telling me he loved me. I held it together and didn’t cry, too happy that he was coming to my rescue like only a true prince would. Once we got off the phone, I fell asleep, only to wake up with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed.

It’s six thirty-three.

I check my phone but I haven’t heard from him yet. I am almost out of battery—Mother won’t let me have my charger, which is silly, but she’s acting ridiculous so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m limping my phone along by shutting all of my apps off and keeping it on low power mode but even doing all of that, my battery only has nineteen percent left.

I need him to get here soon.

Sliding out of bed, I go to the window and pull the curtains back, staring out at the Vendome square in front of me. It’s mostly empty, all of the shops closed and not many people outside. In fact, there are only the employees of the hotel out front, helping someone get into a car. My gaze drops to the door handles in front of me and I realize this is a small balcony.

Duh.

I test the handle and it opens with ease. I step out onto the balcony and breathe in the cold air, shivering when the gentle breeze hits me. At the very least, I can talk to Rowan outside like this if he can’t get a hold of me. Which I doubt it’ll get that bad but hey.

I need options.

Going back into my bedroom, I carefully shut the doors, trying to stay quiet. I check my phone yet again and this time I do have a text message from Rowan.

Row: Just landed. Give me some time and once I’m on the road and headed to the hotel, I’ll text you. Be ready to go.

Oh my God. I am giddy with relief. And flushed with love. No one has ever dropped whatever they were doing to run to my rescue. Not even my parents.

This boy … he really does love me.

Me: I’m ready to leave whenever you get here. Just … hurry.

Row: I’m trying. Made sure to arrange for a car to take me there before we took off. Depends on traffic but I’m about forty minutes away.

Me: I’ll be waiting for you. Thank you.

Row: Anything for you, Bells. I hope you know that.

I do. I know it now. I have more faith in him than anyone else in my life.

I take the quickest shower because I don’t want to miss his call. I change into the comfiest clothes I brought—a cream-colored matching sweat set—and dry my hair. I don’t bother putting on makeup, I don’t waste my time looking for a special pair of glasses to wear to make my outfit pop. I am myself. No pretense, no need to try and get someone’s attention. I already have it.

Once I’ve packed my suitcase, I go out onto the balcony and wait for his arrival. The morning sky is still dark, but the area we’re staying in is slowly coming to life. There is more traffic on the street, and people appearing on the sidewalks. I spy the retail store for the jeweler I was supposed to work for across the street, and I’m filled with sadness.

Then, I remember this opportunity was never about me. My mother planned on using me to see her lover as much as possible.

All of the regret is gone, just like that.

I remain on the balcony for so long, I watch the sky grow lighter as the sun rises. It feels good out in the fresh air, knowing I’m leaving soon. That I’m not stuck here. I have options.

And this makes me think of my mother, who might feel like she’s run out of options. She’s in a loveless marriage but won’t leave because she’s scared to be alone, even though I assume she’d still have Maurice. But she’s afraid to lose the status being married to my father brings her. She’ll sacrifice all happiness for that status, and I can’t help but think that’s a horrible way to live her life.

I refuse to be like her. Someday when I have children, I’m going to lavish them with so much love, they’ll be sick of me. And I won’t even care because my children will always be secure in the knowledge that I love them. They will matter to me, and I will celebrate them every chance I can get.

But I can’t worry about that. I don’t want kids for a long time still. I’m barely eighteen. Me and Rowan as parents now?

No, thank you.

There’s a knock on my door and I turn, watching as the door swings open and there stands my mother. I step to the side, blocked by the curtains, but able to watch as she enters the room. She looks around, her expression one of utter disbelief that she can’t find me. She goes into the bathroom and rummages around, then darts back into the bedroom, her gaze wild.

“Arabella!” She is screeching. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her sound so panicked. “Where are you?”

“Looking for me?” I emerge from my hiding spot, coming in from the balcony. I turn and carefully shut the doors before I face her once more.

She’s seething. Her face is flushed red and her gaze is full of fire. “What were you going to do? Jump from the balcony?”

“I’m not that stupid.” I push past her and go to my suitcase, zipping it closed. “I’m leaving.”

“Good luck. I have your wallet with your ID in it.”

“And I have my passport in my backpack.” I point at where it sits by my suitcase. “You can keep my bag and my wallet. I don’t need it.”

“How do you think you’re getting out of here if I won’t let you out?” She arches a brow, crossing her arms.

“Do you think by forcing me to remain in Paris that you’re somehow convincing me to stay? Hate to break it to you, but you’re wrong. I won’t be your excuse to spend time with your secret lover.” I stare at her like she’s lost it, which she has. She can’t keep me trapped in here forever. “I’m an adult. If you continue to keep me in this room, I’m calling the police and telling them you’re holding me captive.”

Mother laughs. “I dare you to do just that. You’re my child and still under my care. I can keep you in this room for as long as I like.”

“You’re really going to dare me again, hmm?” I go to the phone that’s on the desk and pick it up. “You want to risk people finding out that I filed a police report against you for attempted kidnapping? What would Father think about that?”

I’ve got her. I see the worry on her face. The way her skin pales slightly at my threat. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. You dared me to, and I’m never one to back down.”

A ragged sigh leaves her and she shakes her head. “Go ahead then. Leave. Good luck on finding any financial support with your parents not helping you.”

“I came into my own money the second I turned eighteen,” I remind her. The woman neglects me so badly she doesn’t even remember I collected on my first trust fund. “I have plenty of money to get by. I don’t need much.”

She laughs, and the sound is … unkind.

“Keep telling yourself that. You’re a spoiled little brat. I feel sorry for the man who you’ll end up with someday.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on our suite door and Mother leaves me where I stand to go answer it. After I’ve grabbed my backpack and suitcases, I try my best to push them out of the room, lingering in the living area when I hear the man I love’s familiar voice speaking to my mother.

“Where’s Arabella?” He sounds furious.

“Who are you—wait a minute, you can’t just push your way into my suite, young man. Who do you think you are?” Mother is positively indignant.

“Your daughter’s boyfriend,” he practically growls, suddenly appearing in the room. His expression, his entire demeanor shifts when he sees me, and the moment we lock gazes, I run to him, straight into his open arms. He holds me close, his hand cupping the back of my head, his mouth on my temple.

We cling to each other for a moment until I finally pull away to stare into his handsome face. It feels like an eternity since I last saw him, even though it’s only been a couple of days, and I’ve never felt such total relief at being reunited with someone.

The most important person in my life.

“This is your boyfriend, Arabella? This rude boar of a young man who has barged into our suite? Has no one taught you any manners?”

“I’ve learned plenty, ma’am. My mother taught me well.”

Mother snorts. “Who is your mother?”

“Wren Lancaster.”

All the color drains from her face, and she squeaks, “Your mother is Wren Lancaster?” She sends me a questioning look. “You were telling me the truth?”

“Of course, I was. Why would I lie?” I roll my eyes.

Rowan’s expression is like granite as he glares at my mother. “I’ve come to take Arabella home.”

“Home? Where, pray tell, is she going?”

“My house, where she’s more than welcome. And where you are most definitely not.” He turns to look at me, his gaze softening. “You ready, Bells?”

I nod. “I need help with my suitcases.”

“I’ve got it.” He takes two of them and I take the others, the backpack slung across my back. Mother hands me my Chanel bag—reluctantly—but she doesn’t offer to hug me. Doesn’t say she loves me, but when does she ever?

“You’ll regret this,” Mother says as we’re exiting the suite. “This might be the silliest thing you’ve ever done, Arabella.”

I pause, glancing over my shoulder at her. She looks so very small in her pale ivory silk robe, the belt cinched around her too slender waist. She’s a shell of herself and with no makeup on and no designer clothing, she’s like a shadow. There are such dark hollows under her eyes that I wonder if she gets any sleep. She looks exhausted. “I don’t regret leaving at all. This apprenticeship, this entire trip to Paris, was never about me and all about you. I don’t know how you can live with yourself with the way you’ve neglected me all of these years. I think in the end, you’ll be the one full of regret.”

She blinks at me, no doubt shocked by my words.

“Goodbye, Mother.” I turn away, letting the door slam shut behind me. And when I glance back a few seconds later, on the off chance she has one last thing to say to me, I’m not surprised, nor am I disappointed to see she’s not there.

After all, that’s what I expected.