Chapter 13

The moment the train left the station in Paris, Olivier rose and said, “I’m going to get some coffee,” and left me to my own devices.

After my drunken shenanigans last night, Olivier had practically carried me back to the hotel. I’d proceeded to puke a second time—thankfully, in a toilet this round—and had eventually fallen into a restless sleep. It had only been upon awakening that I’d realized that I’d forgotten to book the flight for our trip to Berlin.

When I’d informed Olivier, he had said calmly, “I know. I took care of it.”

I’d been simultaneously grateful and annoyed. And I was even more grateful that he’d booked us train tickets instead of a flight, because good lord was I hungover. The thought of being smashed inside a plane for hours was enough to make my stomach lurch.

Besides, according to Olivier, the only available flights would’ve taken about as long as riding the train. I hadn’t had the energy to confirm that tidbit. All I cared about was closing my eyes and trying