Bring Me Back B.a. Paris Novels & Stories

I can’t be wrong! “But he’s gone. Again. And I don’t know when I’ll be seeing him again, or when he’ll ever appear in front of me.” I sighed and looked up at the sky. Life really is unfair. I went back to the pool, put on my silhouettes, and headed back to the ballroom. "Oh, hello there! See who we have here!" someone snickered from behind me. I so wished I wouldn’t see her here…but again, nothing is in my hands anyway. I turned to face my precious cousin, Angelina, coming up to me with a glass of wine in her hands.

"And bring him back." ***

I opened it slowly and a single sentence stared back at me. Unknown: If you go to Paris next week, I’ll make sure you don’t return. My breath caught in my throat. Right under it was a photo of my plane ticket. A ticket I'd never printed or posted anywhere.

I bolted out of my seat, not giving him a chance to escape even if my hands are sweaty, trying to get a hold of myself. “Caelum,” I called out and I smiled in relief, thanking the heavens when he stopped. He stayed motionless, his hands gripping the banister tight. “Caelum, can I ask for your permission to go back to Paris? I haven’t had my bow with me – so…”

“I’ve got an assignment for you.” Astoria, Queens – Later That Night The moment Natalia stepped through the front door of the brownstone, she exhaled. Not the polished, clipped breaths she used in courtrooms or boardrooms—but the ragged, real kind. The kind she hadn’t allowed herself to take since she’d seen Damien Carrington’s face for the first time in ten years. The scent of arroz con pollo drifted through the air, warm and comforting. From the kitchen, a pot clinked against the stove, followed by the low hum of a Spanish ballad playing from an old radio.

I plead. Just then I hear the sound of heels clicking in the hall, and smell Arabella’s vile perfume. “It’s too late.” Bastien announces gravely. “She’s back.” _________________

Michael Simkins once said, ‘Paris is a place in which we can forget ourselves, reinvent and expunge the dead weight of the past.’ For the first time, the magic of Paris was working on Anubhav. There was something very different in its air. It had that indescribable stimulating and intoxicating effect that fills you with a strange longing for fun as if you had just consumed a bottle of champagne. Anubhav had already forgotten that for the past few months he had held Esha responsible for the mess his life had become. The Parisian air made his heart believe in the recurring dream he always had, that one day Esha will be his.

“Is there anything else?” Silence for a bit. “Yes.” He opened a drawer and pulled out another folder. Travel documents. My stomach dipped before I even touched them. What the hell. So soon? He slid them across the desk toward me. I glanced at them, then at him. “What’s this?” His expression remained unreadable. “Your travel briefing.” “Travel?” He looked almost bored. “We leave next week,” He pause. “Paris.” PARIS. The word hit me like a physical blow.

Paris. Possibly slightly more than enough.

Daniel swung his legs beneath his chair. Sandra rested her chin on both hands, watching her mother carefully. They both looked unusually cheerful that morning. “Mommy,” Daniel said suddenly. “Yes?” “Do we need passports to go to Paris?” Prisca paused. Paris. The word still felt strange in her mind. “Yes,” she replied quietly. Daniel grinned proudly. “I knew it.” Sandra bounced slightly in her chair. “I want to see the big tower.” Daniel corrected her quickly. “The Eiffel Tower.” Sandra nodded.