Chapter 21
County Jail, Visitation Room.
Sean sat on one side of the thick glass, staring at Calista in her orange jumpsuit. She looked gaunt, her skin sallow, nothing like the woman he remembered. Calista had always made sure to look perfect around him, always eager to win his approval. Now, all that was gone.
He didn’t bother with small talk. “What do you want to say?” he asked, his voice flat.
A month in jail had taught Calista not to waste words. She leaned forward, eyes steady. “Bella’s alive.”
The world seemed to crack open. For a second, Sean just sat there, frozen–the words echoing in his head like a teacup shattering on tile. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white, his reflection in the glass twisted and pale, like a statue suddenly brought to life by pain.
“I carried Bella’s urn back from the airport myself. I signed her death certificate. How dare you say she’s alive?” Sean’s voice broke, part laugh, part accusation.
But Calista didn’t flinch. She was calm, almost detached. “A friend of mine works at the airport,” she said. “Last time he visited, he told me that on the day Bella’s plane crashed, someone with her exact name–and her exact face–bought three tickets to France.“>
She slid a sheet of paper up to the glass. A photo, printed in black and white. Bella’s face stared back at him.”
He couldn’t mistake her. Not in a million years. He and Bella had been married twice–he knew every line of her face.”
It was her. Bella.
Sean shot to his feet, barely aware of Calista calling after him. He burst out of the room, adrenaline spiking, and dialed his assistant as he ran to his car.
“Get me a ticket to France,” he demanded. “The earliest flight. Right now.”
He needed to see Bella. To find her. To ask her why–why she’d faked her death, why she hadn’t come back when she’d loved him so much. He had so much to say: all the longing, all the love, all the regret eating him alive.
He was determined to win her back. To start over. To make things right.
The flight to Paris felt endless. When the plane finally touched down, a light rain was falling over the city.
Sean hurried through the narrow streets, umbrella in hand, heart pounding. He meant to go straight to Bella, but as soon as he landed, his grandfather called. The old man had no idea Bella was alive–he just thought Sean was there to apologize to the Lopez family, and reminded him to bring a gift.
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Sean paused, the advice hitting home. After everything he’d done to Bella, the least he could do He turned off onto a tree–lined avenue and ducked into a luxury shop, picking out a gift he hoped Bella would like. When he stepped back up with something thoughtful.@ outside, a sudden gust of wind rattled his umbrella. The shopping bag dangled from his wrist.
Then he saw her.
Ten meters away, under a plane tree, a woman was closing her umbrella. Raindrops glistened on her collarbone; the hem of her gray coat brushed the puddles, just like the coat she’d worn the last time he saw her.
Sean’s hand went numb. The gift bag fell, perfume bottles tumbling out, their scent spilling into the rainy air. He was back in that airport three months ago–surrounded by grief, the sound of crying, clutching Bella’s urn to his chest.
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But now, as she turned and tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear, he saw the delicate angle of her wrist, every detail burned into his memory.
“Bella!”
