“Didn’t Kai go there? What’s up with those catacombs?”
“Yeah, but he went yesterday. It sounds as if this happened sometime this morning.”
Stella shrugged it off. “Okay. I’m sure it’ll be all over the internet tomorrow, and Caroline can fill us in. It’s not really our problem.”
CHAPTER 18
David—July 2018
O
n Monday morning, David breakfasted in his hotel room while looking out over the Tuileries Garden. He turned his phone over and read Stella’s message again.
I’ll be in touch when I’m back. Maybe we can talk then. Stella.
She had slipped through his fingers…
Throughout Sunday night, he replayed the auditorium scene in his mind while the bright neon green numbers on his digital alarm clock relentlessly ticked off the passage of time. Stella was out there somewhere—so close, but not close enough.
She must have left the auditorium while he was barreling down the stairs at breakneck speed. He must have missed her by seconds. Why didn’t she wait for him? She must’ve known he’d want to see her.
Wrong, you dumbass! You said in your letter you ‘had to let her go.’ Why would she think you’d want to talk to her now?
Chasing her through Paris was impossible. By the time he managed to leave the voice message on her phone, she could’ve been anywhere.
He remembered a board game he used to play with his parents and sister on family game nights. One player was a criminal, Mr. X, and the other players were Scotland Yard detectives. They chased Mr. X through London by either taxi, bus, subway, or boat. Mr. X had to reveal his kind of transportation and his current location every five turns. But he also had a few black tokens. They were frustrating, because when he used them, he didn’t have to disclose his mode of transportation, and was harder to track.
Right now Stella was in possession of a whole bag of black tokens, and David was empty-handed.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then read her message again.
I’ll be in touch when I’m back.
He clung to those words like a lifeline.
He hadn’t planned to stay the whole week. He was here on a two-day audition for the lead role in Don Giovanni, and was supposed to return to London Thursday.
Aaron told him Jerome was impressed with his portfolio, but they still had to follow strict procedures to secure the contract for this highly coveted role. To work with this conductor, who had the reputation of being the wunderkind of the century, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And David might have sabotaged his chances without singing even one note, courtesy of yesterday’s display of wackiness.
When he finally returned to the private box, Aaron was there waiting for him, but they agreed to let things settle a bit before discussing it. Aaron was not only his agent and manager, David considered him one of his few close friends.
One thing was crystal clear to him. He would stay in Paris and wait for Stella. An understudy could fill in for him in London for a few more days.
He loved his work, and took his career seriously, but it had morphed into a very demanding, egotistical lover. It took a lot more than it gave. The balance was off.
He had known the price for this success going in, hadn’t been able to spend every holiday at home, and had been okay with it.
And relationships? After the fiasco with an ex-girlfriend several years ago, it was easier to concentrate on his work. Which he was okay with, too.
But then he met Stella and fell head over heels in love with her, and—within only a few weeks—allowed himself to dream of something more.
David pulled Stella’s picture out of his wallet. She’d been sitting on the rim of Buckingham Fountain, her hand making circles in the water while she smiled at him.
Just recalling the moment made his heart squeeze.
He inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. Time to reply to her message. She’d be wondering what was taking him so long. In fact, knowing her, she’d probably been checking her phone every five minutes throughout the night. It was disrespectful of him to keep her waiting.
Being disrespectful didn’t stop you last year.
David put her photo on the table and started typing.
Stella, I’m here until Wednesday for an audition, but I’ll change my ticket and stay until Saturday. I need to see and talk to you. Please call me as soon as you’re back in the city. D.
After he read the message again, he deleted it. It sounded too impersonal. He’d write to her later.
He needed to be composed, calm, and in control for his audition in a few hours, and right now he was neither. Being outdoors usually helped him relax and ground himself, and the park across the street would have to do.
He finished his eggs, toast, fruit and tea—none of which he could taste—and left the hotel. Not even 9 am, but both sides of the boulevard were packed with idling tour buses, and herds of tourist groups with their stupid little umbrellas stood around gaping at every statue they could possibly find.
Man, you’re in a great mood. Better snap out of it—fast!
David found an unoccupied bench under a copse of trees close to one of the many fountains and water basins. As it so often did, the sound of the splashing water took David back to his childhood and afternoons spent in Grant Park.
When he was no more than ten or eleven years old, his mother once found him near Buckingham Fountain. He wasn’t supposed to go there alone, but when he left his house, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going until he found himself in the park.
His mom sat down next to him and wiped away his tears. “Honey, you scared me. What are you doing here all by yourself?”
“You’re telling us all the time to go to a quiet place to think when something bothers us. When I’m
