Page 135 of True Blue

And by strange, I mean… convenient for me.

It starts when I arrived at the train station in Paris and found a shorter, blonde man in a suit holding a sign that read Dr. Indie Miller.

Indie, not Indiana. And my doctor title. Interesting.

“Uh, hi,” I say, walking over to him tentatively. “I’m Indie Miller.”

“Mademoiselle Miller,” he says, his English smooth but edged with a French accent, his smile gentle and professional. “I’m Antoine. I was hired to drive you to your hotel.”

“By whom?” I ask, though my heart already knows who. I shove that down. Deep down.

“It’s…” He clears his throat and smiles. “…er, complimentary.”

I knew he was lying through his teeth. I had checked transportation obsessively for this trip.

Before I went anywhere with him, I asked him to show me his credentials. He had them ready, as if he knew I would ask.

Interesting.

Sure enough, he is legitimate, and once I’m satisfied, he takes my suitcases and puts them in the back of the car. He opens the door for me, waits until I slide into the back, and then gently eases us onto the streets of Paris.

Antoine says the complimentary service will be for my entire stay in Paris, then gives me his work number for transportation. I want to decline, both because I am fully prepared to use public transport and because I know who hired him, but I take the card anyway.

And honestly, from the money I lost when Teddy backed out of the vacation, from losing the house I wanted in Cape May, and from the general treatment by his mother over the past two years, I see it as restitution.

He isn’t done there, though.

“These are for you,” Celia, the front desk receptionist who checks me in, says, handing me an envelope before I head up to my suite. “Courtesy of the hotel. We hope you enjoy your stay, Mademoiselle.”

“Merci,” I respond before heading over to the elevators with the bellboy carrying my bags.

Once I’m in my room, I check the envelope and huff a wry laugh.

A ticket for an after-hours private group tour of the Louvre.

Very expensive. I know this because I inquired about it for Teddy and me. I thought maybe he would love it, that the art would inspire him, but ultimately decided waiting in line would be fine, maybe even fun, because it would be with him. But this saves me time, allowing me to do more in Paris.

“Idiot,” I mutter, again not knowing who I’m referring to as I sip on the champagne waiting for me in my room. Though I don’t really put up a fight against the smile on my face.

Not that hard, at least.

The guided tour is incredible. Just a group of about ten people after hours, a tour guide giving us the ins and outs of every romantic, beautiful piece of art. Winged Victory, Venus de Milo, The Great Sphinx of Tanis, and, of course, the Mona Lisa.

The museum’s quiet feels heavy with history, and we all barely raise our voices above a whisper, as if we are trying not to disturb the art. It is wonderful. Something I’ll cherish forever.

And yet, I keep turning to my side to share something new I notice in the art, or some joke that comes to mind, but no one is there. There are other couples around me, and a group of three friends giggling and taking pictures together.

I feel lonely for a moment because I want to share this experience with someone. Not just someone, the idiot who broke my heart. That idiot who made this possible. My idiot.

But then it’s like I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear a sweet, slightly sarcastic voice in my ear.

You’re never alone.

Chin up, Indie girl.

And I smile, and feel better. I’m alone, but I’m not lonely. Not really. I always have Ellie with me. And I have… my guardian angel, as I’ve taken to calling him.

Antoine is there to pick me up after my meals, and it just so happens that my meals are taken care of every time I go out to eat—my breakfast, lunch, and dinner already paid for. It gets to the point that by my second dinner, I don’t even take my wallet out when the server comes over and says it has been handled.