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“I need to get out,” I said, pushing myself away from Leo and off the couch. My mom was standing in the hall. I wasn’t sure how much she had heard, but I didn’t want to know. Didn’t care.
I just needed to talk to Pierre. Make sure he was alright.
Make sure he wasn’t somewhere he shouldn’t be.
“Kat?” my mom called as I raced for the door. I didn’t respond. She wouldn’t get—couldn’t get it. She couldn’t know about any of this, and nothing she could say would help.
I stumbled out into the hall, and almost collapsed right there before getting my phone out in front of my face to find Pierre’s number.
He had the gift card to C’est Bien. They had let us in once, but now that Felix’s dad knew him, he’d let him in again, even if he was alone. Thanks to Felix’s act of kindness, Pierre knew the way to Mr. Rosenberg’s office. He knew where he would be, and at what time.
My fingers trembled as I scrolled through my contacts, and my blurred vision made it harder and harder to find his name.
Then I remembered something.
The knife in my suitcase.
My phone smacked the floor as I threw my hand over my mouth.
“Elliot,” I whispered, my back sinking down against the wall, my feet dragging against the carpet. The lights in the hall seemed to flicker, but I knew it was the breakdown in my own head that was making my world fall apart in front of my eyes.
It was him.
He put the knife in my suitcase. He set me up. It all made sense.
Just like Leo said—Pierre and I were the only ones who could do something like this to Felix’s family. There was a solid record of me trying to transport a knife through airport security. It was a stupid move, but it was enough to make it look like I was trying to aid Pierre in this insane plan.
Elliot wouldn’t pay for this, because I would. Leo was right.
He agreed to help me to gain my trust, but he never loved me. Elliot had no intention of protecting me. Once again, I was his pawn. He was using me as a scapegoat for murder.
A murder that he didn’t commit, but that he planned.
“Hey.”
I looked to the side just as I pressed the phone to my ear. It rang for a second before Pierre picked up.
He smiled at me. Even though he was a few yards down the hall, I could sense the tears in his eyes, heard it in his voice.
“Hey,” I replied, my voice cracking in that one word. We both laughed, and it felt like a warm gust of wind lifted me up from the floor and pulled me toward him.
A moment later, we were in each other’s arms.
“I thought I’d come a little earlier,” Pierre murmured into my hair, squeezing me so tight like he thought I’d slip away from him if he loosened his grip just a bit. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”
I moved back just enough to look at his face. My hands stroked his cheeks, his bangs, the curve of his eyebrows. My heart was beating so hard I thought it’d tear through me and into his chest, just so it could unite with his own pulse.
“Don’t talk,” Pierre murmured, his lips finding their way to mine. “Just breathe.”
I nodded, my nose nuzzling against his. He was right. We didn’t have to talk. We just had to be together, be there for each other, and we’d be fine. That’s how it always was.
I was stupid to think it could be any other way.
