Page 32 of It Happened In Paris

“What ishedoing here? What is the meaning of this?” Adrien’s furious words broke our embrace. I blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear away a hallucination—but Adrien was very much real and present.

“W-what areyoudoing here?” I stuttered, scrambling to regain my composure. The last thing I expected was for him to show up here.

“I came to save my daughter,” he snarled. “You wanted testing,oui?”

Richard stiffened beside me, his fists clenching, speaking through gritted teeth, “Stay away from Paris.”

With a scowl, Adrien fired back, “You have no right to keep me from what is mine.”

On that note, he rushed out of the hotel into a waiting taxi.

13

THE TEST RESULTS

RICHARD

Vivian trembledbeside me as her ex stormed out of the building—her grip on my shirt tight and her breathing erratic. “Oh no, he’s headed to the hospital—I just know it. But Paris is sleeping—” she began, panic lacing her voice.

Before she could finish, I grabbed her hand and bolted. “Then let’s beat him there.”

My driver, dependable and waiting in the car parked across the portico, saw us coming, leapt in, and started the engine. Once inside, I barked, “That taxi that just left? I’ll double your pay if you get us to the hospital before him.”

“Yes, sir!” he replied without hesitation. He delivered on his promise, and we arrived with a minute to spare, sprinting out just as the taxi pulled up.

“Call security,” I ordered the nurse at the reception desk as we hurried past. “Send them to the purple floor.” Clutching Vivian’s hand, we raced up the flights of stairs, the ascent worse than the steps to the Montmartre in Paris.

Gasping for breath at the top, she cautioned, “He has a right to see his daughter, Richard. I’d just prefer he wait until morning when she’s awake.”

“I agree,” I replied, though inwardly, I wished I could keep him away forever.

At the nurses’ station, where some night nurses were talking with Keaton, their conversation halted in surprise at our frantic arrival.

“My ex-husband is on his way here,” Vivian shrieked.

“Adrien?” Keaton’s expression turned from confusion to anger as he pressed his fist into the palm of the other hand. “Great. Let me be the one to welcome him back to the USA.”

“Get in line, Keaton,” I snapped as, with Vivian between us, we formed a united front in the hall against the approaching threat. The elevator doors slid open, and Adrien stepped out, spotting us. He ambled forward with a cocky smirk, deliberately stalling the inevitable confrontation.

“Sir, are you a relative? We only allow relatives after visiting hours,” Sara, the head night nurse, calmly addressed him.

“I am Paris Bardeaux’s father, and nothing will keep me from seeing her. Step aside,” he shouted, peppering his words with extra French slang.

“Please, Adrien. Paris is sleeping. You know she’s been ill and needs her rest. Let’s return in the morning so you can see her.”

Ignoring Vivian’s plea, he pointed at me. “Only relatives? He should not be here then.”

“His brother married my cousin, so he is a relative,” she explained to the nurse.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I hissed.

“And as her father, I have a say in who stays in her room,oui?” he demanded.

Sara shot me an apologetic look, as if my VIP status only carries me so far. “Yes, you do.”

“Then both of them need to leave,” he commanded, nodding toward Keaton and me.

“Wait a minute—I’m her uncle, directly related. I should be allowed to stay,” Keaton protested.

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