Page 111 of Masked Hearts

“From there, he tracked you until he realised where you were. Then it was all about getting you back and well…” he trails off, looking at his hands.

“What?”

“Theá, I don’t want to upset you.”

“What do you think withholding the truth is doing right now?”

“They knew exactly which button to press to make Antonio jump.”

“Pierre, I swear on our mother’s grave, if you don’t tell me right now…”

“They told him they had Valerie, and he jumped on an emergency red eye back to Marseille.”

I freeze. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s only then that I realise I am fidgeting with my wedding ring. A nervous tick I’ve picked up since wearing it.

Would he really just leave me here, after everything? After assuring me that there was nothing there. After that confession. After I told him about my mom.

“They don’t actually have Valerie, right?” I surprise myself by asking. Because even after all of this, after my husband abandoned me in the middle of the night for the woman he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with, I actually care about the friends I’ve made along the way in our fake marriage.

“No, they don’t. But he believed they did. They blocked all the cell phone signal in Paris, Tevici, and Marseille to make sure he didn’t find out it was fake.”

“Where is he now?”

Pierre bites his lip. “Well, they might’ve heard you were missing, too, and think he has something to do with it. And if I know Papá and Kylian well enough, he’s probably lucky if he’s still alive.”

Alive.

Antonio might not be alive.

I spin the ring around my finger. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Theá,” Pierre’s shaky voice calls, but it’s a mere whisper against the thoughts raging in my head.

I rise to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I somehow manage to say before pushing past the old lady and walking down the aisle.

Antonio might be dead. Because of my family. Because of my father. Because I agreed to go with him on this stupid honeymoon, as if I didn’t know there was a chance that this would all turn out exactly like this.

This is my fault.

I rip the door to the bathroom open and close it behind me with equal speed. Locking it in an instant, I slide down the wall until my butt meets the floor, drawing my knees to my chest. I can feel the slight trembles I had when we boarded this plane worsen, until I’m fully sobbing into my knees.

This is all my fault.

I stay in the bathroom until my tears stop. Until I’m no longer trembling, and hopefully, the puffiness of my face has calmed down enough to not look like I balled my eyes out. I’d rather have everyone on this flight think I’m shitting myself than have them know I’m crying over a man who up and left to run after another woman.

A soft knock on the door breaks me from my thoughts, and I hear someone ask if everything is okay.

I open the door and come face to face with a flight attendant.

“Yes, sorry, I must have eaten something bad before boarding.” I smile brightly—too brightly—before heading back to my seat.

Pierre is leaning back in his seat with his eye mask on, without a care in the world. As I take my seat, he perks up and lifts the eye mask. “Oh, you’re back, great.”

“Thanks for the concern.” I sigh.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset when you backstabbed him, as well. We used his misfortune to our advantage.”

“You’re not helping, Pierre.”

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