Page 104 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“What? No! I can’t just leave Sebastien.”
Aaron rolls his eyes. “You think I’m going to let you walk back to the restaurant and tell him everything that’s happened, so he can intervene? No way. In fact, give me your phone, right now.”
I hold my purse against my chest.
He waves Sebastien’s dossier at me.
I don’t have a choice. Even if I could snatch that file and throw it into the ocean, I’m sure Aaron and Merrick have backups online.
He takes my phone, destroys the SIM card, and pockets the pieces. He doesn’t even give me the useless shell of the phone back.
“Car’s this way,” Aaron says, pointing up the stairs. “Start walking.”
A few minutes later, we’re out of the maze of Elysian white staircases of Imerovígli and into the hell of a rental car with no air-conditioning, speeding to the airport.
Aaron escorts me all the way to the gate—he has a ticket for himself to Athens to allow him to get this far into the airport—but he doesn’t get in line when they call for boarding.
“You’re not coming?” I ask. “I thought you’d handcuff yourself to me and personally escort me all the way to your master, I mean, Merrick.”
Aaron doesn’t rise to the bait. He doesn’t have to. He’s already won. “I’m going to watch your plane take off, and then I’m staying here on Santorini to stake out Sebastien and make sure you don’t try to come back. I leave only once Merrick calls to confirm he’s picked you up from the airport in L.A.”
I squeeze my eyes tight.
The PA announces the final call for boarding for my flight.
“Time to go, Helene,” Aaron says. “Don’t piss off me or Merrick, or else—”
I open my eyes and glare.
“Believe me, I get it. If I don’t do what you want, you hit ‘publish’ on everything you know about Sebastien.”
SEBASTIEN
After Helene’s been gone forfifteen minutes, I start to worry. But I don’t want to be overbearing; pregnancy does “undignified things” to a woman’s body, as she says, so I try to sit still and enjoy the view of night settling over Santorini’s caldera, the waves darkening from blue to near black, the lights from the town of Oia visible on the cliffs a little farther up the coast.
When twenty minutes have passed, though, my second mournoraki is long gone and I spin the empty glass on the table.
I flag down the waitress.
“Another mournoraki?” she asks.
“No, actually. My girlfriend has been in the WC for a while, and I’m worried she might have slipped and fallen, or that she’s feeling ill. Would it be possible to send someone in there and check on her?”
“No problem. I was heading downstairs to grab more silverware from the kitchen anyway.”
“Thank you.”
The waitress comes back a few minutes later, shaking her head. “The WC is empty, sir. Are you sure that’s where she went?”
“Empty?”
“Yes, I double-checked the stalls. Maybe she went for a walk?”
“No…she wouldn’t do that without telling me…” My stomach plummets. Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but I feel it in the marrow of my bones.
“Can I have the check, please?” I ask weakly. “And may I borrow your phone to call the police?” I swear silently at myself for not renting a cellphone at the airport, like Helene suggested.
The waitress yelps. “The police? No, no, sir, this is probably nothing. There’s no need to make the police come to our restaurant.” She’s thinking of the scene it’ll cause, the disturbance to the diners, her lost tips. “I’m sure your girlfriend just wanted some fresh air—pregnancy can be stifling sometimes. She’ll be back soon—”
