CHAPTER FIFTEEN
An hour passed with no sign of Cristiano. Keira wandered the hotel room alone, idly flicked through some French language channels, tried to write something for her article and, failing, made a coffee using the small kettle in the corner of the room. She sat out on the balcony drinking it. The weather was cold but the mug warmed her hands.
She tried to put herself in the mind set of all the late, great romantic writers and poets who had done just this. Sitting wistfully looking out at Paris’s streets, longing for lost loves.
Needing someone to talk to, she texted Bryn.
Had a big fight with C. :(
A moment later, her phone began flashing and buzzing. Bryn was calling.
“What happened?” her sister asked when she answered. She sounded perhaps a bit too excited for some goss
