I woke up disoriented.
The light coming through the windows was softer than I was used to. The sounds outside were different. Voices speaking French. The distant hum of traffic that somehow sounded more musical than the harsh noise I'd grown up with.
Then I remembered.
Paris. Vincent. The choice I'd made.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand before remembering Vincent had turned it off. I powered it back on and immediately regretted it. Sixty-three new messages. I turned it off again without reading any of them.
Nope. Not today.
I dragged myself out of bed and found my bag. Pulled out clothes and headed for the bathroom. The shower was one of those gorgeous walk-in types with a rainfall showerhead and about six different settings. I stood under the hot water for way too long, letti
