******
A week after we arrived, I booked our flights back to Newland.
Not because Paris wasn't enough.
It was. More than enough.
Mia had already started calling Fiona's crêpes "the good breakfast."
She'd also claimed the tabby across the street as her own and named him Monsieur Fromage—without consulting either the cat or his actual owner.
I booked the flights because Victoria had given me a plan, and every part of it led back to Newland.
The research facilities. The regulatory environment. The university connections.
Everything she'd laid out on that conference table pointed to the same city I'd spent the past week trying not to think about.
I was going back as a professional.
That was the only version of me that had any place in this.
I booked the flights and told Fiona to sta
