IN LOVE BY MISTAKE

ChapterFour

Mandy’s POV

“You look different.”

Miguel says it as soon as I walk out through the doors of the Charles De Gaulle. He is holding a little cardboard sign with my name on it. I walk into his arms, and he kisses my cheek before taking my suitcase.

“Different bad or different good?” I question, smiling like my conscience isn’t pricking me.

“Just…different.” His eyes flick over my face, and he narrows his eyes. “You are probably just tired,” he decides, pulling me into a half-hug. “Let’s get you home, baby.”

I retrieve my phone as I fall in step beside him, texting Steph that I already landed before stuffing my phone back into my pocket.

"I missed you," Miguel says as we reach the curb. He heads for one of the taxis parked out front, then pulls the door open before stepping aside.

"I missed you, too," I murmur, feeling a sharp pinch in my chest as I scoot inside for him. The taxi rolls away from the airport while Miguel brings me up to speed with everything that has been happening since I decided to take a break in London.

He talks about all the rehearsal blocks he has been having as a choreographer, and I nod, trying to follow him. Paris rolls into my vision from the window, gray and familiar, unlike London.

The mere thought of the last few days brings a certain warmth to my bones, and at once, I feel guilt wrap its arms around me like a cloak.

"How's the search?" Miguel finally asks, like he remembered he was supposed to. "For your parents."

"Still nothing." I sigh and close my eyes for a second. "I don't know what to do. I have tried everything that I can, but they seem not to want to be found."

He shrugs and smiles at me. “Maybe finding nothing is a sign, Mandy. Maybe you are so filled with the need to find them because it's much easier to love the people who abandoned you than those right here in front of you."

“That’s not…”

Miguel squeezes my knees. “We are all the family you need, mi corazon. Me, the studio, the kids at the art school. You don't need people who have never been present in your life."

I want to tell him that it isn’t about needing; it’s about knowing. I have to know for sure if I was really abandoned, or if there was some mistake years ago that made them let go of me. Call it too much drama, but I have been holding on to the belief that there was a mistake at the hospital.

One that led to me being dropped in front of an orphanage.

But Miguel won’t understand. He never does.

We fall into the routine that has always kept us tethered to the city of Paris. I teach children art, paint gets under my nails and my hair, and the kids look at me like I am the smartest person on earth.

On my breaks, I volunteer at a community kitchen and go on karaoke with Miguel and his friends. Every minute is filled with an activity, so it doesn't feel like I am drowning.

The first Friday back, I am standing in front of the mirror, checking out a new thrift dress I purchased, when I turn to my boyfriend. "Come learn bachata with me. There's a class in The Lair. It will be fun."

Miguel doesn’t look up from his phone. Instead, his lips curl into a laugher that bounces off the walls of our little apartment.

“Babe, please,” he drawls, still laughing. “Your body isn’t really…bachata material, you know? You get stiff when you try to move your hips. Remember the last time we learned Zumba?”

I go very still in front of the mirror, my hands on the belt of the dress. “Okay.”

Miguel hears my tone, because he drops his phone and smiles up at me. “I’m kidding, baby,” he chuckles, getting on his feet. “Obviously. You are adorable when you try to dance.”

He comes to stand behind me and wraps his hands around me, tapping my nose with a finger. “And this dress looks good on you.”

“Thank you.” I grin like I am not hurting, then move away from his arms. “So dance?”

“Yeah.”

I wait for him to get ready while texting Step. Since I returned, we have tried not to talk about what happened that night in London, and even though I know she is dying with curiosity, I love the fact that she is giving me the liberty to talk about it at my own pace.

Miguel walks out a few minutes later in a pair of slacks and a black T-shirt. It matches in no way with my blue dress, but I guess that isn't a big deal.

At the studio, the instructor welcomes us with smiles, and at once, I get infected with the energy in the room.

“Trust your weight,” she says, her voice echoing. “Let your body move you. Don’t overthink it.”

The song starts with her counts, and I try, holding on to Miguel. I hear him count under his breath with every step he takes, and it brings a smile to my face.

When I miss a turn, he stops dancing and chuckles. “You are meant to move your left foot, Mandy. The other left.”

The couple beside us can hear him because of how loud his voice is, and heat climbs up my cheeks. "Got it," I mutter, trying again.

“Proud of you,” he says after a few more minutes. “You are getting more comfortable. But you don’t need to push your chest out like that. It looks….like you are trying too hard.”

My phone rings, the shrill sound disrupting the dance. Grateful for the interruption, I smile in silent apology before grabbing my purse and stepping out of the studio.

When I take in the name on the screen, my heart drops. He is probably calling for his pay.

“Mandy Hill?” Porter’s voice fills my ears. I haven’t heard from him in a year, not since the last invoice I paid that cost me everything. I had to go hungry for months.

“I know I haven’t sent you your pay this year,” I whisper to him, a sigh escaping my lips. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to call you. I cannot keep…This is me officially saying I am done. I don’t have the money to keep paying a Private Investigator to find people who don’t want to be found.”

“Before you get on with that,” he murmurs. “There is something you need to know.”