But something about it struck her. In the minimal light, she could see the bubbles rising to the surface of the champagne, as if it had been poured not very long ago. She went over to the balcony and rested her elbows on the thick marble railing, then stared up at the night sky. Behind her, the lilting waltz played, and occasionally, someone laughed or shouted. But here, it was peaceful. There was a line of trees in the far distance, and beyond that, the lights of Paris spread out. In the middle, the Eiffel Tower rose up, lit like a candle.

Gorgeous. A beautiful night, and a beautiful sight to sit and take in with someone else. Particularly a man who adored her.

She sighed, thinking of Lily and Bea and wondering if they were right. She’d spent her whole life trying to temper their expectations and understand reality. When as a toddler, Bea had wanted to grow up to be a turtle, she’d told her that wouldn’t be possible. When Lily, as a girl in grade school, said she hated boys and wanted to marry her dad, who was the only perfect man on earth, Diana had shot that down too. She’d tempered all their crazy whims, talked them down to reality. Why couldn’t she seem to do the same for herself? Some dreams and wishes were simply foolish, childish, and should never be allowed to come true.

Maybe this was one of them. Maybe, this was the universe’s wake-up call.

“Oh, girls,” she whispered aloud. “If you saw me now, you’d probably be embarrassed for me.”

She reached for the glass of champagne and went to pour it over the side of the balcony. When she looked over, she was surprised to see how high up they were—at least three stories. She scanned lower and was just about to pour the champagne over the side when she saw a faint outline, below. The head in profile, the shoulders bent strangely, the arms and legs sprawled out in unnatural, almost ninety-degree angles.

Diana blinked. If that hadn’t been a wake-up call before, this definitely was it.

Because that faint silhouette below her looked an awful lot like a dead body.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Diana screamed.

She’d never been one for hysterics, but right now, she couldn’t help it. The more she looked at it, the more engrained into her head it became. Twisted, mangled, unnatural . . . and dead. She’d never seen a dead body before, but though she wanted to look away, she simply couldn’t stop staring.

One hand on the railing, one hand clutching the champagne glass that wasn’t hers, she felt dizzy—like the world was a spinning carousel and there was no way to get off. She was vaguely aware of people rushing to her assistance, asking what was the matter, but she couldn’t speak.

They soon found out the problem, anyway. More and more people began to arrive, crowding around her and peering over the railing, pointing. A few appeared on the ground beside the dead body, looking up at the balcony to try to ascertain where he’d come from. Some women screamed, like she had. Voices and chatter rose around her, tearing at the perfect silence that had once fallen over the night.