Maxine looks between us, but knows there’s nothing she can do, especially not with Nina here.

“Fine,” she says, not at all happy about it.

In the back of my head something nags. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, for another body to show up, for my father to betray me, for Finn to disappoint me.

But I smile for my friends because they deserve a day that isn’t so heavy.

We walk to the Eiffel Tower. I’ve seen it from afar all trip, standing proud over the city like a sentinel, but up close it’s breathtaking.

The maze of metal reaching into the sky exists in such contrast to the other buildings in the city.

We climb and climb up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower until our legs are burning and Maxine is cursing us for talking her into this.

Once at the top, I breathe in the sight of the city below me as the wind whips around my face. The roads sprawl out in a neat grid, dotted with rows of low buildings. Sometimes it feels like New York is growing so fast, skyscrapers popping up quicker than the island can keep up with. Paris feels peaceful, feels done.

I feel done too.

We descend the stairs and at the base, I buy a postcard from a woman selling them out of a cart and resolve to write home to my mother tonight. I do miss her.

Once back at Maxine’s flat, the lady’s maids arrive dutifully to dress us for dinner. I have Greta arrange my hair into curls gracefully pinned at the nape of my neck. She threads pearl earrings through the holes in my lobes and dresses me in a baby-blue gown of duchess satin with matching pearls embroidered along the neckline. She dabs rouge along the tops of my cheekbones. Suddenly, I feel like crying. I’m still so scared. I wish I knew what my father was doing.

Outside, the sun is beginning to set, sending the sky into a riot of pinks and oranges and purples dancing along the fluffy clouds.

I should walk to the dining room with the rest of the family. It would be the polite thing to do.

But as I slip on my shoes, grab my evening bag, and call the elevator, I know I will be forgiven. I’ve left a note on the edge of my bed, nestled in the duvet. Off to see Oliver, don’t wait up.

Sweet Oliver, who has been unfailingly kind and patient as I’ve ruined what was meant to be a vacation for the two of us to connect. I’ve mucked so many things up so horribly and he just keeps on loving me like I’m worthy of it.

The elevator is slow to come, which is unusual. It dings from the ground floor as if someone stepped in right before I entered the hallway.