---- Chapter 10 Paris was a shock to Aria' s system. It wasn't the romantic movie set she'd imagined. It was a real, bustling city, and she was hopelessly out of her depth. © At their five-star hotel, the George V, the concierge addressed her in rapid-fire French. She stared at him blankly, her high- school-level language skills failing her completely. The man' s polite smile tightened into a mask of barely concealed disdain. He switched to clipped, condescending English, treating her like a child. Aria' s cheeks burned with humiliation. Bennett, ever the problem-solver, stepped in. He didn't speak French, but he spoke the universal language of money. A crisp hundred-euro note slid across the marble counter, and the concierge' s attitude transformed instantly into one of fawning servility. "Why was he so rude?" Aria fumed later in their opulent suite, which was larger than her entire apartment back in Queens. "Forget about it," Bennett said, distracted. He was staring at his phone, a frown creasing his forehead. "Some people are just snobs." He was thinking of Kelsey. Kelsey, who would have navigated ---- the check-in with effortless grace, charming the staff with her flawless French and easy sophistication. The comparison was a bitter pill. For a fleeting moment, he questioned what he was doing here, with this girl who was so clearly out of her element. But then he shook the thought away. This was what he wanted. A fresh start. No baggage. Aria, mollified by the sheer luxury of their surroundings, was already over the incident. She squealed with delight at the view of the Eiffel Tower from their balcony and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Ben, it's perfect! You're perfect!" He hugged her back, the familiar scent of her floral perfume chasing away the ghost of his wife. He felt a surge of satisfaction. He was giving this girl the world. He was her hero. Later, he excused himself to the study to "take a work call." In reality, he stared at his phone, at the blank screen where Kelsey's daily "Good morning" text should have been. He typed out a message. Landed safely. Hope your friend arrived okay. Love you. He waited. No reply. He tried calling. It went straight to a disconnected-number message. ---- A knot of anxiety tightened in his chest. It was probably nothing. She was busy with her friend. She probably got a new phone. But the silence was unsettling. It was a void where for fifteen years there had been a constant, reassuring presence. Aria knocked on the door, wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe. "Come on, slowpoke. | want you to wash my hair in that giant marble tub." "In a minute," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. "I need to call my father." Her face fell. "Oh. Okay." He stayed in the study, hitting redial on Kelsey's number again and again, the automated message a mocking refrain. The anxiety was a cold, creeping thing now, a premonition that something was terribly wrong.