#Lost

by Taylor Hart

  She’d been a little bit hesitant, but … she also felt bad for him. He had just moved here. “No, I’ve been to Paris every summer of my life.”

  At this news, he let out a happy sigh. “Well, then, it appears I have my tour guide. You could show me so much more than just the Eiffel Tower.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t believe this guy seemed interested in her. “Um, I don’t know.” She thought about how her parents had always warned her to be careful in Paris, not to talk to strangers, and definitely not to go anywhere with strangers. “I don’t think my parents would like me to go with you.”

  “Ahh,” he said, leaning back. “Why’s that?”

  She hesitated, still unable to believe he was talking to her. “I don’t know you.”

  He smiled again. “That’s all right, then.” He put his hand out. “My name’s James. James Kind.”

  It was sort of silly to have a last name of Kind. Hesitantly, she put her hand out. “Marcella Black.”

  He kept her hand for a few seconds, then let it go. “I like your name.” He pulled out his phone. “Do you have an Insta?”

  Her parents had just allowed her to get an Instagram account and she loved it. “I do.” She pulled out her phone, too.

  “What’s your handle then?”

  She loved her handle. “@MarcellaBlackWings.”

  He paused, smiling again and then scrolling through his phone.

  “I like butterflies, and Marcella Black was taken, so I added the wings.” She was getting really good with her drawings of butterflies, too.

  He kept tapping. “I found you! I’m adding you.”

  She saw his profile pull up. His handle was @JamesKind. A message instantly popped up. She laughed and tapped on it.

  The most beautiful pink butterfly filled the screen and flapped its wings. She gasped. “It’s amazing.”

  He put down his phone and then put his hand on the table, carefully placing it close to hers. “So, we’re not strangers now. We even have each other’s handles.” He gave her a brilliant smile. “Do you want to show me the Tower, then?”

  Seriously, this was unreal. Nice guys like this back home never talked to her, let alone wanted to hang out with her. Wouldn’t this be the coolest story ever to tell all of her school friends? How she’d met a hot guy, maybe even a guy in college, and how he thought she was seventeen and they went to the Eiffel Tower together? “Um, I guess so.” She stood, unable to believe she was actually going with him.

  “Marcella.” Her mother rushed into the coffee shop, looking frantic. “What are you doing?” She glanced at the guy standing next to her and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Panic filled her. She knew her mother wouldn’t approve, so, without looking at James again, she said, “I was coming home,” and rushed out.

  Now, Marcella held to her phone. It had been one year since that night.

  One year and countless DMs. Countless video chats.

  And … she loved him.

  She’d fallen for James in a way that she didn’t think anyone would understand. Even her classmates didn’t.

  The piano music continued and she DMed James. ‘I just need to see my dad first, then I’ll be coming.’

  Immediately, he DMed back. ‘He’s going to be late. He’s always late. Teach him a lesson and just come with me. You can see him later.’

  Marcella hesitated. She loved her father. And he had her birthday present. ‘Just a little bit.’

  The next thirty minutes were torture while James DMed her every couple of seconds. ‘Come. Come. Come.’

  She giggled and felt the same rush of anticipation she felt every time they spoke.

  The piano music stopped and she carefully went to the balcony, peering down into the living room.

  Her mother was sitting next to the window, looking out and softly crying.

  No! No! No!

  Marcella thought about all the fights over all the years when her father was late, and she knew tonight would be just the same. She should have known her parents would ruin her fifteenth birthday.

  Making a quick decision, she rushed down the hallway to the service stairs so she wouldn’t have to see her mother.

  As she ran through the kitchen, the only person there—a French cook raised his head. She tossed out a quick, “Meeting a friend,” and kept going toward the outside door. She pulled out her phone, DMing James. ‘I’m coming. Let’s meet at the coffee shop.’

  Chapter 4

  Cyrus

  Cyrus looked at his watch for the tenth time and scowled. A glance out the window told him that he was still fifteen minutes from the house. The tiny cars that made up most of the motor traffic in Paris crawled forward like a train of snails. Cyrus jumped as a motorcycle zipped between his car and the one next to it.

  Alerts kept chiming from his phone, but he ignored them. If the Director of Operations couldn’t handle this crisis, the one Cyrus had already mostly fixed from the Starbucks, then Cyrus would need to look for a new head for the company.

  Every second in the coffee shop had felt like an eternity. Something deep down in his gut told him he needed to get home as soon as possible, so the second he’d thought his guys had it under control, he’d bolted.

  Still, he was going to be more than an hour late. He’d sent Marcella a text, but she hadn’t responded. Neither had Anna.

  He glanced over at the gift he’d purchased for his daughter’s birthday. He’d remembered to pick up a dozen of her favorite yellow Michelangelo roses too, and they filled the vehicle with a lemony scent.

  Maybe they’d gone out to dinner. Marcella was always threatening to leave him behind if he was late, which he usually was. Still, she’d never done it.

  He shook his head. Something didn’t feel right.

  Nothing felt right.

  A sense of urgency grew stronger. He had to get home! Now!

  “Can you go any faster?” Cyrus asked his driver, Louis.

  “Not without breaking several laws, sir,” Louis said. The man’s dark eyes danced in the rear-view mirror.

  Cyrus ran his hand through his hair and wondered if he could still ride a motorcycle. He had several thousand dollars in his wallet. Surely he could buy one from someone driving by.

  “Traffic should clear up in a few streets,” Louis assured Cyrus.

  “Right.” Cyrus sat back and started scrolling through the messages on his phone. A few sounded panicked, but the Director of Operations had calmed the masses, and it looked like Cyrus might have picked the right guy for the job after all.

  A quick glance up at the top of his phone showed nothing new from either his ex-wife or Marcella.

  After twenty agonizing minutes and trips down several alleys that had Cyrus holding his breath in an attempt to make the vehicle smaller, Louis pulled through the gates at the house. The moment the car stopped, Cyrus grabbed his laptop bag and jumped out with a hasty, “Thanks,” tossed out behind him.

  Floria met him at the door and held her hand out for his coat. “Anna is in the music room. Your daughter is upstairs.”

  Cyrus gave her his coat and a grin. “How are your boys?”

  Floria scowled. “They are teenagers.”

  Cyrus laughed, straightened his tie, and decided to start with Anna. It would be better if they presented a united front for Marcella.

  In the years they’d been married, Anna had developed a tradition for when he came home late, and it looked as if she’d decided to extend the tradition post-marriage as well.

  Anna wore a pretty red dress. She’d pulled her hair up in some kind of twist and held a glass of wine in her hand. When she looked up, Cyrus flinched. She’d put more makeup on than usual, evidenced by the amount of it streaked down her face in the wake of tears.

  This was not how this trip was supposed to start.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Anna said bitterly. It was a tone that Cyrus knew all too well.

  “Catego
ry five emergency,” Cyrus said.

  Anna raised a delicate eyebrow. “So, you’re going to be running out again just as soon as you throw Marcella her present?”

  Cyrus ground his teeth and didn’t rise to the bait. “I did what I could in an hour and told them to handle the rest.”

  Anna laughed a little louder than she needed to. Cyrus wondered if this was her second or third glass of wine. “How kind of you.”

  Cyrus pulled his eyes from the glass and looked hard at his ex-wife. “I thought this was going to be a civil affair.”

  “And I thought you were going to be here on time for the first time ever.”

  “One hour and you’re already drunk?” Cyrus asked.

  Anna stood and swirled the dark liquid. “Jealous?”

  How had he thought that his family could be whole again? Not with Anna—all bitterness and no forgiveness—doing her very best to make everyone’s lives miserable. He reminded himself that he’d signed the divorce papers too, and that he’d been happy about it. But tonight wasn’t about Anna, it was about Marcella. “Where is she?”

  Anna waved her hand. “Upstairs. You’d better have a good present.”

  He did. Without another word Cyrus moved back into the hallway and took the curving stairs two at a time. Marcella’s bedroom was at the end of the long hall. Cyrus covered the distance in a few seconds and tapped out “Shave and a Haircut” on the door.

  “Marcella?”

  No answer.

  That wasn’t a good sign. She must be pretty upset with him too.

  “Baby, are you in there?”

  Again, nothing.

  “Want your birthday present? You’re going to love it.”

  Marcella never could pass up a good present, and he always brought her the best. Cyrus’s lips pulled into a frown when, once again, she didn’t answer.

  Cyrus rarely invaded his daughter’s privacy, but he didn’t want her to brood in there and give him the silent treatment for who knows how long. So, he reached out and tried the knob. It turned. “Honey, I’m coming in.” He expected to hear a squeal of protest, but none came.

  Maybe she had her headphones on. Cyrus knocked again as he slowly opened the door. He held his breath, waiting for a pillow to fly at his head, but, once again, nothing happened.

  “Baby?” Cyrus stuck his head in and found Marcella’s suitcases half unpacked on the bed. A quick glance at the attached bathroom showed the door open and the light off. He went inside and looked around. Next to the suitcase lay a piece of paper with one of his daughter’s doodles. This one was of a butterfly. Most of them were of butterflies. She was kind of obsessed with the little creatures. “Marcella?”

  No answer.

  She’d been here, but she wasn’t here now. A twinge of panic twisted his stomach, but there was no cause for alarm. She was probably down in the kitchen bugging the staff and eating gelato. But the sense of urgency grew in him.

  The door next to Marcella’s bedroom led to the servant’s staircase. Cyrus pulled the door open and jogged down. “Marcella?”

  By the time he reached the bottom, all conversations had ceased. He turned a corner and found Floria with the cook and the maid, both of whom were new.

  The maid’s eyes went wide and she took a step back.

  The cook, who was kneading dough, gave him a nod.

  “Mr. Black,” Floria said, “what can I do for you?”

  “Have you seen Marcella? I thought she might be down here.”

  Floria shook her head. “I thought she was upstairs.”

  The cook grimaced.

  “What?” Cyrus asked.

  The man stopped pounding his fists into the table and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “She left.” He spoke in a thick French accent.

  Both Cyrus and Floria spoke at the same time. “Left?”

  He nodded and pointed to the door where deliveries arrived. “Maybe forty minutes ago. Said she was meeting a friend.”

  “Which friend?” Cyrus asked. She of course had friends from her time here every year, but none he could think of that she’d sneak out to see.

  “She didn’t say.”

  The urgency exploded within Cyrus as he pulled out his phone and headed toward the security room. “Tell Anna to get in here. Now.”

  Chapter 5

  Marcella

  Marcella’s shoes clicked on the cobblestone sidewalks. Each step brought her closer to James and, by the time the cafe came into sight, she was practically running.

  The place looked just as she remembered it, with the bright cloth awning over the door and the quaint wrought iron tables and chairs out front. She stood on tip toe and craned her neck as she approached, trying to see over the group of backpackers that occupied the nearest tables.

  For a moment she couldn’t see James, then he stood and smiled at her.

  Marcella’s heart stopped. He was so handsome. How had she ended up with a guy like him? It felt surreal that a guy in college would want to be with someone who was just fifteen. But he’d assured her repeatedly that he did, that she was mature for her age.

  James walked toward her. His dark eyes drank her in, and his smile widened as she ran to him. He held out his arms and Marcella buried herself in his chest.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” James said as he stroked her back. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you too.” Marcella pulled back so she could look at him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “How glad?”

  Marcella had been fantasizing about this moment for twelve long, agonizing months. She smiled and looked from his lips to his eyes and back.

  James laughed, then took her chin in his fingers, tilted her head up, and ever so gently pressed his lips to hers.

  No amount of fantasizing could have prepared Marcella for this moment. Warmth ignited inside of her, and fireworks started going off in her head. She moved closer to him and kissed him harder.

  He responded by moving one hand down her side and around her back. He pulled her to him, and Marcella lost track of the world.

  This moment was everything she’d been waiting for. She drank in everything about him. Savored each touch. When he finally pulled away, she frowned.

  James laughed again. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, there’s plenty more where that came from.” He stroked her cheek, which sent all sorts of grown-up feelings through Marcella. “But I’ve been waiting a whole year to see the Eiffel Tower.” He gave her another quick kiss. “Can we continue this there?”

  “You—you waited?”

  “Of course.” James moved to stand next to her and put his arm around her waist. “I wanted to see it with you. No one else.”

  It felt as if she fit at his side. The only word she could think of was...perfect.

  The year since she’d last seen him had been a big one for Marcella. Before, she’d been shy and nervous. Now she nudged him with her elbow. “It’s not like you don’t pass by the Eiffel Tower every day.”

  James smiled down at her as he steered her toward the garbage can. He threw something away. “I never look at it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Would I do that?”

  That drew a giggle from Marcella. “Yes.”

  He kissed her neck and moved up toward her jaw. All while walking. Marcella shivered with pleasure.

  “You are more beautiful than I remember,” he said.

  “We should take a selfie,” Marcella said.

  James’ hand grabbed hers before she could reach into her purse. “No. No photos. No phones. We’ve been on the opposite sides of a screen for too long. Can we enjoy this walk? Just us?” He started another round of kisses on her neck.

  “Okay! Fine. Stop it, that tickles.”

  “Does it?” he murmured. He didn’t stop.

  Marcella didn’t want him to.

  Chapter 6

/>   Cyrus

  “Bring up the feed from the back of the house,” Cyrus ordered Rayan, the afternoon and evening security guard.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The screens in front of Cyrus flickered, and a moment later, one of them went dark before the picture resolved on the back door. Plants waved in the breeze at an accelerated pace as Rayan sped through the footage.

  Anna walked in. “What is this about?”

  “Marcella is gone.” Cyrus continued to watch the screen. “Did she tell you she was going to visit someone?”

  “No.”

  On the screen, the back door flew open, and a figure walked quickly toward the gate and then out.

  “There,” Cyrus pointed. Rayan was already rewinding and slowing it to normal speed.

  “She was probably upset that you were late,” Anna said.

  Cyrus didn’t bother to look at her. He’d seen her smug sneer enough times in the past fifteen years to have it imprinted on his brain. “Do you have her friends’ contact information?”

  “Me?”

  Cyrus turned and glared at Anna. “Yes. You.” He spoke slowly and with force. Anna was a mean drunk, but if he could get through her haze, she might be able to help.

  She blinked and took a step back. “Uh. Maybe.”

  “Go.” He jerked his head at Floria, who stood in the hallway, indicating she should follow Anna.

  Once again focused on the screen, Cyrus studied his daughter. She was wearing a summer dress with a denim jacket over it and low heels. She had her purse slung over one shoulder. “Which way did she go when she got past the gate?”

  Rayan clicked on his own screen a few times and another vantage point came up. “North.”

  Toward the Eiffel Tower.

  Cyrus had met a few of Marcella’s Parisian friends, but they’d always come to the house. He’d never asked where they lived exactly.

  “Have you tried calling her?” Rayan asked.

  “I’ll try again,” Cyrus said. He retrieved his own phone and hit the call button. A weight settled on his shoulders when a series of dings sounded and an automated voice told him that the number was unavailable.