Page 27 of Broken Butterfly
“I’m going to have a lot of bridges to repair when I get home,” I say into my microphone. Fallon switched our sets over to another channel so that the pilot can’t hear our conversation.
“Why the fuck are you thinking about that now?”
“I don’t know. Just something that popped in my head, I guess.”
“Well, stop. That time will come soon enough, kitten.”
“Fallon, I have to start planning for what comes next. I can’t travel the world with you forever.”
“We can do whatever the hell we want.”
“I have school to finish. I want to become a doctor. Regardless of the screwed-up states of my relationships with everyone, if nothing else, Ryder, Jayson, and Julien are my best friends. Meredith and Trevor are my friends, too. And I just up and disappeared on everyone…again. I’ve put all the people I say I care about through hell and they deserve much better than they’ve gotten from me.”
“Screw them. You don’t owe anyone a damn thing,” Fallon argues.
“Yes, I do. I also need to talk to Daniel and Drew. I haven’t spoken to either of them for a while. And I need to see my daughter.”
I hear Fallon’s exasperated sigh.
“I’m looking forward to meeting Tatiána tomorrow,” I say, hoping to ease the tension I now feel rising up in him. Fallon had mentioned that Tatiána would meet up with us while we’re in Barcelona. I’m actually quite excited to meet her.
Fallon leans over to my side and points to the Arc de Triomphe below us. “The feeling is mutual. I’m going to have to keep a close eye on the two of you. I have a feeling that you and her together will spell nothing but trouble for me.”
He rests his chin on my shoulder as we both look out the window. We circle the city before heading back. Once we land, I step down from the cabin and my legs feel like jelly. Being up there, hovering over Paris, was like the tower drop at an amusement park—fortunately without the sudden drop back to the ground.
“That was awesome!” I shout at Fallon so he can hear me over the noise generated by the helicopter’s motors and blades.
Fallon doesn’t say anything until we get into the elevator and the doors close. He presses the button for the ground floor where a car is waiting to drive us to dinner and then a club after.
“Things will change once you go back, and I’m not ready to let you go yet,” he solemnly states.
I lean back against the elevator wall and look at him. “Of course things are going to be different, because I’m different. But I’ve gotten to know the elusive, secretive Fallon Montgomery and I like him, a lot. You’re a good man, Fallon. You’re my hero.”
Fallon stands up straighter and tilts his head at me. I love it when he does that. “I’m not the hero, Elizabeth. I’ll never be your hero. I’m your worst fucking nightmare.”
The elevator doors open and Fallon escorts me to our town car. We eat our dinner in silence because he’s in a mood, and instead of going dancing like we planned, Fallon takes me back to our hotel suite. I leave him alone and go out onto the terrace to enjoy my last night sky in Paris.
I’ve learned to allow Fallon his mood swings and know he’ll soon seek me out when he’s ready. Sure enough, I hear his footsteps walking over to where I’m standing and the hairs on my arms raise when he gets nearer.
“I’m sorry about tonight. I wasn’t very good company.”
Now it’s my turn to be silent. I can hear the lilting notes of a violin coming from the street level down below. I recognize the tune and hum along with it. Fallon moves behind me and extends his arms on either side of me against the terrace railing. I start to sway to the music of the violin. Fallon’s arms move from the banister to wrap around my front. I lean my head back against his chest, and we rock lightly from side to side.
I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve come to care about Fallon. I enjoy his company and his friendship. Most importantly for me is that I trust him. He’s broken and scarred and gets under my skin like no one else can, but he’s caring and dependable and bluntly honest in an ‘I-don’t-give-a-shit’ kind of way. He’s doesn’t treat me as fragile. I’ve become stronger being with him on this trip.
“Did you know Paris is called the city of love?” he says next to my ear, his tone somber and a bit sad.
“La ville de l’amour et la ville de la romance,” I reply and feel him smile against my cheek.
“Tu parles français?”
“Un peu.”
“What if I told you that I was in love with you and I wanted you to choose me? That I wanted you to stay here with me?”
I stop swaying and turn in his arms so I can see him. “First, I would remind you that you told me recently that love was a selfish lie used to manipulate people.”
“What if I’ve changed my mind?” he says curtly.
