Page 108 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"And she's so gentle," Juliet followed me into the living room, climbed onto the couch, knelt on the cushions. "Way gentler than the last teacher. That one always frowned. The new teacher doesn't frown."
Her voice picked up speed, like she'd been storing up words all day and finally found the outlet. Each sentence tumbled into the next before the first one finished.
I sat in the chair across from her. Carmen brought me water. "What's the teacher's name?"
Juliet froze. Frowned. Thought hard.
"Vivi," she finally said. "Miss Vivi."
Vivi.
The name drifted through my head. Left no mark. Not unusual. Not memorable. Just a ballet teacher who made Juliet happy.
"Daddy," Juliet started again, voice colored with the thrill of a big discovery. "Vivi has blonde hair and green eyes! Just like me!"
My fingers stopped at the rim of the glass.
Blonde hair. Green eyes.
The combination was a thin needle, sliding in from somewhere I hadn't guarded. My fingers paused at the rim for one second.
"Is that right?"
"Yes! Her hair's longer than mine, really long, in a ponytail that swings around." Juliet slid off the couch, stood on the carpet, and gestured at her back. "Down to here."
I lifted the glass, took a sip. Didn't respond.
"She's pretty when she smiles," Juliet continued, completely unaware of my silence. "Her eyes are green, darker than mine, like... like leaves. Daddy, do you think she danced Swan Lake?"
"Maybe."
Juliet looked satisfied. She ran off to find her stuffed rabbit. As she darted through the hallway, the ribbon in her hair traced a pink arc through the air, vanishing around the corner.
The living room went quiet.
I set the glass on the coffee table, leaned back into the couch, and stared at the painting across from me for a long time. Juliet had painted it when she was two. Carmen had it framed and hung it there. Crooked lines. Couldn't really tell what it was supposed to be. Juliet said it was "Daddy and Mommy."
She said it was Mommy.
I didn't correct her.
Blonde hair. Green eyes.
I stood, walked into the study, closed the door, and called Carlo.
He picked up after two rings.
"Don."
"What did you find?"
A beat of silence. Carlo had been with me long enough. He knew which thing I was asking about.
"Olivia Adrian," he said. "Opened a flower shop near Provence. Called Fleur de Lune. Moon Flower. Operated it for almost five years." He paused. "Last week, it closed."
I didn't speak.
"Still tracking where she went," Carlo continued. "After she left the town, there's no local record. No airport, train station, rental car—my people are cross-checking, but it'll take time."
