Page 30 of Unforgiving Queen

11

REINA

Iarrived at the Gare du Nord train station in the heart of Paris two hours later, my ears still ringing with Grandma’s words.

Everyone rushed off the train while I waited for the crowd to disperse, then grabbed my own bag and made my way out. My feet barely touched the ground of the platform when I heard my name.

“Reina.”

I whirled around, coming face-to-face with my papà. “What are you doing here?”

He shook his head. “Is that any way to greet your old man?”

“Sorry.” I leaned over and pecked his cheek while my grandmother’s words whirled in my mind. Did she call him? I hadn’t told anyone I’d decided to return to Paris, so she must have. “I just didn’t expect you.”

He grabbed my bag out of my hands and hooked one arm around my shoulder. “I want to talk to you, and this felt like the best way to get you alone.”

My steps faltered and I peered at him under my lashes. “What about?”

“The future.”

My chest twisted, but I didn’t say anything else.

We made our way out of the station and toward Paris Nord Café. The sun was out, but the air in December was bitter and cold, chasing a shiver down my spine. Tightening my French wool waistcoat, we entered the café and asked for a seat by the window.

“Your French is excellent,” Papà commended once we were seated.

The corners of my lips barely tipped. “It kind of comes with the territory, living in Paris and all.”

He nodded. “You want to stay in Paris?”

I stilled for a moment before answering. “I just came back, so I think that’s your answer.”

Letting out a sigh, he pushed his hand through his rapidly thinning and graying hair. It was probably the result of stress and worry.

“Ever thought about living in Italy?” he questioned. “After all, it’s the epicenter for music and fashion.”

“No.” The answer came without delay or doubt in my mind.

“Why not?”

I met Papà’s gaze head-on. “Well, for starters, neither Phoenix nor I speak a lick of Italian.”

“You could learn.”

I shook my head. “We built a life here with our friends.”

His jaw tightened. “The same ones who left you roaming the streets alone?”

I jutted my chin. “Now that’s not fair. We’ve been living here for two years and we all go places alone. It wasn’t the middle of the night.”

“You’re the youngest in the group, Reina.”

Then why did I feel like the oldest one? Why did I feel so damn tired? The heavy weight pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe, but I hid my panic and emotions behind a mask.

“I’ve been the youngest since the get-go. It’s never been a problem before.” I paused when we were interrupted by the waiter. We ordered from the menu, and once he left, I continued, “This can’t be the reason you came to pick me up at the station, Papà. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Do you remember anything about the accident?”