Prologue
�Paris, here we come!�
The phrase spoken so enthusiastically, yet softly enough that only he could hear, startled him, breaking the almost hypnotic hold that the white-blue horizon kept on him. Reluctantly, he tore his glance away from the window, turning his head slightly to find himself staring into a pair of wide grayish-blue eyes set against a round rose-cheeked face of his neighbor. A purely childlike expression on this slightly chubby aging face was punctuated by a smile of pure excitement that grew even wider (if that were possible) when its owner managed to gain his attention.
�Stephen Parker,� the chubby neighbor said kindheartedly, thrusting his hand forward. �Will this be your first time in Paris?�
His window-seat neighbor paused slightly, contemplating the stretched-out hand, and then shook it briefly, almost absent-mindedly.
�Christian Troy. � And, no, it won�t be.�
�Oh, but that�s wonderful!� Parker�s voice rose a notch in his excitement, making the other man wince in annoyance. �You could give me first-hand info about all the great places I could visit.�
Christian shook his head, struggling to keep irritation out of his voice.
�Not really. It�s been a long time. A really long time.�
A faraway look appeared in his eyes � an old memory � old wound threatening to break to the surface. He forced it back � an effort that took a considerable amount of his already frayed self-control. Feigning a pleasant smile (or, at least as pleasant as he could make it under the circumstances), he added,
�I would go to any tourist info center, if I were you, Mr. Parker. They�d be able to guide you around Paris much better than I could.�
With that he turned back to the window � his determined posture effectively demonstrating that the conversation was over. He heard the other man sigh deeply in exasperation, hoping, perhaps, to get Christian�s attention once again, but to no avail.
In the end, Parker, whose window-seat neighbor obviously didn�t want to talk to him, and whose aisle-seat neighbor � a scrawny Chinese tourist who spoke almost no English � couldn�t talk to him even if he wanted to, was left with no other recourse than to burrow deeper into his own seat and try to get some sleep. To Christian�s relief that was exactly what he did, and soon his soft snoring mixed into the background noise of the cabin, creating a strangely lulling accompaniment to the darkness outside.
Risking a quick glance at his peacefully sleeping neighbor, Christian felt a momentary pang of jealousy at the carefree attitude of the older man. That man was going on vacation to what is considered to be one of the most romantic places in Europe, and he was as eager and excited as a little kid. Christian, too, was going on vacation, for once following his friend�s advice. Sean said he looked like he needed a break, and, by God, he was right. With everything that�s happened in the past few months�.
Christian shook his head, contemplating the far-from-pleasant events that hit him in rapid succession in this short period of time: the completely emotionally draining affair involving the priest; the utterly humiliating, and, at the same time, horrifying incident with Kimber; the oh-so-hurtful words hurled at him by Julia�. Sean was right. He definitely needed a break. It�s the choice of the location that Christian was no longer so certain about.
France was his first attempt at escape � a much longed-for, though, admittedly, temporary escape from the hated confines of his foster home, from the rough greasy hands of his foster father, and the painfully revolting to him smell of Mr. Troy�s sweaty beer-stained shirt.
He was sixteen then. And his savings � the little money he�s been putting aside ever since the first time his foster father� the first time he made the deal with the devil � had finally reached sufficient sum to purchase a round-trip ticket to some remote location. He didn�t really care where. As long as it was across the ocean. He closed his eyes and pointed to the map. France.
To this day, Christian remembered the trepidation with which he took his first step down from the plane in Charles de Gaulle airport. The excitement, the anticipation of the unknown that he, somehow, knew would be wonderful. And it was � everything and more than he could have ever expected, than he could ever hope for. France was the first place where he found himself completely forgetting (even if only for a while) about the problems at home. And it was there that he fell in love for the very first time in his life. The only time�. It was also there that he had his first heartbreak � a blow so intense that going back home, even into the arms of the pervert who called himself his benefactor, seemed an almost welcome distraction. He never loved again � never dared to. Fool me once�
So why was he going back now? Christian shook his head lightly, as if in response to his own silent question. The truth was, he had no idea. Everything he did over the past few days seemed to have been done in a kind of a daze, no doubt brought about by the fatigue � both physical and emotional. And now, sitting in the dimly lit cabin of the plane, staring at the dark rain-pelted window, Christian found himself wondering whether this trip was such a good idea.
What was he thinking? What was he hoping to accomplish with this trip? To find her again? Even if that were possible, which, he knew very well, was not � he didn�t know where she lived (especially not after some 20-odd years) � he didn�t even know her last name. Even if it were possible to find her, what then? Would he demand she tell him why she left that day? Would he be able to handle her response? What about another rejection?
Christian inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. Maybe if he could stop thinking about the past, thinking about her, he could actually enjoy his stay in France: the enchanting labyrinths of narrow cobblestone streets of the Old Paris � �dust of the ages,� the majestic beauty of the cathedrals, the irresistible pull and innocent charm of the countryside. Maybe. If only he could.
The exhaustion finally took its toll and, aided by the lulling monotony of his neighbor�s snore, sleep claimed his tired mind within minutes. Soon Christian found himself lost in the madly swirling jumble of memories of the days long gone.