The Hidden (The Hidden Trilogy) (50 page)

She sunk down into the couch and sighed. “I don’t see how we can.”

Jesus Christ, this girl drove me insane… I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Do you love him?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Do you want to be with him?”

“Yeah, but–”

I lifted my head and met her stare. “Then you have to
try
.” Ultimately, it would never work out. Emily was not human, Thomas was. She would outlive him by centuries–
millennia
, even–but she didn’t know all that. Right now, all she needed was that little kernel of hope, imaginary as it was.

Her eyes wandered down to the hole in her knee, her fingers playing with the worn fabric. “What if it’s not that easy?”

Lifting her feet, I draped her legs over my lap again and massaged her exposed ankles. Hadn’t anyone told her by now? “Nothing worthwhile is.”

Chapter Seventy-Six

Sunday, November 22
nd

Paris, France

Leaning against my parked car, I stared at the grassy knoll. It still looked the same, even after all these years. My fingers tightened on the silver flask in my hand, and I brought it up to my mouth, taking a long, hearty swig. It burned as it went down my throat, eventually warming my chest as it settled in my belly.

Let’s fucking get this over with.

Pushing myself off the side of my car, I tucked the flask in the breast pocket of my suit. It was new. Armani. I’d wanted to look good for today. For
her
.

I grabbed the single red rose from atop the car and started up the hill, my chest constricting with each step. Every time I came here to visit her, my eyes stung like they were going to tear up, but I knew they wouldn’t. I’d run out of tears centuries ago.

I made my way through the familiar maze of stones, until I got to the edge of the lot, where the weeping willows sat. She’d be waiting for me there, under the sagging branches. I picked this spot because I thought she’d like it here. Weeping willows were always her favorite.

My breathing hitched as she came into view, and my steps faltered. My hand tightened on the rose’s stem, almost crushing it. My breath became increasingly shallow until I thought I might hyperventilate.

I can’t do this. I can’t…

Pacing like a mad man, I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging on it. I dug the heels of my hands into my stinging eyes and forced myself to breathe. You’d think after damn near four-hundred and fifty years, this shit would get easier. It hadn’t. It still ripped me to shreds. Every fucking time.

I inhaled a long breath and blew it out. I had to be a man about this. I
owed
it to her to be here today. Smoothing my hair down as best I could, I took the last few steps to her. Lowering my body to the ground, I kneeled on the grass and moved aside the fresh bouquet of white lilies someone had left. It was nice that someone else had remembered.

With tentative fingers, I reached out and touched the cold white marble of her gravestone, tracing my fingers along the engraved MARY AGNES NORTHAM. My head bowed down as I looked at the bent stem of the rose I’d brought her. I straightened it out as best I could and placed it atop the stone.

I brushed away some dirt and debris from her new headstone. After several centuries the stone had started to crumble, so I replaced it a few months ago, with the new one only stating her name. No date of birth or death. People tended to look at you strange when you visited a grave from the 1500s, not that it was any of their goddamn business.

I placed the bouquet of lilies on the grass, propped up against the marble. “I, uh…” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again, but I couldn’t make any words come out.

This was the part I hated most. I never knew what to say to her. I’d failed her in so many ways, and deep down, I was ashamed of what I’d become. If she saw me now, if she could see how low I’d sunk…

My eyes stung as my fingers grazed the grass in front of her tombstone. “I’m sorry.” It was nearly inaudible, but it was there. And they were the only words I could offer her. I closed my eyes and pressed my palm into the grass above her, then pushed myself up and walked away.

I pulled into the underground garage of my Paris apartment building, the headlights of my Mercedes automatically flicking on in the darkened space. My phone vibrated as I parked in my assigned spot. Michael’s number lit up the screen. 

“Yeah?” My voice sounded lifeless and dull. I didn’t even have the strength to pretend I was some semblance of okay.

Silence. Then, “I sent her flowers.” It was as close as he would come to saying “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I saw, thank you. She would’ve liked them.”

After an awkward pause, he cleared his throat. “How are things progressing with Emily?”

“Fine. We’re…friends.” The concept felt weird, but it was true. Emily was my friend. I liked seeing her, and I actually
liked
spending time with her.

If someone had told me this three months ago, I would’ve laughed in their face.

“
Good
friends?” Michael asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know the meaning of the phrase. Emily was probably my
only
friend, but I didn’t think that alone qualified her as a “good” friend. It just meant that I was pathetic.

Michael snorted. “Just keep working on it.” I heard papers shuffle, and I pictured him sitting at his desk, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear as he dug through a mountain of papers. He sighed and said, “Well, we have a situation.”

My back straightened. “What?”

“Vivienne’s escaped.”

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