The reception took place in the grand salon of a five-star hotel on Avenue Montaigne in Paris. Huge chandeliers illuminated the room, and a quartet played hushed jazz while executives, investors and executives raised their glasses of champagne.
I entered through the back door, carrying a tray of drinks, the black uniform perfectly ironed. No one paid any attention to me. I was invisible, exactly as Laurent wanted.
I saw him at once.
Standing in the center of the room, sure of himself, shaking hands, beaming with pride. At her side is Camille, dressed in an elegant red suit and wearing my grandmother’s emerald necklace as if it belonged to her.
Every step I took between the tables reminded me how far he had fallen… and how wrong I had been in still hoping that he would change.
