∞∞∞
A day later, Max sat on the bench in Regent’s Park in London, having immediately boarded a flight to the UK. Sienna remained a hundred yards away, sitting on a yoga mat on the grass, trying to seem nonchalant and inconspicuous. She had wanted to be with him, but he was afraid that if he didn’t come alone, Éloïse would be spooked.
The money had been transferred and confirmation of receipt obtained, and almost immediately Éloïse had sent him details of their meeting place. Now, he sat there, nerves eating him up, feeling as if all the blood in his body had been drained away and replaced by something cold and non-human, like antifreeze.
His mind was full of what-ifs, and every scenario he played in his head was worse than the last.
What if she didn’t show? What if she had already left the country? What if the baby was already on a flight to Russia? What if this monster had hurt his child?
He glanced quickly at Sienna, who was still squatting cross-legged on her little purple mat, pretending to read. She must have felt his gaze, because she looked up at him and gave a little half smile. His heart was so filled with love and appreciation for her, and her willingness to be with him through one of the worst experiences of his life. When this was over, he vowed to hold her close to him and never let her go.
There was a flutter of movement at the closest entrance, the billow of a flowered skirt and the slow approach of a large baby carriage. He knew at once it was Éloïse, even though she was wearing a broad straw hat and held a parasol over her shoulder with the hand that wasn’t pushing the carriage.
He wanted to run towards her, but fear of triggering her sudden flight forced him to hold his ground. All he could do was wait.
Their progress across the grassy area felt like an eternity.
Then, there she was, right in front of him—and it wasn’t Éloïse. Right eye color, right hair, same pale, smooth skin. But not the woman he was waiting for. He felt his shoulders slump. Wrong woman. Wrong baby.
“Max? Are you Maxim Lavigne?”
“Who’s asking?” He was confused, still looking around, but drawn to the sound of his name.
“Areyou Maxim Lavigne?” she insisted.
“Yes. I am Maxim Lavigne. Who are you and how do you know my name?”
The woman bent forward, delving into the covered stroller. He wondered briefly if she was crazy. When she stood again, there was a small blue bundle in her arms.
Before the woman could hand over whatever she was holding in her arms, there was a warning shout, and several of the plainclothes London police officers who had placed themselves around him appeared, shouting at him to not move and for the woman to put her hands up.
The area around him and the woman became swarmed with emergency personal. Police and ambulance sirens ensued.