*Olivia*
It was all a blur. I watched the gorgeous Eiffel Tower from the plane window, standing out against the backdrop of the city as it disappeared from view. It filled me with a sense of loss to see it get smaller and smaller before finally, all I saw were the clouds below us.
I didn’t want to go back home, not when Paris had been so magical–so easy and free.
But life always came knocking once more to cut off the end of the road and drop you back into the story it set for you.
The cabin light dinged when it signaled we were high enough in the air to move around, but neither of us did. Giovani was on his phone, furiously answering calls and redialing numbers as he yelled about things in rapid Italian.
I spoke Italian fairly well now, but even I had a hard time following him with how loud and fast he was spitting out those words. All I knew was that he was angry–very angry.
