Turn Back Time (The Full Circle Series Book 1) Read online

  She startled a couple next to her when she jumped up and exclaimed, “Let’s do it!”

  Time to be spontaneous.

  The foyer was a feast for the eyes, and Stella could only stare at the grandeur. She was greeted by marble in various colors and shades, bronze statues and sculptures, sparkling mosaics, and gold-leaf flourishes everywhere.

  As soon as she bought her ticket, she was on her way to the enormous double white marble staircase with its red and green marble balustrade, and from there to the foyers and the many floors of the magnificent theater. This was so much more than a theater.

  This building was a shrine. A shrine dedicated to art, music, passion—and to the past.

  Stella imagined the swishing of petticoats and silk or cotton dresses of the women who walked here since its inauguration in 1875. She could almost hear the playful laughter and flirting, the tinkling of lead-crystal glasses bubbling with champagne, and the confident, maybe possessive voices of husbands and lovers. These walls must have seen their share of scandal and shame.

  As if she was pulled by invisible strings, she climbed stairs and followed hallways—until she entered the horseshoe-shaped auditorium and halted.

  And saw red! Red and gold galore!

  Red upholstered velvet seats, red curtains, red carpet, golden columns, golden balustrades, golden ceiling.

  She craned her neck, looking straight up. And what she saw took her breath away.

  A bronze and crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling; a ceiling painted with such vibrant colors there was no doubt in her mind whose art it was.

  She admired Marc Chagall’s work and made it a point to see it in person wherever she was. His distinct use of bright, lively colors, and his almost poetic, figurative style, spoke to her, and made his work easy to recognize. His figures floated in the air, untethered and free.

  She continued to gaze up at the ceiling, hunting for the small images and references Chagall was famous for, then decided to do more research about this amazing work of art later. Or maybe they sold a book about it at the gift shop. She’d have to stop there on her way out.

  A nearby English-speaking tour guide told his group, “This ceiling was inaugurated in September 1964. The twelve panels, plus the central panel, are Chagall’s interpretation of scenes from opera and ballet.”

  Someone asked, “Is this the chandelier that plays a part in the musical?”

  The guide explained, “Yes. In 1896, two of its heavy counterweights broke off and fell through the ceiling during a performance, causing one death and several injuries. This is the accident that inspired Gaston Leroux to write his novel.”

  Stella checked the time and saw she only had a little over thirty minutes left before meeting Naomi.

  Hmm. Not enough time for the Library-Museum. Instead, she decided to look at some of the costumes and stage props exhibited everywhere while making her way to the exit.

  Unfortunately, it also meant she didn’t have time to find out if the underground lake was real or invented by Leroux for his novel. The Phantom’s lair, where he hid from the world, where he plotted his schemes, and where he found love—and lost it again. Stella’s eyes misted just thinking about the Phantom’s solitary life, and she blinked a few times to stop the tears.

  Standing with her back to the stage, she studied the five tiers of galleries and private boxes. She didn’t think she’d enjoy being in one of them, where all the people in regular seats could watch her.

  Turning to leave the auditorium, she saw people entering one of the boxes on the middle level. Two men were deep in conversation, with one of them pointing to the stage.

  Then a third man entered the box.

  Their eyes met across the theater.

  Stella’s heart hammered. She couldn’t breathe.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes.

  When she looked up again, she saw only two men.

  CHAPTER 11

  David—July 2018

  D

  avid followed his agent Aaron and Jerome, the Musical Director of the Opera House, through numerous hallways and staircases and had lost all sense of direction. They had finished touring the backstage and dressing rooms, when Jerome said, “Let me show you one more thing.”

  He led them through carpeted foyers until he stopped in front of three wooden doors, where he inserted a key in the middle one and said to David, “It’s not loge 5. But I’d be happy to show it to you later.”

  David smirked and replied, “No, thank you. I know better than to enter the resident ghost’s personal loge.”

  Jerome opened the door, swept his arm in a wide arc, saying, “David, you’re looking at Europe’s largest stage, built to accommodate up to four hundred fifty artists, and our auditorium has a capacity of two thousand seats.”

  David stepped into the private box. He didn’t see the stage.

  His glance fell on a woman turning to leave the auditorium. She looked up and their eyes met.

  Stella!

  Stella?

  The blood rushing through his ears was louder than any orchestra warm-up. His heart raced. He swallowed. Swallowed again. His mouth was dry.

  Her eyes, her face, her voice had haunted him for the past twelve months.

  He had to go to her.

  He had to talk to her.

  David raised a hand toward Aaron and, without a word, ran out of the private box.

  Damn… Which is the shortest way to the auditorium?

  He hurried to the central staircase, running down two steps at a time, ignoring the people gaping at him or pointing fingers.

  Breathing hard, he raced into the auditorium, scanning every box and aisle and seat, every corner and exit, and then the stage. Thank God he was close enough to see most of the backstage area—on the slight possibility she had ventured there.

  He couldn’t draw a complete breath. The air had been sucked out of him. Loosening his tie and gasping for air, David crouched down in front of the stage, oblivious to the curious stares.

  She was gone.

  Again, he swept the auditorium from left to right. This was where he saw her, only a few moments ago.

  She had disappeared—like Cinderella, but without leaving a glass slipper behind.

  He cradled his head in his hands and stared at the carpet between his feet.

  This can’t be real. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Had his conscience chosen this moment for payback? Well, the timing sucked.

  And he’d better come up with a believable explanation for his strange actions—fast.

  Aaron would understand. He might still give him an earful, but he had represented him for a few years now, and knew him well enough to know this wasn’t David’s usual behavior.

  But Jerome was a different case. David was here to negotiate a contract. He was expected to be professional, not act like a toddler chasing after a puppy.

  Too late. All he could do was apologize and be honest. But to be honest with a stranger about something so personal, he’d have to be honest with himself first.

  He was a total asshole last year, which he wouldn’t share with Jerome. The only person who needed to hear his confession wasn’t here anymore. And what were the chances of running into her here, of all places?

  But he knew it was Stella. She wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

  Call her, his conscience told him. It was the only thing he could do. Finding Stella in Paris would be impossible. Where would he even start looking? Was she staying at a hotel or with a friend, maybe in a private home? And worse, was she here with somebody?

  In the flash of a second when he saw Stella, she was alone. Don’t go there, Danvers. None of your damn business anymore. You waived that privilege with your stupid letter.

  There it was again, the nagging voice of his conscience. He wanted to yell, Shut up! Where were you when I needed you, before I made the biggest mistake of my life?

  He stil
l couldn’t manage to take a full breath, and his heart beat a fast and furious staccato. He tried to open the top button of his shirt, but his fingers didn’t cooperate.

  David pulled out his iPhone, praying she hadn’t changed her number. Seeing her picture assigned to her contact, he thought, Oh, baby, how can I fix this?

  He pressed “call” before he changed his mind. His hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped his phone.

  Ten agonizing rings later, he heard, “You’ve reached Stella.” The sound of her voice almost crushed him.

  He was about to reply when she said, “I can’t take your call right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Unless you’re trying to sell me something, then don’t bother. Bye.”

  Voice mail… he hated voice mail. But he had no choice. This was his one chance to get in touch with her while they were both in the same city. The city where he’d always imagined taking her for a romantic getaway.

  “Stella, hi, it’s me.” His voice shook. “Listen…umm…I don’t know if…umm…my eyes played tricks on me, but I swear…I swear I saw you a few minutes ago…umm…at the Paris Opera House. You know, the one on rue…oh, what the hell, I don’t know what street it’s on. You know me and directions.”

  This was why he hated answering machines. It was impossible to say a few consecutive words without babbling and getting tangled up in word salad. “Can we…umm…meet? Can I take you out to dinner tonight? Please, call me back. I…”

  Beep…

  Her voice mail cut him off. David stared at his phone and disconnected. All he could do now was hope. And wait…

  If he hadn’t waited too long already.

  CHAPTER 12

  Stella—July 2018

  S

  tella squinted at the private box. It wasn’t possible. It must have been a hallucination. For a moment she thought she’d seen David. She wanted to call to the two men, “Excuse me, but did I just imagine seeing the jerk who broke my heart?”

  Maybe she was dehydrated?

  No—she knew it was him.

  The last time she saw him in person was May of last year. He visited her for her birthday and told her he was going to Budapest for six months.

  She had no idea where he lived right now, in fact had stopped following him on social media after he broke up with her.

  He could be anywhere. He’s a nomad. He has no roots.

  She didn’t know how she found her way out of the building. Time and place no longer existed. A cold, dark cloud engulfed her, leaving her disoriented.

  She had no recollection of walking out into the warm sunshine. She didn’t know how her feet knew where to take her, and she didn’t see Naomi waiting for her at one of the tables at the brasserie.

  She didn’t look back at the Opera House.

  She didn’t feel arms coming around her, holding her tight.

  She didn’t hear Naomi say, “What happened to you? You’re white as a sheet!”

  Before Stella could answer, she heard music coming from her phone, deep in her purse. The unmistakable trombone and organ music which still meant everything to her.

  A chill crept through her bones, and she shivered.

  It was real.

  He was real. And here in Paris.

  CHAPTER 13

  Stella—July 2018

  “I

  ’m so going to wring his scrawny neck!” Naomi hissed. The water bottle crinkled as she crushed it one-handed.

  “His neck isn’t scrawny, so I don’t think you’d be able to get your hands around it,” Stella hiccupped. It was almost pathetic how grateful she was for Naomi’s support.

  Hearing David’s ringtone was too much, and she sat in the little brasserie crying her eyes out. Had she done the right thing by running away? Part of her wanted to go back and confront him, and part of her wanted to pretend they hadn’t come face-to-face out of the blue.

  She pushed away the café au lait in front of her and reached for the more potent beverage Naomi ordered as soon as Stella burst into tears. The cognac tasted of fruit and wood and left a trail of fire down her throat. She gasped at the burn, then welcomed the powerful sensation.

  Naomi pointed to Stella’s purse. “What are you going to do about his phone call? I wonder if he left you a voice mail.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I want to hear his voice.” She shuddered. “Seeing him was hard enough. And you should’ve seen the shocked look on his face.” She shook her head. “But I guess I at least owe him the courtesy of listening to what he has to say.”

  “Oh, no-no-no! You don’t owe him a damn thing!” Naomi shook her head at Stella. “If I were you, I’d tell him in very specific language where he can shove his message. Which you should’ve done last year.”

  Stella ignored her friend’s rant and reached for her phone. Might as well get it over with. She put it on speaker and held it up. “Can we...umm...meet? Can I take you out to dinner tonight? Please, call me back. I…” Hearing his familiar voice was painful, and she shored herself up with another sip of her cognac.

  “Dinner? He wants to take you out to a freakin’ dinner?” Naomi was furious. “Who does he think he is?” She took a breath and pointed a finger at Stella. “I know what we’ll do! I’ll go with you to the dinner. And I will have a few choice words with The Undesirable, and when he goes to the bathroom, I’ll drop a few jalapeño seeds into his drink. They should give him a helluva sore throat for at least a day or two.” Naomi made a throat-clearing sound.

  “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, so I suspect he’s safe from your assault.” Stella tried not to laugh and tossed her phone back into her purse. “I’m not going to do anything right now. Let’s go to the Louvre. It’s been our plan all along, and I won’t let his reappearance mess up any more of our day.”

  “Are you gonna accept his dinner invitation?” Naomi finished her own cognac.

  “I can’t think about it right now. Let’s talk about something different. What did you buy?”

  “I can model for you tonight,” Naomi held up a small shopping bag and double-winked at her.

  “I think I’m the wrong audience.” Knowing Naomi, she’d parade in front of her anyway, whether she wanted to see it or not.

  “I’m pooped. Whose harebrained idea was it to walk from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe instead of taking the subway?” Naomi announced hours later while she flopped down on her bed.

  “Yours,” Stella said and shook off her sandals. “You wanted to stroll along the Champs-Elysées.”

  “Don’t remind me. Now…how about chilling for a couple hours before we go to dinner?”

  “Sounds good to me. And I still have to reply to David.”

  “You don’t have to do anything.”

  “Yes, I do. It wouldn’t be nice to leave him hanging without an answer.”

  “Nice? Did you just say nice? We’re way past the ‘nice’ phase,” Naomi’s voice rose. “But I admire you for having the strength to be the bigger person. I don’t think I could do it.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Nam.”

  Naomi got up and said, “You know what? I’m going to go sit in the courtyard for a while. Want to come?”

  “I’ll soak my feet and reply to David, then I’ll join you for a drink. Ask Pierre about another restaurant recommendation. The Italian place last night was good, but I don’t want to run into those two guys again.”

  While she pampered her feet and let the lavender-scented bath salt relax her, she listened to David’s voice mail again. It was cut off after he said “I…” at the end. What else did he want to say?

  It didn’t matter. At home, knowing he was thousands of miles away, it was easier to ignore her messed-up feelings. She could lie to herself for as long as she wanted, but she still loved him. And she knew she’d never find closure without talking to him one last time.

  And besides, she’d scolded herself dozen
s of times in the past year for not confronting him about his letter. This was her chance.

  But not today. It needed to be on her terms, when she was prepared, not blindsided.

  She knew how much he disliked emails or text messages. He always said they were impersonal and too easy to misunderstand, and he preferred to talk in person. He considered FaceTime an acceptable compromise. Too bad if he doesn’t like me texting him. There are a few things I don’t like either.

  It took her almost fifteen minutes to compose a brief message, but in the end, she thought she nailed it.

  David, I didn’t expect to see you here in Paris. I can’t meet you for dinner tonight. Naomi and I are leaving early tomorrow morning. We’ll return on Thursday before flying home on Saturday. I’ll be in touch when I’m back. Maybe we can talk then. Stella.

  There! It was none of his business why she was in Paris and where she was going next.

  As soon as she sent the message, she wanted to take it back. She should’ve asked how long he was staying. What if he had left Paris by the time she got back?

  She shook her head. Second-guessing herself was exactly what Naomi always told her not to do.

  Stella dried off her feet and went downstairs. She found Naomi standing at the bar, laughing with a tall man around their age.

  “Stella,” Naomi called when she saw her approaching, “there you are! Did you get everything done?”

  “Yeah, I sent a message saying I don’t have time today and will be in touch when we’re back.”

  Naomi gave her an encouraging smile, then introduced her, “This is Kai. He’s from Germany. Where exactly did you say?”

  “Hamburg. Also known as Gateway to the World. Hi, Stella. Nice to meet you,” Kai said.

  “I’ve heard it’s a beautiful city,” she said and thought, I can think of a more suitable nickname. Gateway to Hell.

  “Naomi told me you both live in Philadelphia. I was there last year. Rented a Harley and rode from Boston to Miami. Fun trip. Three weeks up and down the East Coast.” His English was tinged with a German accent.