Love the One You Hate

The message ends and I sit perfectly still, absorbing her words.

My first instinct is to get angry at Mrs. Buchanan, but how can I? We’re guilty of the same crime.

It’s ironic, especially considering my line of work. If anyone should know better than to wrongfully accuse someone, it’s me. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, burning up with anger I can’t redirect onto anyone else.

I want to call Maren and apologize, but for what exactly? How do I apologize for the amount of wrong I’ve done to her? And why should she even listen?

There’s a knock on my door. “Mr. Hunt? Do you have a second to go over this timeline for Antonio Owens?”

I sigh and drop my hand, pushing thoughts of Maren away for another time.

“Of course. Come in.”19Maren“Wake up, Maren. We have a plane to catch!” Cornelia exclaims, coming into my room and throwing back the heavy drapes. Her dramatic moment is thwarted by the fact that the sun isn’t even out yet. It feels like it’s still the middle of the night, and my head is foggy with the urge to go back to sleep.

“What are you talking about?” I groan, rolling over onto my stomach so I can stuff my face into my pillow.

“We’re going to be late to the airport if you don’t hop to it,” she says, strolling over to turn on the lamp on my bedside table.

I burrow deeper into my covers. “Airport…? Where are you going?”

“Where are we going, dear, and I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

Immediately, I’m intrigued enough to pop my head up off my pillow and turn toward her. When I first started at Rosethorn, Cornelia had me apply for an expedited passport. It was the same day she had me sign the non-disclosure agreement, so it didn’t really stick out in my mind. At the time, she waved off the reasons. “Oh, I travel every now and then and I’d like you to accompany me. You can’t do that if you don’t have a passport.”

A fist knocks on my bedroom door and then Patricia strolls in with a breakfast tray. She carries it toward my bed and stands there until I push myself up to a sitting position. Then she smiles and drops it on my lap.

“Eat up while we pack,” Cornelia orders. “Frank will have the car ready in an hour.”

“Where are we going?” I ask again.

Cornelia grins. “You’ll find out soon enough. Patricia, would you mind having Collins bring up one of my trunks? I realize now Maren doesn’t have any sufficient luggage.”

“There’s a duffle bag in there somewhere,” I say before lifting a slice of toast to my mouth.

Cornelia levels me with a reproachful stare. “One doesn’t take a duffle to Paris.”

“To PARIS?!” I ask, nearly choking on my bite.

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Ah, well, that secret didn’t last long. Now eat up quickly so Patricia can help you get ready. You need to look presentable for our day of travel.”

Louis runs into the room then, barking up a storm.

As promised, the groomer and the trainer arrived yesterday, along with a mobile vet.

The vet finished his check-up and microchip scan rather quickly. The groomer worked her magic in an hour; the trainer…not so much.

“I’ll need two weeks with him if you want to see progress. He’s very set in his ways.”

Cornelia agreed.

Then she promptly picked him up and carried him into the house as we all watched on silently.

“I don’t want to hear arguments from any of you,” she called back to us. “I heard it’s supposed to be unseasonably cool tonight. I don’t want him to catch a chill. Also, he’s still recovering from his wound.”

The wound, which by the way, has proved to be no more than a scratch, really.

So now Louis has house privileges, or he’s had them for one day, at least. I’m not sure they’ll last. We spent all day yesterday running around, making sure he wasn’t chewing on anything he wasn’t supposed to. I nearly had a heart attack when we found him playing tug-of-war with the edge of an antique rug, but Cornelia just shrugged.

“I never liked that thing much anyway.”

His name fits him now that he’s been groomed. His fur is trimmed short and his face is much more handsome. He’s wearing a red collar around his neck that Cornelia and I found in a shop in town on Sunday, and in his mouth is a plush toy in the shape of a Starbucks cup. I almost can’t remember what he looked like a few days ago.

He leaps up onto my bed and turns in a circle to lie beside me. I’m not sure where he slept last night, but I have a pretty good guess.

“How long will we be there?” I ask Cornelia as I rub his back.