“It’s not too late, Reed. Charlotte wants to be with you. Even if she’s with another man, it’s only because you’ve chased her away. You’re the one she wants. You need to go to her and tell her how you feel.”
I whipped around. “What if she’s with him?”
“Then you do it anyway. You can’t let her slip away.”
By God, she was right.
“No, I can’t. She’s the one, Grandmother. She’s the one, and that realization has been terrifying . . . but it’s undeniable.”
“Then go! You don’t have much time to catch her before she gets on that train.”I wasn’t able to get onto a flight that would allow me to board Charlotte’s train in Paris. The only chance I had to get onto that train would be to catch it when it stopped in Venice on the way to Rome, which according to the itinerary was her final destination. That meant I could very well arrive and find that Charlotte had already fulfilled her wish of making love in a sleeper cabin with Blake, since by the time the train arrived in Venice it would be morning.
That was a chance I had to take.
When I landed in Venice, I just needed to get to the train station. I’d depended on the fact that I’d have internet on my phone to help me find my way there. But for some reason, I had no service. For the life of me, I couldn’t find anyone who spoke English. Even though I had no wireless, I could still text.
Note to self, never trust Max to take me seriously when I ask him to translate something into Italian for me. Instead of finding myself at the nearest train station, I ended up at the nearest whorehouse.
Remind me to wring his neck when I get home.
Even though my service returned, that detour set me back by at least a half hour. Fucking Max. I was really cutting it close.
I finally arrived at the Venezia Santa Lucia railway station. There were sixteen platforms, and I had to figure out how to find out which one Charlotte’s night train would be stopping at. Apparently Venice was the first stop and also the final destination for some of the passengers. Those who were continuing on to Rome would stay on the train. Not only did I have no clue whether Charlotte was actually on this train, I didn’t know if she was with that guy. My nerves were shot. My stomach felt sick.
Finally speaking to someone who understood English, I was able to find out which platform her train would arrive at. I purchased my ticket to Rome, then made my way to the other side of the station to wait by the tracks.
My mind was racing. What was I going to say to her? It felt like I had to prepare two different speeches for two different scenarios. Emotions were flooding my chest, but no words seemed to travel to my brain. I just hoped I could form something coherent if given the opportunity.
Right on time, at 11:05 a.m., the train pulled into the station. With my heart pounding, I watched as a swarm of people exited the front car and retrieved their luggage.
Handing my ticket to the conductor, I stepped onto the train, found a seat, and waited impatiently. I didn’t want to do anything that might get me in trouble while the train was parked, figuring they’d be much less likely to kick me out if we were moving.
Once the train took off again, I got up out of my seat to walk down to where the cabins were located. I knocked on every single door. Either there was no answer or I was greeted—in some cases, not so cordially—by people who were not Charlotte Darling.
Was she even on this train?
I was pretty sure at this point I would rather have not found her than discover her with another man in some kind of postcoital situation.
My heart stopped for a moment when I made my way to the final car, the dining room. It was empty, except for a beautiful blonde angel sitting in the corner, eating a croissant and looking out the window—alone.CHAPTER 37
CHARLOTTE
The overnight train was a mistake. I hadn’t been able to sleep all night. The jerking motion combined with my own busy mind had prevented me from getting any quality shut-eye.
Traveling on a sleeper car through Italy was nothing like I’d imagined. It was a lonely, uncomfortable experience.
I missed home.
I miss Reed.
As sad as that made me, it was the truth.
Deciding to head to the dining area to grab some breakfast, I took a seat by the window and had the entire car to myself. Still on my French-food kick, I ordered a croissant and a coffee.
Looking through the glass, I marveled at the scenic Italian landscape. My eyes stayed transfixed on the agriculture outside until a reflection of a man who looked awfully like Reed appeared in the window.