Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer: The Paris Journals

Hannah's Journal, Part 2

HANNAH’S JOURNAL, PART 2

I’d known my dad’s secretary since I was three years old. I used to think she was the boss and he worked for her, because she would bark out orders like, “Don’t forget your two o’clock call with the president of Incorporated Steel!” and “Remember that you need to be here by nine AM sharp tomorrow!” and he would always obey her.

Her name was Roseanne and she looked like Santa and the Wicked Witch of the West had had a baby. Impossible to describe. But she gave the best hugs, sneaked me candy from the vending machine when Dad wasn’t looking, and was always, always on my side.

Except today.

“Hannah, you know I hate to tell you ‘no,’ but there’s nothing I can do about it,” she said. 

The connection between Toledo and Paris was a little fuzzy, so I pretended I hadn’t heard her right.

“Awesome, thanks! I can hold,” I said.

She wasn’t fooled. “Honey, I know you heard what I said. The board meeting is tonight, and your dad told me I wasn’t to knock on the door even if the building was on fire. He said he’s take the files he needed and finds his own way out.”

“But -- it’s really important.”

Roseanne could always tell when I was lying, so she knew I wasn’t lying about this.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked. “You’re in Paris. Shouldn’t you be trying on berets and eating bonbons? Why are you all of a sudden so eager to talk to your dad?”

I sighed. “I can’t tell you, Roseanne. All I can say is that it might affect my whole entire future. Like, until I die.” Until death do us part, I thought, even though it was horribly and cheesy to think about getting married when I was only a junior in high school. I didn’t even like to confine myself to one date for a school dance, and suddely I was ready to commit my whole life to some guy?

Except it wasn’t just some guy. It was Armand Janvier, the most handsome, interesting, and -- I don’t know, incredible boy I’d ever met. He claimed to like me almost as much as I liked him. What’s more, he needed me. Why else would he find ways to arrange meetings, even if my friends had to tag along? Why else would he call me and ask where our class was going to be, so he could accidentally run into us while we were sightseeing?

He... he loved me. He had to. People just didn’t act like that unless they loved you. And I was pretty sure I loved him, too. He was just so different from everyone I met back home. He cared about important things like history, and family, and being recognized for your family’s honor and nobility. All he needed was someone who believed in him enough to help him fix the things that had gone wrong over the past couple of centuries -- and I was more than willing.

“Oh, Hannie,” she said. “I can tell you’re serious.”

“I’m deathly serious,” I said. “This is the most important thing in the world to me right now. And I swear, I’ll be quick.”

I heard her shift in her chair, and I knew exactly what she would be doing -- taking off her glasses, closing her eyes, and rubbing her nose. “Okay, Hannie,” she said. “I’ll get you two minutes.”

Classical hold music filled the line, and I felt my heart begin to pound. This was it. This was the moment that would change everything for me and Armand. Because he would see how serious I was, that I was able to do this favor for him. And then he’d know I was totally devoted to him -- to his cause. To our cause.

“Hannah? What is it?” Dad’s voice thundered over the line. He couldn’t help it -- he always thundered, even if he was in a good mood. 

Except this time I could tell he wasn’t in a good mood. His annual board meeting was the bane of his existence. He prepped for it the way a kid with a full courseload of AP classes crams at the end of the year. Often we went without seeing him for days at a time. Even Mom didn’t call him.