For a moment the world stands still. People freeze and my life goes on total edge. I notice this farmiliar face and my features twist into something from a horror movie. For a second I almost think he might be Daniel, but I know it is his brother and his fiance Ashley. When the world continues Mark Newman's expression turns to some type of disgusted scowl. I can feel Madame Plumey's confused expression burning on my back and Welsey's calm hand against my back. I have a feeling that only Ashley will be civilized in this conversation.

"Hi Emma," she says softly.

"What on Earth are you doing here! How dare you," says Mark harshly.

I feel Wesley's hand tighten as I respond. "I have every right to be hers."

"Not after you broke Daniel's heart like that." This makes me angry. A woman is not required to marry a man. Daniel isn't perfect either.

"You have absolutely no idea of who I am. I do not have to marry Daniel if I don't want to. Besides he talked to the press." By this time every single person eye's are turned on me.

Thankfully Madame Plumey interrupts with the call for dinner and I am spared a painful outburst.

The dining room has a pretty black table with a fancy white table cloth on it. The table is set with a fine china, silverwear, and black napkins. The dinner is mainly spent with alkward conversation and    me focusing on the food. I sit next to Welsey who spends the dinner mainly glaring at Mark. Boys. 

Later a lady who I believe is named Rachel turns the tables on me.

"Emma, I belive all of want to know what you and Mark's outburst was about. I don't want to pry but..."

I honestly think that she does want to pry, but I would rather have my side of the story be told. I look directly at Mark when I speak.

"I once dated Mark's brother Daniel. He proposed to me and well, I said no. It became a press scandal. That is one of the reasons I decided to come to Paris. I needed to escape."

The table is filled with murmers. Madame Plumey has an odd expresion on her face, but she seems oddly enough happy. Maybe she likes dramatic dinner parties where girls are pressured to share personal information.

After answering several questions by curious socialites I decide to leave. Madame Plumey stops me at the exit and passes me a note with a sly smile.

Sly smiles never end well.

The elevator ride to my apartment is silent. Wesley does not speak. Not even when we part ways to our own places. I slump down on a chair in the living room and read the letter. 

Dear Emma,

S'il vous plaît me répondre sur le toit directement après le dîner. (Please meet me on the roof directly after the dinner party.)

Madame Plumey

I don't know whaty posseses me to swiftly leave my room an take the elevator to the roof, but I do. 

I see Madame Plumey's shadow along the rosebeds. She turns her head and motions for me to sid down on a small table and chairs. Her eyes twinkle as she speaks.

"Emma, I know who you are."

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