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Sean Moore flinches at Gaston, the overzealous maître d'hôtel, as he welcomes Sean and Vanessa Watson to their hotel. Located directly in the heart of Paris, it was a journey in and of itself making it to the hotel through all of the traffic and tourists and cyclers.
Gaston leads Sean and Vanessa to the elevator, bringing them up to a large penthouse apartment that resembles the suite Sean shares with Yolanda Holland back in Marquette Cove. The resemblance is rather eerie, as if it were the same suite dressed in new furniture and a fresh coat of paint. And if someone had added the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower just outside the window. Maybe that's why this room was booked for him by Yolanda's travel agent.
"May I get you two anything?" Gaston asks, his heavy French accent filling the room as strongly as his mahogany-scented cologne. "Some wine? Perhaps some maps for your travels, oui?"
"Non, merci," Vanessa says, handing a tip off to Gaston and ushering him out the door. She spins back around to face Sean, still unable to force a smile on her face, despite their gorgeous surroundings. "Here we are. Paris."
"Your home sweet home," Sean says, nodding. "And apparently the place where I spent my honeymoon, according to that Jennifer Coolidge flight attendant."
"At least your memories are happier than mine," Vanessa says, fighting back the urge to let the emotions of her sister's murder in Paris just a few months ago bring her to tears.
Sean embraces Vanessa. "Don't worry, we'll figure out what happened. Once we get to that photographer's studio, we'll find out all we need to know about Marcus' alibi that the police didn't bother to check out."
"Let me go ahead and change into something more comfortable for traipsing around the city, then."
As Vanessa goes out the room, Sean is startled when she lets out a small cry of surprise. He follows her into the room, where he finds that the bed in the suite has been littered with rose petals, lit candles, and a bottle of chilled champagne.
"I think this may be the..." Vanessa begins nervously.
"Honeymoon suite?" Sean finishes.
She can't exactly see his face. Or hear his muffled phone conversations. But she knows he's there. She can feel his presence. And she is absolutely horrified for her life.
Even more than the last time she'd been practically held hostage... by her husband's brother, Derek. When she refused his advances, he drugged her and attempted to get her sent back to rehab, away from her family. His plans almost succeeded, but her son, Vincent, managed to save her.
But she knows now that Vince won't be able to save her this time.
Last time, she was being held captive in her own home. This time, she is God knows where and probably going to be killed. This man seems much scarier than Derek. Derek... the man it even pains Leslie to think about since he is in fact the father of her son Vincent.
How ironic that the memory she continues to use to get herself through this is also tainted by the fact that at that point in time, she was lying to her husband Sean about the paternity of her son. She told herself that it was to protect him and their family.
But perhaps karma disagrees.
Because once again, she finds herself in a no win situation.
"Please, let me go," Leslie croaks, attempting to catch the attention of the figure shrouded in the dark corners of the warehouse.
But he continues to ignore her. And so she falls slowly back into unconsciousness, reliving past memories and praying she will have a chance to make new ones.
EMERALD PLAZA HOTEL
THE EVENT SUITE
Vincent Moore wants to yell at Blake Thomas and call him every name in the book. From Blake wearing a bathrobe in Aaron's suite and from the conversation he overheard between Blake and his ex, Darren, Vince knows that his sister wasn't lying when she said Blake has been having an affair with Aaron Maddock.
But he can't bring himself to do it.
The pained expression on Blake's face is one he recognizes all too well. It's one he last saw on his mother's face the night his bastard of an uncle tried to pump her full of heroin and have her sent back to rehab, all in an attempt to keep everyone from finding out he'd been in cahoots with Michael Hanley to kill Vince's father, Sean.
Ironically enough, Vince now knows that Michael had been playing Derek just like he'd played everyone else. Sean was never dead. Michael had faked his death and used Derek as a patsy to take the fall for a murder that never happened.
The fact that Vince is related to such an idiot like Derek is only quelled by the fact that Derek died in a car bomb years ago, and the fact that because of Derek's violation of his mother, he now recognizes the same thing in Blake's face.
"Vince, please go away," Blake begs, turning away from his friend. "I can't... I can't take this from you too."
"What happened here?" Vince demands, stepping inside and letting the door slam shut.
Blake doesn't respond.
"I heard your argument with Darren..."
"Then you already know," Blake says. "So you can spare me the righteous indignation, all right? I'm a whore for sleeping with Aaron, just like I was a whore for sleeping with you."
Vince recoils at the mention of the night he and Blake slept together. A night fueled by alcohol and desperation that Vince has tried to put out of his mind, but has always been unable to reconcile with the fact that he's always identified himself as heterosexual and has never had any other romantic feelings toward men.
None except for Blake.
And all of those feelings are what caused Vince to turn away from his friend. Because Vince felt violated. Taken advantage of. The only thing is... Vince's outrage at Blake came from a false place that night. Here, alone with his friend in this hotel suite, Vince very much recognizes the honesty in Blake's façade.
"You didn't sleep with Aaron tonight," Vince says. "Did you?"
Blake hangs his head, unable to look Vince in the eyes. "No, I... I..."
Glancing around the room, witnessing the disheveled furniture, broken glasses and the dented food tray, Vince finally realizes... "You were raped."
L'HÔTEL DE PARIS
PARIS, FRANCE
Vanessa returns from the bathroom, fully clothed, to find that Sean has cleared the rose petals and the rest of the romantic paraphernalia from the bedroom. She breathes a relaxed sigh and joins him on the edge of the bed. "Much better."
"Definitely," Sean says, grinning. "Sorry there's only one bed. But the couch out there is perfectly fine, so you should be comfortable there."
Vanessa responds with mock irritation. "What a gentleman!"
Sean rises to his feet. "I'm kidding, obviously. The bed is all yours."
"Thanks," Vanessa says. "Are you all ready?"
"Yeah, I'm completely ready to get to this Monsieur Clayton, or whatever he's called, and find some answers to your problems," Sean answers.
"I can't thank you enough for this, Sean."
"You don't need to," Sean says. "This trip just might turn out to be mutually beneficial. I could find out something about my past here, too... the past that Michael robbed me of when he faked my death."
Vanessa nods. "Then I think it's fate that we both ended up at that PI's office together."
"Let's get out of here," Sean says, leading the way to their hotel door.
Vanessa snatches up her purse and the printed information of the photo shoot they intend to track down Francois Davenport, a.k.a. Monsieur Clayton. As they go out the door, they almost run smack into Gaston.
"Are you two leaving for the evening?" Gaston asks. "Perhaps a walk down by the Champs-Élysées?"
"Perhaps," Sean says quickly, shutting their suite door. "Have a good night."
"Bonne nuit!" Gaston calls after them, a smile still plastered across his moustached face as they disappear around the corner. Once he is sure they are gone, Gaston removes the concealed handgun from his waistband and grips it tightly. "Bonne nuit, mes amis... forever."
