Sweet Revenge

didn’t want to say so. “There is so much to see. When you told me about places like this, I thought you were making up stories. It’s better than a story.”
    Phoebe opened her eyes to stare out the window. They were driving along the river in the most romantic city in the world. Recklessly, she lowered the glass and drew in a deep breath. “There, Addy, do you smell it?”
    Laughing, Adrianne leaned closer, like a puppy, to let the breeze race against her face. “The water?”
    “The freedom,” Phoebe murmured. “I want you to remember this moment.”
    When the car stopped, Phoebe alighted slowly, regally, not sparing a glance at the guards. With Adrianne’s hand inhers, she entered the Louvre. There were throngs of people-students, tourists, lovers. Adrianne found them as fascinating as the art her mother pointed out as they strolled through the galleries. Voices echoed off the high ceilings, a variety of tones and accents. She saw a man with hair as long as a woman’s, wearing jeans torn off at the knee and carrying a battered knapsack. When he caught her staring, he grinned and winked, then held up two fingers in a V. Embarrassed, Adrianne looked down at her shoes.
    “So much has changed,” Phoebe said. “It seems like a different world. The way people dress, the way they talk. I feel like Rip Van Winkle.”
    “Who?”
    With a sound perilously close to a sob, Phoebe bent to hug her. “It’s just a story.” As she straightened, she glanced toward the guards. They were a few paces behind, bored. “I want you to do exactly what I say,” Phoebe whispered. “Don’t ask questions. Hold tight to me.” Before Adrianne could agree, Phoebe pulled her into a group of students. Moving fast, elbowing and shoving when necessary, she worked her way through, then sprinted down a long corridor.
    There were shouts behind her. Without breaking rhythm, she scooped Adrianne up and raced down a (light of stairs. She needed a door, any door that led to the outside. If she could get to the street, somehow get out and into a cab, she had a chance. Whenever a corridor snaked off, she took it, barreling her way past visitors and staff. It didn’t matter whether she was heading out of the building or deeper into it. She had to lose the guards. She heard footsteps pounding behind her and ran blindly, like a hare trying desperately to outrun a fox.
    Paintings flashed by as she ran. Her labored breathing grew loud as she streaked by the most treasured art in the world. People stared. Her hair had fallen from its neat twist to tumble wild and red around her shoulders. She saw the door and nearly stumbled. Gripping Adrianne, her heart about to burst, she broke free of the building. But she did not stop running.
    She could smell the river again, and the freedom. She stopped, gasping for breath, a beautiful, terrified woman clinging to a child. She had only to lift a hand and a cabswerved to the curb. “Orly airport,” she managed to say, looking right and left as she bundled Adrianne inside. “Hurry, please, hurry.”
    “Oui, madame.” The driver tipped his cap, then pushed down the accelerator.
    “Mama. What is it? Why did we run? Where are we going?”
    Phoebe covered her face with her hands. There was no going back now. “Trust me, Addy. I can’t explain yet.”
    When Phoebe began to shake, Adrianne cuddled close. Clinging to each other, they drove out of Paris.
    Adrianne’s lip trembled as she heard the roar of planes. “Are we going back to Jaquir?”
    Phoebe fumbled with her wallet, recklessly giving the driver double his fare. The fear was still with her, a metallic, ugly taste on her tongue. He would kill her if he caught her now. Kill her, then wreak the rest of his vengeance on Adrianne.
    “No.” She crouched down on the sidewalk so that her face was even with Adrianne’s. “We’re never going back to Jaquir.” She looked over her shoulder, certain Abdu would leap out of the next car and make her words a lie. “I’m taking you to America, to New York. Believe me, Addy, it’s because I love you. Now, hurry.”
    She pulled Adrianne inside. For a moment the noise and rush confused her. It had been years since she had gone anywhere alone. Even before her marriage she had traveled with an entourage of publicists, secretaries, and dressers. The panic nearly overwhelmed her until she felt Adrianne’s small, tense fingers link with hers.
    Pan American. She had asked for Celeste to have the tickets