Before Ever After by Samantha Sotto Read Free Book Online Page A

by profession, chicken farmer by passion, and single on account of the vow of celibacy required by the Poultry Club of Great Britain. It is a curious fact that jealous chickens do not lay as many eggs as their emotionally secure counterparts, you see.” He turned to the group. “And now, campers, if you’re done with breakfast, it’s time we made our way to the first of our two destinations in Paris. Let’s meet in the parlor in ten minutes, shall we?”
    The group gathered beneath the ornate Metro sign at the top of the steps leading to the subway.
    Dex eyed the sign and pulled a small Lumix camera from his backpack. He adjusted his baseball cap and took a deep breath. “Um, can I take your picture, Shelley?”
    Shelley obliged by default, too lost in her own thoughts to manage anything more than a blank stare. She was busy relishing the breakfast that had settled lazily in her stomach and the fact that, celibate or not, Max was single. She smiled to herself.
    Dex angled his camera and framed Shelley below the subway sign’s green art nouveau arch.
    “Now listen, campers,” Max said. “Take note of this place in case you get lost during our field trip and need to find your way back home. If you don’t think you can remember where we started from, you can purchase a baguette and leave a trail of bread crumbs. Oh, and before we head off, there are three things you must remember. First, don’t talk to strangers.Second, you need to be aware that your travel insurance does not cover acts of stupidity or alien abduction. Please do your best to avoid them. And third, hold on to your mates.”
    The couples in the group took Max’s instructions to heart and proceeded hand in hand down the stairs of the station.
    Dex glanced at Shelley, his cheeks as red as his hair. He held out his arm to her. “Um … I suppose he means us.”
    “No, I don’t, actually.” Max grinned at Dex.
    “Oh, uh, well …” Dex’s arm snapped back into place.
    Max turned to Shelley. “You’re in luck, luv. Not only am I skilled at rescuing damsels from drowning in orange juice, but you’ll find that I’m also rather adept at mating.”
    Shelley raised a brow. “Mating?”
    “Mating,” Max said, “from the word
mate
, a word derived from the Old Dutch word
maet
or
companion
, which shares the same root as
mete
, which means ‘to measure.’ ”
    “I see,” Shelley said. “So what you are in fact offering me is a measure of companionship, correct?”
    “Indeed.” Max stuck out the crook of his arm. “The length of my arm to be exact. All in accordance with the guidelines of the Poultry Club, I assure you. You won’t get lost, I have a place to rest my arm, and the chickens are secure in my fidelity.” He shrugged at Dex. “I’d offer you my other arm …”
    “Er, that’s okay.” Dex stuck his hands in his pockets and marched down the steps. “I’ll take my chance with the bread crumbs.”
    Simon looked up at the name of the station from which they had emerged. “Père Lachaise. That’s the cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried, right?”
    “That’s correct,” Max said. “The Cimetière du Père-Lachaise was the site of a Jesuit residence and was converted into a cemetery in 1804. Apart from Mr. Morrison, it is home to other famous residents such as Héloise and Abélard, Oscar Wilde, Maria Callas, and Frédéric Chopin, to name a few.”
    “And who among that distinguished set shall we be paying a visit to today, Max?” Jonathan asked.
    “You’ll meet her soon enough.”
    Père Lachaise was a village, Shelley thought, minus the village. There were no charming country houses along the tree-shaded streets, only crumbling mausoleums, each more sadly beautiful than the next. Brad snapped away with his camera, capturing the eternal mourning of the stone angels that stood watch over them. Occasionally, he trained his Nikon at an aging rocker that strode past them, focusing on a thinning gray ponytail or a tear