Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance by Alexis Abbott, Alex Abbott Read Free Book Online Page B

them, I think. My dad with his cuff links, my mom with her pearls, and then me.”
    “You got to travel the world, though,” I remind her, trying to brighten her spirit.
    She shrugs. “I know, and I’m grateful for that. But it would have been nice to have a friend my own age, you know?”
    I nod and bump her shoulder with mine. “Yeah, I know what you mean. So, this is kind of your one chance to break free, huh?”
    Maggie smiles weakly at me. “Mhmm. Sorry for pushing you into this, it’s just that — well, I don’t know if I’ll ever be in this position again. As soon as the gymnastics program ends, I’m sure my mom and dad will ship me off to some other training seminar for whatever new hobby they’ve picked for me. You know, I always wanted to be a veterinarian but my parents wanted me to do something flashier, more fun to tell their friends about at parties.”
    “But it’s your life, not theirs,” I rebut, frowning. Maggie sighs heavily.
    “Try telling them that,” she replies softly. The cab turns a corner and we drive across a long bridge over dark, glimmering water down below. A sign indicates that we’re now on Boulevard Henri IV, approaching the Place de la Bastille, where the famous prison once stood. Traffic here is a little tight, and I can’t stop gritting my teeth together, my hands clutching at the seat to hold myself in place as though we might collide with another car at any moment.
    “Well, if this is the one chance you’ll get, then we better make the most of it,” I tell Maggie, who responds with a wide grin.
    “Thank you for understanding and not judging me,” she says. “Usually as soon as people find out what my life is like, they treat me like the weird homeschooled kid.”
    I instantly feel a twinge of guilt, recalling the fact that I did think that of her upon our first encounter, taking in her conservative clothing and high-strung personality. I inwardly pledge to make up for this harsh first impression by giving her a really good night. Despite her wealth and privilege, I still feel a little bad for her, having to trudge around in her parents’ shadow all the time. Besides, she’s a sweet girl, and it is nice to have a friend who forces me to open up and expand my horizons a little bit.
    “Well, if you don’t judge me for being a sheltered small-town girl, I won’t judge you for being a jet-setting cosmopolitan,” I tell her with a wink, some of France seeping into my words more and more all the time. She giggles.
    “Deal,” she agrees. The cab lurches forward suddenly and we both instinctively reach over to hold onto each other, our faces wearing identical expressions of panic. Once we look at each other we immediately burst into laughter at how jumpy we are.
    “ Je suis désolé ,” comments the cab driver, glancing at us apologetically in the rear view mirror as the taxi slides into another lane.
    “ Pas de quoi ,” answers Maggie with a wave of her hand.
    The driver takes us down Boulevard Beaumarchais and then Maggie taps his shoulder to tell him to let us out at the next cross-street, which reads Rue Saint-Sebastien. He obliges, pulling to the sidewalk. I slide out of the backseat onto the pavement and look around, blinking in the fuzzy glow of the street lamps.
    “ Merci beaucoup, bonne nuit ,” Maggie quips to the driver as she pays him, smiling. He nods and waves at us as he drives away, leaving the two of us standing alone on the street, far across town from our apartment and the relative familiarity of the most touristy area around the Eiffel Tower. I get the sense that we’ve now moved much closer to the heart of where native Parisians hang out, where the French go to evade the gawking stares of loud-mouthed, confused tourists and sightseers.
    It’s dark and the air is getting cooler by the second. I shiver ever so slightly, suddenly feeling very small and out of place in this enormous hodgepodge of an ancient city. Maggie takes my arm and