Page 70 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Is this what schizophrenia feels like?

I turn the question over in my head while water from the shiny gold bath spigot flows over my raised foot. Lavender-scented bubbles form a froth atop the water around me. Insanity should be the last damn thing on my mind.

But I consider the concept again. Seriously.

I’m certain my brain is on the edge of the break, and it’s only been a couple of hours since Dmitri arrived. Every second since then, I’ve been numb. Locked between complete joy and a solid case of what-the-fuck-do-I-do-now.

Because once I jump, my life will never be the same again.

So much will be left behind.

Including the last forty-eight hours.

Including Maximillian.

Who, two hours ago, kissed me and told me how overjoyed he was for me…

Then left the château—

and seemingly disappeared.

My chest clenches. “Damn it,” I mutter.

It’s for the better. Coming to fairy tale land doesn’t guarantee the fairy tale ending. What did you want, anyway? For Prince Amazing to escort you back to Orly Airport in a glass carriage? To kiss you goodbye through your snotty tears and running mascara? There’s a great shot for the social feed.

I push out of the tub and into a waiting bath sheet. At once, a pleasured groan escapes me. If my mind has to be in turmoil, at least the rest of me is in bliss.

No.

Scratch that.

Bliss is the sight awaiting me in the bedroom. The man standing here, smelling like wind and looking like sin, still dressed in the tight T-shirt and sweats in which I found him earlier. Only then, I was peeved with him. Now, I’ve just spent the last half hour in the bathtub, trying to rationalize myself out of missing him…

“Max.”

“Hello, ma belle.”

“You…you came back.”

“Of course I did.”

“Where were you?” I punctuate it by sagging against the wall as I ram a wrist against my forehead. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“Of course it is your business.” While his syntax is reassuring, his tone is all angry grit. “Sweet Jesu. It is always your business, Alessandra.”

“Oh, Max.” It’s barely more than a sigh, and I’m not ashamed. Dear freaking God. How am I going to move on like the man hasn’t permanently turned my blood to magma and my mind to chaos?

“Are…are you okay?” I ask and nervously resecure the towel.

His eyes cloud over. “Why are you inquiring? Do I not appear…okay?”

“Yeah.” I purse my lips. “Yeah, of course.” I don’t know why the point irritates me. I mean, don’t I want him to be okay? Haven’t I been stressing about his okay-ness for every one of the last sixty minutes? “It’s just that no one’s seen you for hours, and…”

I trail off in the wake of his faint yet flawless smile. As he tucks his upper lip into his lower, I attempt to discern even a single thought in his beautiful head. Not happening.

“I had to get away,” he finally says, surrendering his smile for the sake of the words. “To think.”

“About what?”