Arlene's POV
Spending our final week in Paris together feels bittersweet. When we return to the apartment, I tend to Rockford's scratches from the playground incident, carefully applying bandages to each scrape. The simple promise that we'll never have to deal with those awful children again brightens both twins' moods instantly.
As I pack boxes for shipment to our new life, nostalgia hits me harder than expected.
This apartment holds everything precious. The twins took their first breaths here. I stumbled through those early months of motherhood, completely lost until Hannah appeared like an angel. Our nanny has been nothing short of miraculous since the day I hired her. She's thrilled about moving to California, eager to be closer to her own family again.
These walls witnessed Rockford's first wobbling steps across the hardwood floor. They echoed with Nicholson's triumphant first "Mama" that made me sob with joy. The memories threaten to overwhelm me, so I escape to the bathroom before the children notice my tears. Hannah catches me anyway.
"This change will benefit all of you," she says gently. "Us included."
"I understand that. It's just that this place has been our sanctuary for so long."
"California excites me beyond words," she grins.
"I can't wait for the twins to experience it too." Her enthusiasm lifts my spirits.
Our farewell tour includes several museums and one last visit to the Eiffel Tower for photographs and proper goodbyes. During the transatlantic flight, inexplicable nervousness settles in my stomach. Rockford sleeps peacefully through most of the journey, but Nicholson mirrors my restlessness, staying wide awake beside me.
"Mommy, will we visit Grandpa this time?"
I swallow hard, remembering my father's reaction when I revealed I had twins without mentioning their father's identity. "Not immediately, sweetheart. We're relocating permanently. California will be our new home."
"Will we live in a real house finally?" Her excitement is contagious.
"We'll start in an apartment while I search for the perfect house. Would you like to help me choose?"
"Can it be near the ocean?" Her eyes sparkle with anticipation.
"Would that make you happy?"
"Absolutely!" She nods enthusiastically. "We've never seen a real beach before."
"We can explore this weekend while we get settled. Our apartment isn't far from the coast."
"Oui, s'il vous plaît," she giggles, crawling into my lap. "Do we still need to speak French?"
"Only if you want to. Most people in California speak English."
"What about the others?"
"It varies, but where we're going, I'd say Spanish is common."
"We don't know Spanish," she nestles against me.
"You don't," I laugh softly.
"You do?" She gasps in amazement.
"I do. Hannah does too."
"That's awesome! I want Hannah to teach me Spanish."
"You don't want me as your teacher?"
"I want you focused on finding our perfect beach house, Mommy. Even better than Marina's." She dissolves into giggles.
"Better than Marina's house?" I tickle her gently. She squeals with laughter before wrapping her arms around my neck.
"Are you sad, Mommy?"
"Why would you think that?"
"Because Mrs. Dorothy said you must be a sad fuck with two kids and no husband."
Hannah chokes on her water mid-sip, coughing violently. I fight the strongest urge to laugh I've ever experienced in my life. Scattered chuckles emerge from other first-class passengers. Nicholson's adorable French accent only makes it more precious.
Mrs. Dorothy is probably explaining to her husband why they're facing a lawsuit from some "crazy American woman" while their son adjusts to his new private school.
"No, Nicholson. I'm not sad. You're forbidden from repeating those words ever again." I finally release my laughter.
"I promise," she giggles. "Can I sleep with Yoko now?"
"Of course. I'll take you over."
I settle her beside Rockford, amazed by their identical sleeping faces. After tucking them in properly, I signal Hannah to watch them. She's still flushed from the earlier incident.
She gives me a thumbs up. My single mother status was never secret. Without a wedding ring and given my public profile, the other mothers enjoyed their gossip at my expense. Some colleagues did the same.
My boss constantly attempts matchmaking, but between runway shows and parenting, time doesn't exist for dating. Besides, I refused to get involved with any French man. My father would hunt us both down.
After washing my hands, I exit the restroom. The door across the aisle opens simultaneously, and a man steps out first.
"Excuse me," he says politely.
My heart stops. My ears begin ringing. I close my eyes, shaking my head in denial. This cannot be happening. I step aside just enough to watch him walk toward the rear section, far from the twins. When he turns around, my worst fears confirm themselves. I practically sprint back to my seat.
"Everything alright?" Hannah asks as I collapse and grab a blanket, trying to make myself invisible.
"This isn't real," I whisper frantically.
"Do you need feminine products?" she whispers back.
"What?" I stare at her, confused.
"What?" She looks defensive. "Why are you acting so strange, Arlene?"
"No reason." I clear my throat and reach for water.
"Arlene, you're trembling." She places her hand over mine. "What happened?"
"Nothing." I shake my head, taking deep breaths. "Just feeling lightheaded."
"Lie back. You look pale."
He won't recognize me. He's across the plane. Years have passed. My hair is shorter now, my style completely different. Right? The odds of this happening seem impossible. Then again, the odds of our original encounter were astronomical too. Fate apparently enjoys cruel jokes.
"I brought you sparkling water," Hannah returns with a small green bottle.
"Thank you."
"New home nerves?" she teases.
"Just ghosts from my past," I mutter.
"I understand that feeling." She sits across from me.
The twins wake as we prepare for landing.
We won't see him again. I repeat this mantra while disembarking and heading to baggage claim. Luck seems to favor me as he remains absent. I collect our luggage and set everything down while Hannah excitedly tells the children about California's wonders.
"Mommy, Chocolate Sprinkles!" Nicholson shouts, chasing after her beloved bear caught on the conveyor belt.
"Watch the kids," I call to Hannah.
"Got it." She laughs as I struggle with the bear's overalls stuck on the belt's edge.
"Excuse me," I call out desperately. Nearly reaching the belt's end, a hand reaches out and frees the toy. I stumble backward, protecting my daughter's precious bear. "Thank you so much. This is my baby's—" I freeze seeing him standing there. "Favorite bear."
"You're welcome." He smiles. I press my lips together, nodding stupidly. "Do I know you? You seem familiar."
"Shit." I clear my throat.
"It's you." His voice drops quietly. "My good girl."
"Fuck." I laugh, spinning to face him. "I hoped you wouldn't recognize me."
"I take offense to that, Sweetheart." He smirks.
"Mommy, you found him!" Nicholson points excitedly.
My mind glitches momentarily before realizing she means the bear. She snatches it from my hands.
"I'm sorry, Chocolate Sprinkles." She dusts his overalls and hugs him tightly.
"Momma, my strap broke." Rockford approaches with his damaged carry-on.
"I told you to stop pulling it." I remind him while fixing the strap.
"You have two." Warner stares between them, looking stunned.
"Yes, these are my children. Rockford and Nicholson." Why am I telling him this?
"You're the guy from TV!" Nicholson shouts excitedly.
I cover her mouth, pulling her close.
"Oh my god! It's Warner Lorenzo!" someone screams.
"Just like her mother, huh?" He steps back, pulling his hoodie up. "I'll see you around, Arlene."
"Hannah!" I call out, lifting Nicholson.
She grabs Rockford and we collect our belongings, dodging the crowd rushing past us. Good save, baby girl. People swarm around us as we escape toward the exit. Our driver holds a sign with my surname. We hurry over as he leads us to his van equipped with two car seats. I don't hesitate to shield the twins inside.
"You know Warner Lorenzo?" Hannah asks once we're moving. "How?"
"I don't want to discuss it." I shake my head, trying to steady my breathing.
"That's incredible." She laughs. "I really hate that guy."
"You're not supposed to use that word," Rockford scolds her.
"Right." She nods. "I dislike him."