Cloud 69

65:

chapter 65: the paris treaty

This was it. 

She was sure of it. 

The music had died down until it was nothing. The drinks had slowed until they were dry. And the dancing – when all their breath had been lost and the soreness in their limbs could no longer be ignored – had stopped.  It was well past three in the morning, edging on four, and without the preoccupation of something exciting, the exhaustion was slowly creeping in. Their hearts were light, but every part of their body, from their legs up to their eyelids, was heavy with sleep.

The night was coming to its end, and Maddie was having so much fun, she hadn't even noticed it coming. She forgot that this was all a temporary arrangement. Come tomorrow, they would have to go back to the way things were. Come tomorrow, Carson would probably put most of his walls back up, and so would she. Come tomorrow, they'd go back to pretending to be strangers, and tonight would be their best kept secret. Tonight would be the last time that they would be a 'they,' and tonight was almost over. 

They were walking, side by side, down the street. They hadn't spoken since they left the club nearly five minutes ago, and even then they hadn't said much. They hadn't said much in hours, actually. All communication between them was through movement– arms, hips, hands, lips. 

Now, they were going to go back to the hotel, and that would be that. In a few hours, they'd wake up and go to the airport and sit with their friends, and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

This was the end. She was sure of it. 

The warmth that the drinks and dancing had provided was slowly wearing off against the cool air of the night. Her heart rate had slowed down and her breath had come back to her. It was quiet enough now for her to think, and the drinks had worn off enough for her to feel everything fully, but all that remained was dread. 

She dreaded getting back to the hotel. She dreaded Carson walking her to her door and saying goodnight. She dreaded how she would have to pretend they hadn't spent the night together. She dreaded pretending she was fine with the way things would be between them. Most of all, she dreaded having to pretend that she didn't still love him.

Carson eyed her over carefully, with her chin tucked, staring at her feet. He let the knuckles of his fingers brush against the back of her wrist. The touch was light, but it was enough to get her attention. 

"You tired?" He asked, his voice slightly hoarse. 

She shrugged. "Aren't you?"

"I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it."

Madeline came to a sudden stop. "Wait," she said. He listened, pausing and turning to face her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and bent over to take her shoes. 

"Seriously?" Carson bemused. 

"My feet hurt," she mumbled quietly, releasing her hold on his arm and standing up straight. She carried her shoes in her right hand and they began walking again. 

"We can go sit for a bit, if you want," Carson offered. "The Louvre isn't that far from here. We can just stay until you can walk with your shoes on."

She didn't give him a verbal answer because there didn't seem to be a need. He was leading them in the direction that he wanted to. Even if she hadn't willingly given him that control, it wasn't like she knew one direction from the other; she had left her phone back at the hotel with Luna – back when she could have fooled herself into believing this was going to be a short trip – and it wasn't like she knew the streets of Paris well enough to figure out how to get back to the hotel on her own. It didn't matter to her much; wherever Carson led, she would follow.