Chapter 1 — Turbulence and Truths

Claire

The cabin lights dimmed as the plane shuddered, a low rumble of turbulence rippling through the fuselage. Claire Duval tightened her grip on the armrest, her neatly manicured nails pressing crescents into the worn leather. The plane lurched, and her stomach followed suit, the sensation unsettlingly familiar—like stepping too close to the edge of a high ledge.

She glanced out the small oval window, where the night stretched endlessly, the stars distant and faint. Below, the Atlantic lay hidden in inky darkness, vast and unknowable. It reminded her of the weight she carried, of the grief and vulnerability she worked so hard to keep submerged. Paris was supposed to be her sanctuary, her fresh start. But now, with James Carter seated beside her, it felt as though the past had climbed aboard, uninvited.

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, calm yet detached. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing a minor patch of turbulence. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened.”

Claire exhaled slowly, smoothing the folds of her cashmere scarf. Her eyes flicked to James, his broad shoulders brushing hers in the cramped space. He sat composed, his jawline taut, his blue eyes scanning the cabin. Even now, his presence had a weight that was impossible to ignore.

“Still hate flying, I see,” he said, his tone light but edged with something unspoken. His gaze lingered briefly on her white-knuckled hands before flicking away.

“It’s not the flying,” Claire replied, forcing an even tone. “It’s the falling.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Fair point.”

He leaned back, and his sleeve rode up slightly, revealing the black leather strap of his wristwatch. Her wristwatch. The one she had given him on their third anniversary. *For every moment,* the engraving on the back read. She turned her gaze away quickly, her chest tightening, and busied herself with adjusting the scarf again.

“I didn’t know you’d be on this flight,” she said, focusing on the toddler smudging fingerprints on the screen of the seatback in front of her.

“Work trip,” he replied. A pause, then: “Paris. And you?”

Claire hesitated, the word feeling too small for everything Paris meant to her. “The same,” she said at last.

Her mind drifted to the Galerie Lumière, its arched windows and walls waiting to frame her work. This was supposed to be her moment, the culmination of years of struggle and solitude. Yet here she was, thrown back into the orbit of the one person who could unravel it all.

Another jolt rocked the plane, and a startled gasp echoed through the cabin. Across the aisle, a woman clutched her companion’s arm, her face pale. Claire felt her own pulse quicken, but she forced her expression to remain calm.

The plane shuddered harder, and a tray of plastic cups clattered to the floor. The woman’s breathing turned shallow and erratic, her panic rising like a tide.

Without hesitation, James unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across Claire, flooding her senses with the crisp, woodsy scent of his cologne. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice low and steady, “it’s alright. Just breathe with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

The woman’s wide eyes locked onto his, and she began to mimic his breathing. Claire, caught off guard, blinked before leaning forward to help.

“Close your eyes,” she said gently, her tone softening. “Picture yourself somewhere safe. A garden, maybe, or a boat on calm water. The turbulence is just waves. You’re floating. You’re okay.”

The woman’s breathing slowed, her hands relaxing in her lap. Claire sat back, her pulse still racing, and caught James watching her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something she couldn’t quite name.

“You always had a way with people,” he said quietly.

“I paint them,” she replied, brushing off the comment. “Not the same thing.”

But his words lingered, touching a part of her she’d long tried to bury.

The turbulence eased, and the cabin settled into uneasy quiet. The woman across the aisle offered a shaky “thank you,” which James acknowledged with a polite nod before resuming his seat. Claire adjusted her scarf again, her fingers tracing the soft fabric in a futile attempt to ground herself.

“Claire,” James began, his voice lower now, hesitant. “About the envelope…”

Her hands stilled. She turned to him, her face carefully neutral, though her heart pounded. “What about it?”

“I still have it,” he admitted, his gaze searching hers. “I never opened it.”

The words struck her, sharp and unexpected. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She’d left that envelope with him on the day they signed the divorce papers, pouring into it everything she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud.

“Why?” she asked finally, her voice tight.

James’s jaw clenched. He ran a hand through his hair, the streaks of gray at his temples catching the dim light. “I wasn’t ready,” he said, his tone raw. “I didn’t know if I could handle what you’d written. What you’d left.”

Claire stared at him, her composure cracking. “That envelope was everything I couldn’t say to you. And you just… kept it hidden away like it didn’t matter?”

“It mattered,” he said firmly, his voice tinged with regret. “It mattered too much.”

She turned back to the window, the reflection of her face blurred against the glass. “I don’t understand how you could just… leave it unopened,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. The hum of the engines filled the void, a faint, monotonous reminder of their shared isolation.

James shifted, his hand lingering near his wristwatch. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, the words quiet and unsteady.

Claire’s throat tightened. The apology was unexpected, and it unsettled her in ways she hadn’t anticipated. “It’s too late for apologies, James,” she said, though her voice wavered.

He didn’t respond. His hand moved to adjust the strap of the watch—a small, almost absent gesture.

The plane began its descent, the city of Paris flickering into view below, its lights like scattered jewels across the darkness. Claire felt the familiar ache of mixed emotions—hope, fear, and a tentative longing she couldn’t quite extinguish.

As the wheels touched down, she stole a glance at James. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but his hand lingered on the watch like a tether to a memory he couldn’t let go.

She turned away, her resolve hardening. Whatever lay ahead in Paris, she would face it on her terms. And if James Carter thought he could unravel her again, he was mistaken.

Or so she told herself.