Chapter 78
Elena
The mint-green hoodie felt soft against my skin as I changed out of my training clothes, the fabric still carrying that fresh laundry scent from this morning. I zipped up my duffel bag, checking one more time that I had everything—thermal layers, toiletries, my phone charger. The Friday evening light slanted through my bedroom window, painting everything in shades of gold that should have felt peaceful but only made me more restless.
My phone buzzed with another message from Maxime. I glanced at it, then set it face-down on the nightstand without reading. We hadn't really talked since Sunday morning, just a few stilted text exchanges that felt more like negotiations than conversations. The memory of Saturday night's argument still sat heavy in my chest—his accusations about the pen, about how I was always thinking of Étienne, about how he felt like he was competing for space in my own relationship.
Maybe he was right. Maybe that's why the idea of this weekend away felt like such a relief.
When the video call from Chloé came through, I answered immediately, grateful for the distraction.
"Elena! Perfect timing," she said, her face bright with excitement on my screen. "Listen, a bunch of us are driving up to the Swiss Alps tonight—there's this amazing campsite near some gorgeous peaks, totally remote, just mountains and fresh air. You have to come!"
I hesitated, but only for a second. The thought of getting away from Paris, from the house, from the tangled mess of feelings I couldn't seem to sort through—it was exactly what I needed.
"When are you leaving?"
"In like an hour! Say yes. You look like you could use a break."
She wasn't wrong. I could feel the tension in my shoulders, the exhaustion that had been building all week. Training had been brutal, and everything else felt even more complicated.
"Okay," I said. "I'm in."
After we hung up, I went downstairs to let Isabelle know. I found her in the sitting room, reading by the lamp with that elegant composure she always had.
"I'm going camping in the Alps with some friends," I told her. "We're leaving tonight. I'll be back Sunday evening."
She looked up from her book, and something in her expression softened—a kind of wistful understanding that made her seem younger somehow.
"Still young enough to just take off like that," she said with a gentle smile. "That's good. You should do these things while you can. Enjoy yourself, darling."
I nodded, feeling oddly emotional, and went back upstairs to grab my bag. As I slung it over my shoulder and took one last look around my room, I caught sight of the handkerchief still folded on my dresser—the one Étienne had given me Saturday night. I'd been meaning to return it all week, but somehow I kept forgetting.
Without quite deciding to, I picked it up and tucked it into my jacket pocket.
---
Chloé's car pulled up right on time, music already playing through the open windows. I jogged down the front steps, feeling lighter already, ready for a weekend where I could just be normal—no training schedules, no family dinners, no complicated feelings I didn't know how to name.
Then I saw Maxime climbing out of the passenger seat.
My stomach dropped for a moment, but then he smiled at me—that easy, apologetic smile that had first attracted me to him—and came around to take my bag.
"Hey," he said. "I know we've been weird this week. But I was thinking maybe a fresh start? Just... us and the mountains and no complications?"
Behind him, Chloé was bouncing impatiently by the driver's door, and Antoine—her boyfriend—waved at me from the back seat. There was something genuine in Maxime's expression, a vulnerability I hadn't seen since before our fight.
"Yeah," I said, and found myself smiling back. "A fresh start sounds good."
I climbed into the back seat next to Antoine while Maxime returned to the front. As we pulled away from the house, I looked back once and thought I saw a light on in the study window, but then we turned the corner and it was gone, and I told myself it didn't matter. This weekend was about moving forward, not looking back.
---
The drive started out better than I'd expected. Maxime kept turning around to include me in conversations, but without that edge of desperation I'd been sensing lately. Antoine was easy company, showing me photos of some architecture project he was working on, and Chloé kept up a steady stream of cheerful commentary about her meticulously curated playlist.
About thirty minutes in, Maxime turned around with a more serious expression.
"Listen, about last week," he said. "What I said about the pen, about your uncle—I was out of line. I was jealous and I took it out on you, and that wasn't fair."
The apology caught me off guard. I'd expected him to either ignore the fight entirely or to keep pushing his point.
"I appreciate that," I said carefully.
"I mean it. I know he's important to you. He's family. And I shouldn't have made you feel like you had to choose between us." He paused, then added with a slight grimace, "Even if sometimes it does feel like he's... I don't know. Like he's always there, you know?"
"I know," I said quietly, because I did. I knew exactly what he meant, even if I didn't fully understand it myself.
"But I want to try," Maxime continued. "I want to understand your relationship with him instead of just being threatened by it. Is that... can we do that?"
I looked at his face in the rearview mirror—open, hopeful, genuinely trying—and felt something in my chest loosen slightly.
"Yeah," I said. "We can try."
Chloé cranked up the music then, and this time when the electronic beat pulsed through the car, I didn't feel that immediate tension in my shoulders. Instead, I found myself relaxing into the seat, watching the Alps grow larger through the window, and thinking that maybe this weekend really could be a fresh start after all.
---