Benjamin, preferred Ben, was fun. Not the brightest and not stupid, likely would end up as an executive in London or god-forbid in entertainment. For the two months they spent together, Marisa had to admit that he knew how to find the party. Ben held the small bottle in his hand, "It's nothing to be scared of. A head high. You'll feel great. But if your nose starts bleeding, find me." She turned the bottle over in her hand, squinting trying to read the fine print. "It's an aphrodisiac?" "Hopefully," he laughed, "Again, come find me if that's the case." If her brother could do it, so could she. The rush came. Marisa hated every second of it.

Marcel guided Marisa back from the edge of the terrace. "Don't get so existential, you're being boring." "It's true," Marisa sighed, "There is a law of the universe." "You break them all the time. Just did. Famously." Though Madame Delamare made her disapproval of contact with his sister abundantly clear, Marcel booked his ticket to London as soon as the lecture was over. He was too aware of whose words were running through his sister's head. "You're not going to hell," he said, "And if you are and the fire and brimstone and punishment is right, I'll be there with you." Marisa's eyes widened ever so slightly before she composed herself into her condescending pout, "It's good to have you admit it."

There hadn't been a new email in four months. Marisa was busy over in England and she could leave the writing to a month, six weeks at most. This was a clear signal of an ending. Why he has the audacity to call it an ending can only be attributed to the sentimental meanings he heaped on each word she sent back to him. They had agreed to part when she left France. But Jean Michele had hoped, that the break was a hiatus. Her last email gave no indication of breaking the reply chain. Perhaps something horrible happened to her. It needed to be a reason more theatrical than Marisa simply losing interest.

It might has well been him getting the last word. Why does he get to exit the marriage with a massive success on his hands, and the credit for hers. Her last independent venture will be a dark cloud on the rest of her career. He deserved a flop too. Unless he remembered to change his passwords, she still knew his cloud account. It took a couple strokes of the keyboard to have his latest manuscript, seventy percent complete, right before her. The dedication page read her name. He must have forgotten to change that too. Deleted. Back up deleted. Notes page deleted. "Good luck piecing that one back together," she smiled. A euphoric moment, before the longing crept back in.