Paris. If there was anywhere in the world Eshe longed to live in—it was here.

From the culture and cuisine, to its sweeping style and delicate filigree, every curb and cornerstone of this glorious city was art. Rolling down the window, Eshe tipped her face to the welcome early summer breeze and smiled.

The smells and senses changed with each corner and she staggered to catch every last nuance. All of it so different from the petrol fumes from black cabs and double-decker buses in London. Shutting her eyes, she drew in those scents, letting her brain absorb and pick them apart.

As the cab breezed past the flower market a wonderful bouquet of cut lilies and palms wafted across the River Seine followed by the sheer deliciousness of fresh baked croissants of the first arrondissements. Quickly interceded by the aroma of cardamom and curry, the foreign smells of the fourth, where oriental spices mingled with couscous and kebabs as the cab neared the Marais.

And beneath those bright layers spices were the distinctive notes of city life. The honey-coloured stone buildings, built by craftsmen and artisans, stood solidly to this day and carried the dank whiff of centuries past, from the cobblestone streets to the shaded alleyways.

Isobel doesn't know what she's missing.

After spending the better part of a week with her in Toronto, Eshe had tried everything she could think of to coax Isobel to come with her to Paris. To get away and see another side of the world. In three years Isobel had kept as close to home as a second skin, too afraid to leave her father for more than a few hours at a time.

So it wasn't so much of a surprise when Isobel turned the suggestion down. She'd blamed the lack of a job and the stresses of bills, but Eshe knew it was more than that though she had to respect Isobel's choices.

"Madam," the cab driver called out as the car rolled to a stop at the forked end of the street. "Et voila!"

"C'est ici?" she asked, checking the address on her phone, she flashed him the screen and nodded vigorously, the bill of his cap flapping over his mottled brow.

"Vraiment. Par la pied," he said, whisking his fingers in a miming motion of 'walk' then followed with excited flutters of his hands marking the width his car to the narrowness of the street.

"Ah, mais oui. Je comprends," she said, letting him know she understood that the rest of her trek would be on foot. Wrestling out her luggage from the trunk and tipping him generously, Eshe discovered the walkway winding around to the building's main entrance. After a few hobbling minutes along the old cobbled streets of the Marais the sandy stone building came into view.

Light slanted over the grey slate rooftops, and muffled laughter wafted up from the cafes below. Weaving through the heavy doors, she entered the quaint building's lobby, the design clean and simple with a bold stroke of red paint on the walls that lent both vibrancy and energy. Eshe slid her palm along the beautiful, sweeping stone curving around an iron filigree handrail. Classic and elegant with all the grand traditions of the belle epoch.

The true hallmark of a building's character was in those well-travelled, slightly uneven steps.

Paris was a city of very few elevators, an intriguing fact most guidebooks failed to mention and often lamented by the beleaguered traveller. But Eshe appreciated the history of the stairs in Paris was as varied and unique as the people who had traveled them.

A work of art with a foundation rooted in tradition when floors were decided by social class. Elevators were a novelty only the prestigious hotels could afford, and the few buildings that had managed to retrofit one in were small, narrow and somehow, to Eshe's mind, dulled the quintessential charm.

Besides, from the gorgeous stairway of the Paris Metro to the Grand Staircase of the Opéra, there was no other way to authentically experience the city without a fair amount of climbing. On the positive side, most stairs were designed to be shallow and easy to ascend so the jaunt, even with hauling her heavy luggage, was manageable.

Light flowed in through the large windows bank of windows rising with each floor, while the twisting banister spiraled upwards like an unspooled ribbon. Once at the top, Eshe gazed down and felt a flicker of childlike temptation as she wondered what it would be like to slide the whole way down.

Veering down the slender corridor, she knocked on the ivory coloured door at the end.

The door opened swiftly and a sandy blonde head popped out, navy frames hugging a long face with pouting lips. The rest of him was tall, broad and dreamy.

"Parfait, you're timing is impeccable." Stepping back, he held open the door and reached out to help Eshe gather her luggage into the foyer.

"You must be Earl."

"Must be," he said in the most deliciously deep voice. "I hate to be rude, but I'm late for a client brunch." Kissing the air above her cheeks in Caitriona fashion, Earl shouldered his satchel and swapped his glasses for shades. "I've written my numbers on the corkboard by the kitchen, in case you need to get a hold of me. You'll be sharing Cait's room on the right. Fridge's stocked with all kinds of welcome to Paris goodies. Computer's unlocked if you need it, and a spare key is here." He gestured to a porcelain bowl perched on an oval side table.

Blew a few kisses followed by a few more apologies and was gone. Leaving her bags by the door, Eshe took a few indulgent moments to circle the adorable little apartment. Light grey walls accented with fresh bursts of mustard yellow expanded the space and made the room feel larger than its postage stamp sized floor plan.

Facing the windows overlooking the quaint city streets, Eshe took in the view of the glorious Effiel tower, dominating the skyline in all her majesty when her phone pulsed in her back pocket. Slipping it out, she answered the incoming call with a smile of excitement in her voice. "Hi, mum. I just got in and was about to call."

"Good morning, baby. How was your flight in to Paris?"

"Lovely." Toggling the window shut, Eshe slid down on to the couch and curled her legs up on the seating. "Shayne upgraded me to first class so I slept like a dream."

"That was nice of her. I'm glad you were able to connect with the girls. You all don't get to see one another as often as you used to. Maintaining long distance relationships are always a challenge and it's only going to get harder as you all get older."

Eshe tried not to roll her eyes—really tried, because she knew exactly where this was headed if she didn't steer the subject elsewhere. Immediately. "I got your text the other day. Something about a message?"

"Oh right. Now, before I say anything I want you to promise not to get upset."

"Mum..."

"It's Charlie. He's been asking about you."

Dense clouds of emotions rolled in thick and fast, casting her world in an oppressive gloom. "What did you tell him?"

She heard the rush of water as faucets were turned on, the sloshing gurgle of it filling a glass. "That you're away from home for the next few days in Paris."

"Mum!"

"What? Honey, he's absolutely heartbroken and it kills me to hear the sadness in his voice every time he asks about you. He misses you, baby."

Closing her eyes, Eshe pinched the bridge of her nose. How could a day that had started so bright suddenly turn so dark? "We've been over this a hundred times. It's over, okay? I need you to respect that."

"I don't get it, Eshe." Tempered coloured her mother's voice and her once muffled footsteps came through sharper. "I seriously don't know what's going on with you. I raised you better than this. How can you be so cruel to someone who loves you?"

Pain and fury rocketed through her and scorched behind her eyes in hot, flashing waves that throbbed in her skull.

I've had enough of these childish games. You've had your fun, and I've been patient. But this stops now.

He'd left that warning on her voicemail two weeks ago, the first and only message she'd received from him after six blissful months of silence. She'd only just pushed through out of her head while in Toronto and now this call with her mother had them playing all over again. Looping through her brain like a toy train winding on an oval track.

God, she'd actually started to think she was finally free of him. His violent mood swings. His flashing temper. His hurtful comments and ruthless control. But it appeared Charles Eaton was determined to slink back into her life. Like grease on her hands that wouldn't wash away.

Or blood.

"Whatever. Next time Charles calls tell him—no, you know what—don't tell him anything because it's none of your business. It's none of anyone's business. We broke up, mum. I'm sorry that's hard for you but you're going to have to find a way to accept it."

Her mother let out a long, suffering sigh. "Honey. I'm worried about you. You're not yourself. This recklessness...I only want what's best for y—"

"I've gotta go." Yanking the phone from her ear, Eshe ended the call with a snarl and three hard jabs of her finger to touch screen. A second longer and she'd have chucked the damn thing from the balcony.

She'd always been taught growing up that evil was misshapen, twisted and ugly. But a devil never came to you in his true form; he appeared in the guise of everything you'd ever wanted. And Charles Eaton was every bit a devil.

Seductive in his beauty and charm, Charles was the only son of wealthy parents and was studying to be a surgeon. They'd met at a charity fund raiser for her father's hospital in a bid to secure donations for his dream to end childhood leukemia. The same horrible disease that had killed his baby sister at the age of four.

That same night his parents became one of the hospital's biggest benefactors and the single hope that kept her father's dreams alive, which Charles had used that against her. If she ever dared speak up then he'd do something to pull out and her father would lose everything. A decade of work and research—gone.

His transformation from man to monster hadn't happened overnight. But with a slow, gradual erosion until he was so deep in her head Eshe could see him even when she closed her eyes. She'd held out for a long as she could over four difficult years and did everything conceivable to make him want to leave. She stopped dressing the way he wanted her to dress, stopped eating what he'd wanted her to eat.

Small little acts of rebellion that added layers of self-confidence to her eroded foundations.

A foundation she'd built upon with bricks she'd culled and crafted, laying them into place and watching as they stacked higher and higher. She was not the same, broken, damaged girl anymore. She would not fall back into his bone-breaking grip.

Maybe she should have told her parents. Opened her mouth and let the words fall out so that someone could make it stop. He was so good when eyes were on them. So...perfect that in public she'd often forget who really was beneath the skin and believe his lies. Then the doors would close, and with only the two of them in the room, the mask would slip and she'd see the truth.

The horrible, terrifying truth.

Thank God he'd insisted she remain a virgin. He wanted an untouched bride for his wedding night and had never attempted to force himself on her. Largely because she knew he was sleeping with a multitude of other women. And she hadn't given a single foggy f*ck.

The more he slept around, the less likely he'd dare put hands on her.

No. There was no way she'd go back to that. To him.

Anyone who lived by the phrase 'better the devil you know'—clearly had never met the bastard.

**Author's note**

Hello! So Eshe's in Paris and I'm so jelly. It's high on my MUST VISIT BEFORE I DIE and researching for this scene made me want to jump on a plane like yesterday. God, as much as I love where I live - PARIS tho!!! I've visited parts of the UK and Germany, and have always been so envious of anyone who lives so close to all that culture and history.

I used to travel so much when I was in my early twenties, but didn't cram in enough of it before settling down. That will always be one of my biggest regrets - not living more when I had the chance. Mortgages and kids really do drain a vacation budget like you wouldn't believe.

PS the song is one I fell in love with from SYTYCD - a Mia Michael's routine dubbed the "Booty Dance". Such a great performance piece.