After scaling the steps of the Philippe Auguste metro station, Reine stopped and checked her watch. She was already ten minutes late. Crossing the street, she hurried the remaining block and a half northward up the boulevard.

It was a hot, mid-June afternoon. Although she was wearing a light, loose sundress, by the time Reine arrived in front of the cemetery her face was flushed and sweat was rolling down her back. Because Max wasn't very specific in his instructions, she hoped this was the entrance he meant when he only provided the place's name.

While she waited, she sought refuge from the heat in the shade beneath one of the limestone towers framing the gate. The looming inscription - in tall, blocky letters - immediately caught her eye: SPES ILLORUM IMMORTALITATE PLENA EST. It was part of a quote from the Book of Wisdom: "And though, in the sight of men, they suffered torments, their hope is full of immortality."

Reine sighed. Not too long ago, she had foolishly pinned her hopes on perhaps becoming mortal and living a normal life with Gabe. But things didn't turn out that way. Although her physiology had become altered, she still had the majority of her immortal attributes. What good was eternal youth and faster than normal healing without him?

Checking her watch again, she looked up just in time to see Max step out from behind the stone towers. Dressed a lot more casually than during most of their previous encounters, he was even sporting a bit of stubble that accentuated his masculine features. His uncut hair also twisted into wavy locks at the nape of his neck, but the laid-back style suited him. Apparently, the man looked good in anything.

Stepping up to her, he handed Reine a small bouquet of wildflowers. "You look radiant."

She wasn't sure if his comment had anything to do with her new hair color - she'd ditched being a brunette and returned to her original strawberry blonde - or that it was now past her shoulders, so she ignored the compliment. "You should have just called me back," she said.

He flashed a radiant smile. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to see you."

"At least we could have met up in England," she returned what was now escalating into a war of words.

"I much prefer the continent to the Isles," he said without a hint of offense and held out his elbow toward her. "Shall we?"

With an exasperated smirk, Reine hooked her arm through his, and they began to walk. Taking the main path toward the center of the massive park, the location felt more like a place for socializing than for interment. The trees overhead framed the route, filtering the sun and creating a noticeably cooler environment than outside of the gates. Cupolas and statuary, elaborate carvings and scrollwork, as well as columns and arches all created magnificent reminders to the fleeting lives of friends and loved ones.

"And why did we come here, specifically?" Reine asked, anxious to break the silence. She still hadn't gotten a suitable answer as to why he wanted to meet in Paris.

Max remained relaxed both in his pace and tone. "It's a nice enough place as any for a stroll, isn't it? And you like this kind of stuff, don't you?"

Indeed, she was fascinated by such unique funerary architecture. The final resting place for more than a million people including many well-known individuals like Wilde, Proust, Moliere and Bizet, the cemetery was famous for its hauntingly beautiful tombs and memorial monuments. So while Max's remark was true, she didn't expect him to take notice, much less care. The fact that he did both pleased, yet confused her.

They continued to silently walk, dodging tourists consulting maps. Others snapped pictures of graves, some worn or covered with moss, others maintaining the glossy shine of polished granite. Occasionally, one would be surrounded by ornate, yet rusty fencing, but most were placed so closed to each other that there was barely room to walk between them.

"Hmmm." She heard Max sigh contently and wrinkled her brows.

"Why are you so smiley?"

He looked down at her. "This is nice," he said.

"Don't get nostalgic on me. That's not why I'm here," she warned.

"I know." Max nodded and looked at the path again. "Just let me enjoy this, okay?"

Reine sighed, studying his profile. "You didn't use to enjoy walking with me like this."

"Now who's being nostalgic?" he asked with a cock of his brow. "But it wasn't you, it was those damn archaic dresses. All those hoops and layers, they just tripped me up and were annoying as hell."

"I can't believe that you remember that," she noted quietly, but a sudden swell of people sidetracked her thoughts. "Wow, this place is a zoo."

"Sorry about that, I know that you don't like crowds," Max said, steering her around a group of sightseers.

Biting her lip and not daring to show her feelings, Reine was privately shocked. Not only was Max being observant, but also sincere, as well.

"Most of them are looking for Morrison," he added, referring to the grave of the late Doors front man. "He's that way! Yeah, just follow those hippies," he yelled to a confused looking group of American college kids blocking their way.

Reine giggled at his outburst. "You know your way around."

"I've been here a few times, yes." Getting farther away from the crowds again, he continued in a more serious tone. "So, how are you doing?" he asked.

She eyed a particularly sorrowful looking angel sculpture. "I'm hanging in there."

The non-answer didn't satisfy him, and Max pressed on. "You really just took off on us."

Walking by his side and being physically supported by his warm, strong arm was comforting enough for Reine to finally be able to open up about her feelings.

"Running's usually not my thing, but I just didn't think I could deal with everything by staying. Maybe I should have just faced things directly," she said with a shrug. "I could have been over it by now."

"No, running is good." He patted her arm with his free hand. "Sometimes it's the best thing you can do."

His response surprised her again. He seemed to be saying all the right things, and it encouraged her to finally ask the question that had long been on her mind, but was hesitant to ask. "How did you do it? When you thought you had lost me?"

"I'm not sure that the situation is comparable. You were my wife."

His levelheadedness had been fleeting and once again, he had reverted to his usual pompous self. Nevertheless, Reine was in the mood to continue the conversation.

"You probably think I'm foolish, but I thought I loved him." The words became increasingly faint, and Reine cleared her throat to regain her voice. "And do you want to hear something really stupid? When I got sick back in February, I thought there was a chance I was losing my immortality. For a brief while, I was actually happy about it because I imagined spending the rest of my mortal life with him!"

Max's arm muscles tensed. "Did he feel the same about you?" he asked quietly.

"He said he did," Reine whispered back.

Max stopped abruptly and turned to her. "I'm sorry, amore mio. I didn't realize the extent of your relationship. You have every right to feel as you do. To miss him and to mourn him."

Reine suddenly felt like bursting into tears. To stop herself and make sure Max didn't notice her reaction, she tugged on his arm to start walking again.

"You still haven't answered my question - about how you dealt after you thought I died?"

He was quiet for a few seconds, recalling the events from a long ignored corner of his memory. "I didn't deal. I ran, too," he said.

The sadness in his voice made her want to know everything about what happened, but she needed to first get an answer to the question that brought her to Paris. Digging through her bag, she pulled out the wooden box and flipped open the lid.

"How did you get this?"

He wrinkled his forehead at the question. "The priest in Venice returned it to me of course."

Reine's hand began to shake, making the pearls dance in the case. "When?" she asked timidly.

"Two days after you drowned," Max said, taking the box from her. "It was right before we took you back to Florence. Or rather, the body that I thought was you."

"Are you sure there was a body?" She pushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

"Of course. I had seen you in the church the day before." He ran a finger absent-mindedly over the pendant's jasper surface. "You were as beautiful as ever; it was as if you were peacefully sleeping. I couldn't bear to check the contents of the casket afterwards, but I also didn't see a need for it. Your father, however, insisted. By this time, however, all he could recognize was your beautiful green dress and your golden hair."

Reine's heart sank at the confirmation there was a body. Unfortunately, she knew whose it was.

The poor girl she left the locket for was probably accused of stealing the precious jewelry. When the priest found out Reine's corpse was also gone, the girl had to die in order to replace her. The punishment served as the solution to both problems in a way that only the Fifteenth Century could see as appropriate.

There was now another death that she was indirectly responsible for, and the realization made Reine want to throw up.