Free Obsession (Year of Fire) by Florencia Bonelli Page A

his return to Paris, and Edmé commiserated with him over the inconvenience.
    “There’s a reason for everything,” Eliah declared and suddenly said, “Let me make a phone call before we go.” He walked away, dialing the number of his chauffeur, Medes, who would be waiting for him as agreed at the entrance to the airport. As Medes was an Iraqi Kurd, Al-Saud spoke to him in Arabic. “It’s me. Survey the passengers from flight AF 417 and find two women, one tall, thin and brunette; the other small and blonde, with long hair and wearing a black poncho. Follow them and call me in an hour at the George V.” He hung up and went back to his friend. “Edmé, I find myself without a driver. Where can I rent a car?”
    “No way. I’ll take you. Where are you going?”
    “To the George V.” He pronounced the second word, for “five” in French, “sank.”

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CHAPTER 3
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    Once they had gotten through all the formalities and claimed their bags, Matilde and Juana walked out into the greeting area, where they spotted Ezequiel Blahetter. As it was eight a.m. on January first, the airport wasn’t very busy.
    “Baby doll!” Ezequiel lifted Juana up and spun her around in the air. “You’re looking gorgeous, baby!”
    “And you’re divine! Even more divine than before, if that’s possible. You’re a loss to our gender!”
    “Juana!” Matilde chided her, embarrassed. In doing so, she caught Ezequiel’s attention and he hugged her in silence with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. He bent down and kissed her on the crown of her head. He was always struck by how tiny Matilde was; her very daintiness filled him with peace.
    “Hi, Mat,” he greeted her, and stroked her cheek with his index finger.
    “Hey, Eze,” she responded; she hugged him again, burying her face in his leather jacket. “Thanks for coming to get us so early on January first.”
    “My pleasure,” he assured them. “You’re looking pretty cute too. Your hair’s so long!”
    “Uf!” Juana snorted. “You know she hasn’t cut it since she was sixteen. She’ll barely let me snip off the split ends, no more than an inch.”
    “It’s beautiful. There are plenty of models who would die for hair like yours. Shall we go? My car’s in the parking lot. Here.” He took Matilde’s suitcase from her.
    Twice, Juana’s excited squeals could be heard bouncing off the walls of the arrivals terminal, both of them upon seeing ads featuringgigantic photographs of Ezequiel, for Davidoff perfume and Gauloises cigarettes; both were burnished with the image of his rippling arms and chest.
    “Oh, that bitch,” Juana muttered, gesturing at a poster for Organza by Givenchy, with a photograph of a model in a white dress.
    “That bitch,” Ezequiel noted, “is your best friend’s sister.”
    “Matilde knows that Celia’s a bitch.”
    “Here they call her Céline. And I’ll have you know that right now she’s one of the top five models in Paris, Milan and New York. The most prestigious designers want her in their campaigns and on their runways.”
    “And she just had to do the ad for my favorite perfume, the idiot.”
    “If you’re nice to her,” Ezequiel speculated, “maybe you’ll get her to give you a free bottle.”
    “Never! I’d rather use Mat’s Upa la-lá. Oh, it’s freezing!” She complained as soon as they got through the doors of the airport.
    “I hope your aunt Enriqueta’s apartment has good heating, Mat,” Ezequiel said. “I don’t understand why you didn’t want to stay with me for these next few months. I think you would have liked the Septième Arrondissement better than the Quartier Latin.”
    “The septième what?” Juana asked.
    “The Seventh District,” Matilde interjected. “It’s one of the nicest neighborhoods in Paris. The Eiffel Tower is there.”
    “So you’ve been reading up on Paris,” Ezequiel commented. Matilde didn’t tell him that the information had come from her traveling