Free It All Began in Monte Carlo by Elizabeth Adler

can probably get on the Air France that leaves tonight. Nobody flies Christmas Day.”
    â€œThink of the carbon footprint you’re saving me,” Ron said, with a grin in his voice. “And listen, bastard, this time do the right thing. Okay?”

chapter 14
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    The morning after Christmas Sunny was awakened by the stream of sunlight coming from a gap she had deliberately left in the curtains. She had also left the window open, just enough to let in the cool breeze. Unlike the Pacific the Mediterranean did not have that crashing boom of waves. It was an almost tideless sea, blue as the sky, sometimes even bluer, especially in the evening right after sundown when the sea and the sky blended and the very air seemed to have the same neon-blue glow.
    She stepped out onto the small terrace and looked down at the armada of white yachts cramming the marina; at the enamel sea glittering with diamond points of light, at the palms and the plane trees and the bustle of activity near the famous twin-domed casino. Tesoro waggled next to her, whining. Dragging on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt Sunny slammed a baseball cap over her tangled hair, grabbed the dog and took the elevator down to the lobby.
    The bellboys smiled, the doormen said, “
Bonjour madame, et ça va la petite?
” Which, from Sunny’s sojourn in the South of France the previous year, she knew meant “how is the little one.” The dog loved all the attention the French gave her and wagged her whole behind in delight.
    They jogged across the square and onto the promenade alongsidethe yachts. Sunny wondered why Mac had not found her. Had he even gone looking for her? Fear at losing him burned equally with anger in her chest. Nobody knew, she thought sadly, that “heartbreak” was exactly what it meant: it was so physical she could feel the two pieces of her heart, heavy as lead.
    When she left the hotel she didn’t think to look at the time, she had not even put on a watch and was simply enjoying the heat of the winter sun on her back as she trotted along with the dog. Then she saw a clock. It was eleven-thirty and Kitty Ratte was to pick her up at twelve to go shopping.
    She stopped to look at a yacht where crew members were washing down decks, brushing off cushions, sprucing up for the owner’s arrival. She wondered if Eddie was in Paris now and when he would come back. As if on cue her BlackBerry rang.
    It was him. She clutched the phone to her chest. She should not answer. It was all too difficult, and, she knew, too dangerous. Turning, she jogged back to the hotel.
    Fifteen minutes later, showered, hair barely dry, a dust of blush on her pale face, a gleam of her daytime lipstick, L’Oreal British Red on her lips, in a pair of white jeans, a black T-shirt, a white cashmere sweater slung French-style over her shoulders, feet thrust into black mules, gold hoop earrings her only jewelry, and with Tesoro waiting on her lead, she finally allowed herself to listen to Eddie’s message. It was brief.
    â€œThe bar. Tonight. Eight-thirty.”
    Sunny clutched the BlackBerry to her chest again. Should she go, or should she not? was the question as she took the elevator down to meet Kitty.
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    Kitty waited outside the hotel in a small white Fiat with Spanish number plates.
    Kitty knew all the hotels, all the bars along the Côte d’Azur,where she sought out her targets; men, or women. So far though, blackmail had not been successful enough for her to retire to that bar in Marbella, Spain, she lusted after. She did not even own her own apartment and she owed three months’ rent. Besides, she needed Botox and Restylane and her dermatologist needed to be paid. There was no time to lose.
    Monte Carlo was a long way from Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, that was Kitty Ratte’s place of birth, but that was a long time ago, more years than she cared to admit. She lived much of her youth on the