A/N Hello, I'm afraid that after this chapter the story will be on hiatus until after my exams are over, but I hope you'll enjoy this for now

Disclaimer: Disney owns SWAC, not me. If I did own it it would be a turbulent ride indeed, as you can probably tell.

I dragged myself through the rain, silent tears burning down my face, mixing with raindrops and foundation and running over my chin. I knew he was behind me, and he could have caught up, he was easily faster than me in my dazed state, but he didn't, and I didn't look back. I was soaked to the skin by now, freezing cold and moving too fast to care. I just stared blearily forwards, the cars becoming streaks of coloured light, the shops illuminating one side of my face, becoming flashes as I passed them. The rain became heavier and heavier, and then colder and colder, until it was hail. The icy spheres fell upon me so hard I could feel them bruising the skin on my shoulders, inky purple against the original icy white. My feet carried my forward until I was past a burly doorman (whom, if he had noticed me, gave no sign) and through a giant rotating door until I was dripping onto the marble floor of the hotel's lobby. I lent over the counter and asked in the best French I could muster if I could possibly extend my room lease another two days. The outcome was barely coherent, but the immaculately groomed woman behind the desk appeared to understand me enough to lead me to some seats. A bedraggled Chad must have followed me, but I did my best to avoid looking at him, or even thinking about him. Infact, my thoughts had been almost completely replaced by an intolerable drumming, akin to the hail that had previously hammered on my skull. I sank deep into the soft, leather seat, my eyes following the man deployed to clear up the trail of water I had traipsed inside, but my mind leaped about, thinking of the rain, and the hail, and how to explain myself in French.

A voice cut through my thoughts. "Excusez-moi, mais est ce monsieur avec vous, mademoiselle?" asked a smartly dressed man. I quickly translated, shaking my head. "Is that man with you, miss?" he had said.

"Non… I mean… Oui… Je ne sais pas." I settled on, merely glancing at Chad, I indeed did not know if we were together. I didn't even know if I wanted us to be together. Actually, that was a lie, I wanted to have someone to be with, to console me, a shoulder to cry on – I wanted us to be together, but I hadn't even admitted it to myself. The fiery anger that had previously consumed me had been quenched by the storm, and in its place were the ashes of my feelings – it was as if a big, empty space had appeared inside me. This emptiness was nothing if not lonely.

I looked down at my sodden shoes, my designer dress was saturated with water. I brought my hands up to my face, wiping the tears from under my eyes, and when I brought them back down they were covered in violent black streaks of eye makeup. I almost smiled at the state I must look, and the obsurdity of the whole situation.

The lady with the immaculate hair returned, smiling sweetly, but in an exceptionally forced way. "Miss Monroe, I am afraid we are unable to extend your first room at this time," she chirped in her French accent. "But we have been able to provide a joint suite with two rooms and living space for yourself and your gentleman friend for the next two nights, if you so wish."

My brain froze. "Isn't there any way we could get two separate…" She was already shaking her head.

"I am afraid this is all we have available at this time. We could book you in to our sister hotel in Gare de Nord if you would prefer…"

"I would prefer that." I said, definitely, knowing that Chad was listening to every word I said. Gare de Nord was a taxi journey away, away from here and away from him.

"As you wish. If you provide credit card details now we can book your taxi and have everything ready for your arrival…"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," I began, searching for my purse.

My purse.

I hadn't seen my purse since we got out of that taxi…

I was so screwed.

"God, I don't believe it…" I muttered to myself, frantically searching around in vain.

"Is there a problem, Miss Monroe?" the woman inquired, polite yet icy.

"Yeah…" I began, before I was cut off by the unmistakable sound of…

"I will be taking care of the suite tonight, Madame. We will be residing here."

Chad.

"Is there any service here with which we could get new clothing?" he asked. I didn't look at him. The woman had brightened up considerably since he had started talking.

"I'm afraid we are unable to provide such a service at this time, but we can send you bathrobes and have your present clothing laundered before morning, if you so wish. In fact, we can also provide nightwear."

He smiled. I knew it, though I didn't see. "That would be ideal."

"I will have someone show you to your suite immediately. Shortly after you reach your room, someone will arrive with hot beverages and they will also be able to collect your clothing to be laundered." Even though I was still feeling dazed, I couldn't help but be impressed – this sort of service at a quarter to two? I guess that's 'luxury' for you. "The pool opens at three am and the gym at four. Breakfast is served in the second ballroom between five and half past eight. I hope you enjoy your stay here very much."

A smartly dressed young man in a sharp suit and a crisp white shirt ushered up in to an elevator with double glass doors and an attendant. Twenty four hours a day. I thought to myself. I wonder how many different people do that job each week.

When we walked into the room all I noticed was just how utterly huge it was. It was just so… big. White walls were mirrored in the fluffy white rugs that covered the shiny, wooden floors. Three leather sofas were positioned around a glass coffee table, and a plasma screen television hung on the wall. Navy and white cushions were scattered all over the sofas, and when I walked into my personal room the bedspread and wall hangings were all navy and white as well. The first thing I did was climb straight into the room's en suite shower, and then out into a floaty nightdress and fluffy white bathrobe, both embroidered with the hotel's emblem. Whilst tightly plaiting my hair over my shoulder I considered just staying in my room – hiding out until morning, but I figured I'd have to face Chad at some point, so I left my plait untied and picked up my drenched dress. I walked out of the room, sent my dress to the laundry, and poured myself a cup of tea, still avoiding his gaze, even though he was sat opposite to me.

"So, what? You're not even going to look at me now?" He sounded indignant, but his voice stung with hurt.

I glanced at him, briefly, then immediately tore my eyes away. (How could a guy still look hot whilst wearing a pair of hotel pyjamas?) "I don't know what you want me to do, Chad." I replied.

"I was hoping we could talk."

"And say what?"

He sighed. "I already apologised, you know I didn't mean…"

"I know. And I'm sorry too. I should be the one apologising,, not you. I said some really hurtful things, and…"

He cut me off. "Nah, nah, I get where you're coming from now. I guess I just needed… to think… I've been sending out some pretty…"

"Mixed signals." We both said together. We both smirked and my eyes finally met his. They seemed full of anxiety.

"You look tired." He finally said.

"No, I'm fine. I don't much feel like going to bed right now."

He shrugged. "Wanna hit the pool?"

I laughed. "Chad, it's two forty five!" I exclaimed.

"It opens in fifteen minutes…" he was trying to make it sound enticing.

"I have no swim suit!" I exclaimed again, thinkimg he was joking.

"They gave me two pairs of pyjamas in different sizes, did they so the same to you?"

So that's how I ended up swimming in a deserted, half lit pool in the basement of a luxury hotel in the middle of Paris, France at three am with Chad Dylan Cooper.

A/N If you want to, add me on twitter on ohellobecky, I'll keep writing, you keep reading and we can all keep on keeping on, Becky xx