Dad. “It was great.”
“Mom, listen.”
She sighs. “Don’t start.”
“It’s gross.”
“You don’t have to touch them.”
“Why would anyone touch them? They’re bones.”
“Your sister’s really looking forward to this. And she went with us to the Louvre. She saw the Mona Lisa because you wanted to.”
“The Mona Lisa isn’t made of bones.”
My mother gives a slight, barely there smile. A Mona Lisa smile, actually. She’s wearing a white dress that makes her look innocent, along with her wide eyes. In a lot of ways I look like her, but somehow the effect appears muted on me. “You don’t want her to miss seeing it.”
“Of course not. But, Mom. I’m sixteen.”
The Mona Lisa smile disappears. “Holly.”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
My dad comes up the stairs and gives my mother a kiss on her forehead. He’s dressed to go out in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his usual uniform. Even when other men wear suits, he shows up like this and no one dares say anything. “Nothing is going to happen where?”
Mom gives him a private look. “She wants to skip the Catacombs.”
He glances at me, his eyes sharp. When I was eight years old, I begged to skip the family trip to Costa Rica. They finally gave in and let me stay with our full-time nanny. Only, the day after they left, a storm took the city by surprise. The streets flooded. Power lines went down.
Lightning struck a tree and sent it crashing through the roof. Right on top of Mrs. Brigac. She died right away, but I was trapped in a house with a dead woman for two days. My parents were frantic when they couldn’t reach us. At least I was in capable hands, they hoped. Only when they arrived at the airport did they learn that I’d been removed by the cops.
Since then they’ve been very protective. Overprotective, even.
“I’m sixteen,” I say, preparing to launch into my litany of reasons I should be trusted.
“Okay,” my father says.
“I’m mature. I’m responsible. I’ve never once missed curfew. I make straight As, even in my AP classes, and—Oh. Wait. Seriously?”
“It’s not a small thing, leaving you alone in a foreign country, but you’re right about all those things. If you want to stay here in the hotel room and read a book, I think you’ve earned that right.”
Wow. And also, what a guilt trip. Under normal circumstances I would have loved to stay in the hotel room and read a book. Nothing about meeting Elijah has been normal circumstances.
My mother looks uncertain. “You’re going to keep your phone near you?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And leave your ringer on?”
“Yes, Mom.”
He pulls her close. “We’re only going to be a few blocks away, sunshine.”
I look out the window to hide my shock and my sudden unease. The sun sets behind the Eiffel Tower, coating it in a warm purple glow. What have I gotten myself into? In an hour my family will leave for the Catacombs tour. I’ll be able to call Elijah—and then what?
He’s a stranger to me in every way. I don’t even know his last name.
CHAPTER FOUR
The small elevator rumbles on its way down. I glance right and left when the single door slides open, nervous, half expecting my family will suddenly appear in the lobby. Even the concierge looks suspicious as I cross the marble floor. It’s drizzling as I step onto the street. A valet looks at me with a question, and I shake my head. No taxi. People bustle into the restaurant of the hotel. They make a run for their Ubers. But I don’t see a man in black slacks and a leather jacket. My heart hollows out. Maybe he’s stood me up. Or worse, took one look at me and turned around in the opposite direction.
A black car pulls in front of me, and the window rolls down. Green eyes study me from the driver’s side. “Hey,” he says in his low voice that makes me blush.
I climb into the passenger seat, close the door, and we take off. He’s zooming through the lanes, clearly comfortable driving in this country. A roundabout steals my breath, and I have to close my eyes against the wild spin of cars. He gives a soft laugh. “You nervous?”
“Yeah,” I admit, but I’m not really talking about his driving.
A knowing glance. “Well, I’m not going to take you to my apartment, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
His apartment? My brain hadn’t even gotten that far. The kissing was hazy in my mind, the setting even more