my parents. “He knows,” I mutter, then yawn dramatically. “It’s getting late, and I’m tired. Like I said, Alexandre was about to leave.” I give him a little nudge.
“Yes, a pleasure to meet you. I hope we meet again. Au revoir.”
Alexandre and I step out into the hallway, and I sigh as I shut the door. “I’m sorry. My parents are, you know, overprotective. And also real nerds.”
“In other words, they are parents. I understand. And you know I meant what I said,” he adds. “You’re part of this.”
I nod. As Alexandre and I walk down the stairs, I feel a pinch of guilt. Finding this mystery woman and possibly even a missing painting—that is the objective. And spending time with Alexandre and making Zaid a bit jealous—that’s the icing on the cake, but it’s all leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
“Want to meet tomorrow? Try to discover more about Leila? Perhaps a little more sneaking around in dark places with dark corners?” I turn and step closer to him so our bodies touch.
He rubs his hands up and down my arms, distracted. “I have a couple things to do for my family tomorrow. My uncle is coming up again in the morning . . . Then I have plans in the evening.” He drags his words and glances away for a second. “But the next day? I’m all yours.”
I manage a half-hearted smile, but Alexandre doesn’t notice. He quickly kisses me on the cheeks before slipping out the door.
As I close it behind him, the magic of the evening fades away. I’m left with the same lingering questions every time we part. He mentioned staying in Paris for work this summer, but what’s his job? And what’s up with the eccentric, enigmatic uncle? Maybe it’s all boring crap he doesn’t want to get into. I need to focus on the real mystery at hand.
Still, there’s this irksome voice in the back of my head reminding me that I’ve also only been honest with Alexandre to a point. In that case, maybe I’m not the only one hiding things.
I pause. I don’t want to go upstairs yet, so I linger in our building’s cobblestone courtyard. In medieval Paris, the courtyards housed a shared pump or were a place to dump garbage. Later, all the fancy h?tel particuliers wanted them for inner gardens and privacy and stables. Our courtyard has the garbage and recycling bins hidden off in a corner, surrounded by a wooden picket fence and potted pines. The rest of the courtyard has large containers of red-and-yellow lantana that blooms in colorful clusters the size of large buttons, overhanging the terracotta pots. Around the perimeter are weatherworn metallic troughs of lavender that scent the entire little square. It’s amazing because you can’t even smell the garbage on the hottest days of August.
The apartments facing the courtyard are mostly dark. I look up and see stars. The sky is clear and crisp, making the stars seem brighter. On nights like this, when I was little, I would come out here and make one wish for every star I could spot until I ran out of stars or things to wish for.
I want to wish for something now, something besides proving that I’m smarter than Celenia Mondego and that I deserve to be in her stupid program.
But I don’t know what.
To find Leila? To discover more about her? To know how Zaid truly feels about me? To understand what Alexandre thinks? Too many questions unanswered. Unasked. Unfortunately, they’re both good kissers. And that fact mucks up my thinking. But I need clarity and focus. I need to decide the best thing for me and my future. Zaid and Alexandre should be beside the point. Are beside the point.
That’s what my mom would say if she knew all the details. Julie, too, probably. Zaid was never Julie’s favorite. I wonder if Alexandre would be? No. Her favorite in this whole saga would be Leila—the one who really deserves my undivided attention. Leila might have a sad story, but she seems like she was a force, and, according to her letter to Dumas, she knew how to make a decision. And stick to it. Lesson learned.
Leila
I step