“No,” I say sharply. “No, no, it’s okay. It might be Olivier. Maybe he forgot his key.”
Please let it be Olivier, please let it be Olivier.
I go to the door and look through the peephole, fully expecting to see Pascal standing there. If I let my imagination run away any further, he’ll be holding a gun.
But it’s not Pascal.
It’s not Olivier either.
It’s Seraphine.
Oh shit.
“Uh, Mom,” I say into the phone, “I’ve got to go. I love you, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up and then try to come up with some sort of story as I’m opening the door.
But the moment Seraphine looks me up and down, the story goes out the window.
I wasn’t kidding when I said Seraphine was gorgeous.
She’s tall, like nearly six feet, with long limbs and thick, lush hair and the biggest, most beguiling eyes. If I hadn’t known she’d been adopted by the Dumonts, I would now, since they’re all very white and French, and she’s of Indian or Pakistani descent, her accent a mix of Parisian and posh British.
“Who are you?” she says to me, brushing her heavy bangs out of her eyes.
Again, someone addressing me in English.
“How did you know I speak English?” I ask her.
She eyes me up and down. “Well, you certainly don’t look French. Is Olivier here?”
I shake my head. “He went out to the office.”
She sighs. “I was just there.”
“Not . . . that office. A hotel.” It’s then that I notice underneath her thick eyelashes and the bright-red lipstick, she looks ashen and worn. The poor girl. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
Her lip quivers, and she nods. “Thank you.” She tilts her head. “You were at the funeral. I saw you.”
“Just wanted to pay my respects.” I step back and gesture to the apartment. “He might be back soon. Do you want to come in? I know how to use the espresso machine now and wouldn’t mind the extra practice.”
She stares at me for a moment, looking lost, then she manages a smile. “Okay. Merci.”
She steps inside and closes the door behind her, and I go over to the espresso machine to try to tame the beast. It’s a bit awkward and nerve-racking to have her here, especially when I don’t know what to say about myself, but at least she’s got a rather gentle, calming way about her.
“What’s your name?” she asks me, walking slowly around the room and poking at Olivier’s stuff.
“It’s Sadie,” I tell her.
“Sadie what?”
“Sadie Nobody Important.” She stops and stares at me, and I fiddle with the machine. “Sadie Reynolds.”
“I saw your name on the invites for the ball.”
“Yeah.”
And then she stops at the feathered white mask hanging off one of the shelves. “And you were there. Wearing this.”
“That was me,” I say brightly.
“I see,” she muses and then comes over to the kitchen island, leaning against it, her bright-gold bracelets jingling against the marble. “You’re the girl.”
“The girl?”
“Yes. The girl I’ve been badgering Olivier about. The secret one, the one he’s been denying exists. You’re that girl.”
“Well, I hope you’re right, or else I need to have a talk with him.”
She lets out a weak laugh. “Yes, well. I have to say, it’s a relief to know that I’m right. I just don’t understand why he would hide you.”
I freeze, and she quickly goes on. “Not to say there is anything to hide. I’m just not used to his denial, which is why I was suspicious anyway. Normally, if I ask about a girl, he’ll tell me. They never last long. Oh shit, I am making things worse, aren’t I?”
“You’re not,” I assure her as I get the machine going with a noisy clang. “Olivier had his reasons.”
“What?” she yells over the noise.
I motion for her to wait a moment, and then I finally get the espresso pouring out perfectly, with a light coating of crema on top, just like Olivier taught me.
“Here you go,” I tell her, placing the cup in front of her.
She picks it up daintily. “Impressive. So what were you saying about reasons?”
“Just that Olivier had his.” I wonder how much to tell her and then realize it’s not my place to tell her any of it. She can’t know, or else she’ll see how it all started in the first place. “I think he just wanted to know if we had a sure thing before the paparazzi got wind