Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know - Samira Ahmed Page 0,36
is totally weak.”
“I thought the pizza was quite good.” It’s cute how he’s defensive about New York. He’s totally wrong, but still cute.
“That’s because you’ve never tried deep dish from Chicago. I know the perfect spot to take you. It will blow your mind.”
“Are you asking me on a proper American date?”
My cheeks flush. I open my mouth to say something but clamp it shut and rub my forehead like it has a streak of marker I’m trying to erase.
“Um, does your family go to New York often?” I’m trying to change the subject to allow my body temperature to return to normal. I didn’t come here to flirt, even if it’s a definite bonus.
“I didn’t go with my family. I went with a . . . friend.” He looks away for a moment. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
I take a breath. “Fine. If you ever make it to Chicago, consider it a date. I’ll even pay.”
“You’re inviting me to visit you in Chicago?” A sly grin spreads across his face.
“Oh my God. How forward. Don’t push your luck.”
“I can see my French charm has no power over you.”
“Does it work with the other Americans?”
“Oui, bien s?r.” Alexandre’s roguish smile appears, accompanied by the little dimple.
“I’m immune to your charm—and to your ego as well.”
He laughs and moves closer to me. “Touché,” he whispers.
I look down at my sneakers. I smile. Wide. Too wide. With too many teeth. Totally American. Alexandre hooks my chin with his finger, and I look up to meet his gaze. He bends his head closer to mine and kisses me on the cheek, allowing his lips to linger. I take the final step that closes the distance between us and run my fingers slowly down his arm. I hear him catch his breath, which means at least one of us is breathing. Then he slowly moves his lips to my jawline and kisses me there, and then lower to my neck. Goosebumps pop up all over my skin, which is odd, because I feel like I’m on fire. He raises his head and looks into my eyes. I tilt my chin toward him. He cups my cheek with his palm.
We kiss.
It’s slow and warm and tastes like old books and Orangina and promises.
It is perfect.
I don’t understand the saying time flies when you’re having fun, because I’m pretty sure this kiss has stopped all the clocks in Paris.
I could live in this suspended animation forever. But I stop before I completely lose myself in a frenzy of kisses, because I know why I’m here. That would be déjà vu all over again.
I clear my throat. “You wanted to show me something?”
He smirks. “I thought I just did.” I elbow him. “Okay, yes. You’re very businesslike for a French girl in August. But I do have some books and papers for us to look at.”
Alexandre walks to the desk while I take a seat cross-legged on the rug. The wool is tatty, and when I run my fingertips over it, there’s still a slight roughness to the fibers. The texture feels weirdly comforting against my palms. Alexandre grabs two beat-up volumes from a tall pile of books and hands them to me. The covers are stained and scarred, the spines mostly faded. But I can still make out the embossed titles: Revue des Deux Mondes 1844–1846. Revue des Deux Mondes 1847–1849.
I glance up at him. “Around the same time as our letters.”
He nods. “They’re bound volumes of a magazine. My uncle dropped a dozen books off earlier this morning—he thinks they may be helpful. He’s been busy with other family stuff and hasn’t had time to look through them.”
“I thought he lived in Arles? Aren’t your parents there, visiting?”
“Oh, um, yes. My uncle had to make a quick unexpected trip here for the day. Some boring real estate stuff.”
“Do I get to meet him?” I’m still nervous about meeting the real Dumas scholar of Alexandre’s family, but I also can’t