No. Stay positive. This is a good sign, really. I check my mailbox. There are two envelopes stuffed into the back, one fat and one skinny. I pull them out, giddy with renewed cheer, until I realize that neither envelope is from Josh.
One is from la Sorbonne, and the other is from Columbia.
One is an acceptance letter, and the other is a rejection.
Chapter twenty-five
“I can’t decide which is better, your hair or your dress.” Maman sighs. “They are perfect together.”
My wavy locks have been swept to one side and fixed, cascading over my shoulder, and my dress – which we spent all of yesterday frantically shopping for – is a dark shade of emerald green. For once, my pale skin is glowing thanks to a healthy dusting of shimmery powder and my natural flush at being reunited with my boyfriend. He flew in from DC only three hours ago. We haven’t seen each other yet.
Gen grins at us from my doorway. “It looks like prom night in here.”
“Prom Night, the slasher film,” Hattie says.
Much to the dismay of girls like Sanjita and Emily, the School of America in Paris doesn’t have any formal dances. I’ve never minded, but – now that I’m dressed up – I’m almost on their side. I twirl in a complete circle. “I feel like Cinderella.”
“Cinderella was blonde,” Hattie says. “Redheads are never the princess.”
“Bullshit,” Gen says, and Maman tut-tuts her. “Amy Adams. Enchanted.”
“Hello, Ariel?” I say. “She was a princess, too.”
“She was a fish,” Hattie says.
“Isla!” Dad’s voice booms from downstairs. “Your date is here!”
Is it possible to be both clammy and feverish? I don’t know what’s more nerve-racking: seeing Josh for the first time in two months, introducing him to my parents, or hanging out with his parents. Except, no. It’s definitely the last one. The thought of speaking to his mother again has kept me from being able to eat all day. At least my parents are glad – and relieved – to finally be meeting Josh. They’re also impressed that he’s taking me to such a prestigious party.
Maman acknowledges my worried expression with an encouraging smile. “Prince Charming awaits.”
“I wonder if he’s as skinny and weird as I remember,” Gen says.
“Hey,” I say.
I wait for Hattie to cattily agree with Gen, but she’s silent. She hasn’t spoken a single word on the subject of Josh since Halloween. Maman shoos them both downstairs. My stomach is in knots. I can’t decide which of his parents scares me more.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Maman says, reading my mind. “His father will love you. His mother will learn to love you. You’re intelligent, charming, and kind.”
“Of course you think that.”
“I would never describe your younger sister as charming.”
That gets me to crack a smile.
“Come on. Don’t you want to see what your boyfriend looks like in a tux?” Maman nudges me before whisking away. She calls out from the top of the stairs, “Joshua, mon cher. Lovely to finally meet you.”
“Great to meet you, too.” There’s a smile – that professional, political smile – in his voice. “It’s hard for me to believe, but your home looks even better than your windows at Bergdorf Goodman. I saw them last week. They’re extraordinary.”
She laughs. “Don’t you know exactly what to say.”
My legs turn gelatinous. Until this moment, I honestly don’t know if I believed that I’d see him tonight. Excitement overtakes my nerves. I grab the jewelled clutch borrowed from Maman, dash from my room, and promptly freeze at the top of the stairs. Josh looks immaculate. His tuxedo is not a rental. He’s saying something to my dad and wearing his trustworthy, son-of-a-senator face. And then he follows my father’s upturned gaze, and absolutely everything about him changes as he stops talking mid-sentence.
Josh weakens.
There’s a lump in my throat. It looks as if he’s so grateful to see me that he’s in physical pain. The feeling is reciprocated. The house vanishes, the voices disappear, and the air holds its own breath. Our eyes remain locked as I descend. Closer. Closer. Our hands outstretch, our fingers are about to touch—
“Green and red.” My dad gestures from my dress to my hair. “You look just like Mrs. Claus!”