“Louis?” I say, turning to face him.
“Salut,”he says with a wide smile.
Louis leans in to give mela bise,and for one crazed moment I think he is going to kiss me, likereallykiss me. I want it to happen more than I would ever admit out loud. My eyes grow wide and a grin takes over my face, until I realize that he’s just greeting me like he would anyone else. I’m only slightly awkward as we touch cheeks and pull back.
“Are you following me?” I mean it as a joke, of course, but it comes out totally tongue-tied.
Louis shakes his head. “That’s my best friend, over there.” He points his chin toward Max, the student instructor. “He’s been working nonstop since the start of the program, so I figured I’d come by to hang out with him.”
“Oh!” I say, probably sounding too excited. “So that’s who you were waiting for the other day?”
“Well, hmm…” Louis looks over to Max and Émilie. She frowns back at us. “I didn’t know his girlfriend would be here,” Louis says, pulling away. “Maybe I should leave them alone.”
I take it to mean that he’s not staying. “So, I’ll see you around?” I ask, trying to sound upbeat.
Louis pauses, then says, “I feel like I should stay with you, just in case you get in trouble.”
“In trouble for what?”
“I don’t know….You looked like you were very close to stealing this painting.”
“True. Iamgoing to need your help if I get arrested and thrown in jail for extra art appreciation.”
“Exactement,”Louis says seriously. “So, shall we?”
I look back and notice that our chaperones have moved on to another room. They told us at the start that we were free to do whatever we wanted, and leave whenever, so I’m going to take them up on it. Louis and I methodically make our way to each painting and sculpture, and I stop to read the explanation card every time.
“You’re really into this guy, huh,” Louis comments as we get near the end. “I guess you kind of have to be.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning. I haven’t told him anything about my family. I haven’t told anyone, in fact.
Louis shrugs. “You’re a dancer. Degas painted dancers.”
“How come you speak English so well?” I ask, not just to change the subject, but also because I’ve wondered about that since we met. Louis speaks English with such fluidity that I almost forget that I’m in France.
He rubs at the back of his neck, as though he’s embarrassed at the compliment. “My mom is half-French, half-English, and she travels a lot for work. And my dad…” He pauses.
“Yup, definitely know your dad.”
“Right. Well, they liked talking to me in English when I was little. I even went to an international school in Switzerland, but I wanted to come home for high school. I can speak English in Paris. I mean, I can speak English anywhere, but Paris is the only place I want to be.”
“I think I understand why.” I glance through the window, across the Seine. I spot the Sacré-Cœur, the famous basilica towering over the city in the distance. It seems like it’s hovering on the horizon wherever you look, like when you’re driving and the moon follows you. I can’t wait to see it up close. With Louis. Or not. Whatever.
We keep walking, and I don’t know why I notice this, but our steps are in sync.
I recognize the next piece along the wall immediately, and my heart nearly stops:Ballet Rehearsal on Stage.
“Oh. My. God.” I say with a gasp, “It’s here!”
I can’t contain my giddiness as I shuffle in front of a large group so I can get closer to my favorite painting ever. There’s a similar version of this painting at the Met in New York City, but this is the one I love the most. It’s so surreal to finally see the original. Paris really is a magical city: so far it’s making all my dreams come true.
“It’ssooooincredible,” I whisper. Louis walks closer, stepping up next to me.
“I’ve never seen anyone so excited about a painting,” Louis says, gently nudging me. My mind flashes back to when I was sitting on the back of his Vespa, and how I’d wanted to rest my head on his shoulder. Deep down a little voice tells me that it can’t be a coincidence that we bumped into each other twice in a week. I don’t want to shut it down.
I force myself to focus on the painting again, and grin. “I have a poster of it in my room,” I say. “It’s my favorite.”
Louis smiles. “Give me your phone,” he says.
