“PLEASE DON’T LOOKat me.”
I walk into the bedroom dressed in a pink fluffy meringue masquerading as a very old floor-length nightgown. It’s big and frilly, with a dozen cutesy little buttons. It would be way too much even for a girl who likes cutesy things, which I do not. Outside of ballet, my style is pretty pared down: black or white tops with skinny jeans or a skirt. I did buy a couple of striped tees before my trip, because it seemed like the obvious thing to wear in France, but candy pink nighties?Non merci.Oh, and the smell of it. My guess is that it’s been sitting on a moth-repellent stick in a dusty drawer for about a millennium. I know, at least I’m not sleeping on the streets tonight, but still.
“That thing is…I don’t know how to say it in English,” Louis says, shaking his head with dismay. “In French we say atue-l’amour.”
“A love killer?”I ask, pulling it up my legs and doing a few dance steps. I spin around and throw my head back with a laugh.
Louis folds over laughing, too. He’s much better off than me: Vivienne found him a faded lime-green T-shirt to wear with his boxer shorts.
Normally I would feel silly and embarrassed at being dressed like this in front of a dreamy boy (or any boy, really), but mostly I’m just relieved. Goofing around with Louis feels so right. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes everything—strolling through a museum, catching the train to the countryside, taking a few sips of chilled rosé—feel like the most thrilling experience.
After the shock of the missed train had worn off, Madeleine took us right back to her mother’s house and told us not to worry at all. I was mortified by my mistake, but she and Louis seemed to find it funny more than anything else.
Luckily, trains start early in the morning, so I keep telling myself that it will all work out in the end: I’ll have plenty of spare time to get back to the dorm, grab my things for school, and make it to class ready to bring my best ballet game. I texted Lucy that I was staying with family, and figured she would pass on the message to the others if anyone wondered where I was. Although, I’m guessing Audrey couldn’t care less.
“What are your parents going to say?” I’d asked Louis onthe way back. “Please don’t tell your dad it was all myfault.”
I’ve been trying hard to forget about that all day, but of course it’s been hovering in the back of my mind: Monsieur Dabrowski—the great scary teacher who holds my fate in his hands—is Louis’s dad.
“Itisall your fault, Mia,” he’d responded deadpan. I felt my face grow hot. “Don’t worry,” he’d added with a smile. “I’ve been going out at night alone since I was fourteen. I’ll send my dad a text, but he might not even notice I’m gone.”
Aunt Vivienne had already been in bed when we got back. In her sleepy state, she led us to her guest bedroom on the second floor.
“You’re in luck. I have two single beds in here for when my great-grandchildren come to stay. But, wait. Would your parents let you sleep in the same room?” She may have been half-asleep, but she was still a ninety-year-old great-grandma with principles.
Louis just laughed it off and told her that our parents should feel lucky we even have a roof over our heads tonight. I’m not sure my dad would agree with that, but I smile and nod. Hopefully he’ll never know about this.
“I need to ask you something,” I say to Louis when he stops laughing. I turn the light off, and the room is plunged into total darkness. He must have closed the outside wooden shutters while I was in the bathroom. I take a few tentative steps forward until my shins reach the edge of the bed. “Why are you helping me?” I continue, sliding under the covers. We’ve been joking around all day, and maybe it’s because we’re so close right now, but I can’t help it. I need to know more.
“Because it’s fun. I told you, I’m all about going on adventures. If you’d told me this morning that I’d end the night with a smart, pretty girl…”
I smile a big bright smile, even though he can’t see me, or maybebecausehe can’t see me.
There’s something else I want to ask. Was hereallywaiting for his friend Max that day we met on the steps? I guess it’s not really my business, but I’m having trouble believing that Louis doesn’t have…someone else to go on adventures with. I picture that someone with shiny hair, chiseled cheekbones, and the innate chic air that I’ve observed in some of the French girls my age. My heart twists with a pinch—okay, more than a pinch—of jealousy. Stop it, Mia. This would never work anyway. You’re going to be kind of busy over the next few weeks, remember?
I let out a silent sigh and decide to change the subject. “I had a great day,” I say, “but I…well, I didn’t realize it before, but I really hoped all of this was true. I still do. I know how naive it must sound, but the idea that my ancestor was so special that one of the greatest painters in history used her as a model, that a painting of her might be in a museum somewhere…it sounded like a fairy tale. I’d love to find out more, but I have way too many things on my mind already. I need to focus on the program and getting a role inSwan Lake.This legend will just have to wait.”
I pause, expecting Louis to respond, but the room, the entire house, is completely silent.
“Louis?”
More silence, then “Hmm?”
“Were you asleep?”
“Hmm,” he whispers from his bed across the room.
Seriously?I just bared my soul to him and he fell asleep?
There are a few minutes of silence before Louis speaks in a mumble. “You’re so passionate. It makes me feel like…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Like I’m missing something.”
“I’m sure you have your own passion,” I say, but it hits me that today has been all about me. Louis is still a mystery. “So what is it?” I ask. “Your passion?”
“Hmm,” he says, sounding both a little sad and sleepy. “I dunno. Maybe I don’t want one.”
