He was right. I was a Parisienne now. I grinned at him. “Clearly I’m living my best life.” Paris stretched before us, glittering and magical and full of surprises.What would it be like to live here forever?I wondered. What would it be like to be so familiar with beautiful wrought iron towers, amazing pastry, a zillion different cheeses, and cafés on every block that you could take them for granted? I closed my eyes and made a wish, and then I made a promise.I want to live here forever, I wished.I will never take it for granted, I promised.
When we finally tore ourselves away from the view, I found that going down the stairs was almost as bad as going up. Nick went ahead of me, and I kept one hand on his shoulder and one on the railing. He distracted me with random facts about the tower as we descended step by slow step. It’s held together by 2.5 million rivets. Lots of Parisians hated it while it was being built and called it insulting names. Nick’s favorite was “truly tragic streetlamp,” which we agreed would be the name of our indie band if we ever formed one. The truly tragic streetlamp was repainted every seven years on average, and the job took eighteen months to three years, dependingon the weather. After the tower opened, a baker climbed to the first level on stilts. We speculated about why stilts all the way down the last flight. Once we stood firmly on the ground again and my heart had stopped hammering, I looked up at Nick. “I did it! I am the queen of the Eiffel Tower!” I slung my arm around him and took a picture of us, me grinning like someone who had just ascended the Eiffel Tower for the first time, and Nick smiling archly, like he had an excellent secret. This photo was not blurry, and I sent it to Mina and Lily, who replied with heart-eye emojis and exclamation points. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I told him, “because I am morally opposed to anyone dictating my footwear, but good call on the sensible shoes.” He smirked. Then the Nick Wallace Tour Company walked me down the lawns of the Champ de Mars, explaining how they were old military drill grounds, and pointing out the military school, just visible at the far end, where Napoleon had learned the skills he’d used to conquer Europe. We stopped at the road that bisected the park and turned, facing back toward the tower, which glowed in the falling dark. Nick pulled out his phone and checked the time, then gestured at the tower and said, “Voilà.”
“Very impressive,” I said.
He frowned. “No, wait. It’s supposed to…hang on a minute.” I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just stood there and took it in, its lacy metalwork and graceful curves contrasting with the quickly darkening sky. I marveled at how it could be strong and delicate at the same time. And then the whole tower twinkled as the lights illuminating it flashed in running sequence up and down its outline.
“Ohhhhh…” I breathed, captivated.
“Okay,nowvoilà,” he said. I leaned against him, hyperaware of the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the movement of his muscles, the in and out of his breathing. Tentatively, I put my arm around his waist. He pulled me closer. The tower blinked out, completely dark, and then relit, the lights shining steadily once again.
“Wow. That was just…wow. I don’t have words.”
“I thought you might like it,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “Thank you for this evening.” I already knew I would never see the Eiffel Tower again without thinking of Nick. My Nick. “I can’t believe I never saw it sparkle from our apartment. I spend half my time staring out the window at it.”
“You have to know when to look,” he told me as we walked. “It twinkles on the hour.”
From a cart, he bought a crêpe for each of us, folded and wrapped in a square of paper, smelling of vanilla and sugar and oozing melted chocolate. I’d had crêpes before, but never wrapped in paper to carry with me as I walked under the Eiffel Tower in the softness of a summer night with a boy who made me happy. The kind of boy—and the kind of night—kisses were made for.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “This was wonderful,” I said. “Thank you.”
He looked at me, then leaned down and grazed my lips softly with his. I returned the kiss. He tasted of chocolate. I felt him step closer and slide his arms around me, sighing, kissing me soft and slow. Time wound to a stop, and there was only now and Nick’s lips and Nick’s body against mine and me glowing all over like the Eiffel Tower.
Chapter 9
Ten Weeks Ago
Nick:How do you feel about ice cream?
Me:It would make the perfect religion
Nick:Hahahaha. Do you want to go get some?
Me:Always
Nick:Lobby in 5?
Me:No stop by here first. I want to show you Noor’s drawing
I felt a little flutter of unease. I’d said yes to ice cream with Nick without thinking, because Nick. Because ice cream.And then the memory of almost being dragged away from my friends on a busy street in the middle of the day ran an icy finger down my spine. I thought about texting him back and suggesting we watch a movie or something. But it was beautiful outside. And I didn’t want to be scared. I wanted ice cream. I wanted normal. I swooped into the living room. Dad had a notebook on his knee and an Alps trail guide splayed on the couch beside him. He was planning our August vacation. When I told him Nick and I were going out for ice cream, he looked up, frowning. “I don’t know. It’s getting late.”
“Dad, it’s eight-thirty. It’s not even dark out.”
He shook his head. “With this vampire thing, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be going out.”
It felt weird to hear Dad say “vampire” unironically. It felt weird that all of Paris seemed to have chosen to refer to this attacker with the name of a monster from stories instead of calling them what they were—a predator. It felt weird that Dad wouldn’t notice this story was being told as “Supernatural creature stymies police efforts” rather than “Police unable to capture perpetrator after multiple attacks.” It couldn’t be that he actually believed there was a vampire; Dad was a fact-based life-form.
“They keep saying to stick to busy, well-lit places with a lot of people around, and to use the buddy system. That’s what we’re doing,” I assured him. “We’re just going up to the place on Avenue de Suffren. It’s three blocks away. It’ll be like half an hour max if there’s a line.”
He looked dubious. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
I remembered Lily’s mom saying the same thing to her, and how I knew she loved Lily when she said it. I rememberedthe times when I thought it would have been nice if Dad had just asked a few more questions about where I was going because he should have been worried. But not tonight. Not up the street for ice cream. Not with Nick.
The door buzzer sounded. “Anyway, Nick’s here,” I said, and went to let him in.
“What’s this about Noor’s drawing?” he said as he followed me into the living room.
