My fists clenched at my sides.
She took a small step back, out of his reach, nodding. Then she fixed the strand herself, as if she were trying to rid the feeling of him doing it. The ballerina ring glinted for the briefest of seconds with the light when her hand moved.
“Violet told me that you gave her a rose.” She sighed, a cloud of mist coming from her mouth. “Thank you, Olivier, for driving me home. I’m afraid today has been a long day for me. Later?”
The way she said his name, with a sensual French twist, made the breath come hotter and faster from my mouth, like an insane dragon breathing out in the cold. The open invitation she gave him oflateralmost made me release fire.
He leaned in to kiss her but she gave him her cheek. He took her by the arms, squeezed, and said, “Plus tard alors.”
Fifteen minutes after she had entered the building, I entered without calling up to the apartment to announce my arrival. A code had to be punched in, or a key was needed. I punched in 1211. A buzz sounded before the lock clicked back.
On the second knock, the door to Scarlett’s apartment flew open and a blonde-haired woman peered out.
“If you are one of Emilia’s secret-picture friends, I am Emilia.” She opened the door wider. “And I have been looking for you all of my life.”
Scarlett had two roommates. A French girl named Colette, and another from Germany, Emilia. If this girl was German, I owned the Golden Gate Bridge.
Another girl popped up behind the blonde, her black glasses too big for her face. She reminded me of Velma Dinkley fromScooby- Doo. “I am Emilia.” She pushed the blonde. “Are you looking for me?”
Without question, the girl who wore the glasses was German.
Both of them stared at me with expectant faces.
“I’m here for Scarlett,” I said.
This made them look at each other, me again, and then back at each other. They stepped aside, leaving an opening just big enough for me to step through. My arms hit both of their bodies as I walked past.
“I am Colette, by the way.” The blonde gave me her hand.
We shook. I had to extract my hand with a struggle.
“Figured as much,” I said.
She gave me a curious look, studying me without shame. “You look familiar.” She tapped at the mole above her lip. “Je connais ton visage.”She waved a hand.“I know your face.”
“Doubtful,” I said.
“So,” Emilia said, looking up at me, her long lashes fanning against the lenses of her glasses, “would you like us to tell Scarlett that you are here?”
“No,” I said, looking over the apartment. Clean, smelled like girls—perfumes and hairspray and all that stuff that they use—hardly any furniture, but what they had was nice. My eyes ran over the table before the sofa. A bunch of black and white photographs were scattered, covering the entire top. One of them stopped me. It was either a close up of a fuzzy creature or an armpit. “I came as a surprise.”
Emilia pushed her glasses up her nose. “She will not answer if you knock, unless she is in the mood. She does not seem to be in the mood tonight.”
I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes, urging her to continue.
Colette shrugged. “She is…different. She keeps to herself. Most of the time.”
I looked over the space once more and then pointed to a room closest to the front of the apartment. The room had a small balcony. She had wanted it for privacy in what felt like her own little world. Havingcafé au laitas the sun came up. Sitting outside when the evenings were warm with one of her romance books, or listening to music while she watched the world go by. And after the sun set, watching the stars burn.
Her heartbeat seemed to pound from behind the door.
Neither Colette nor Emilia stopped me when I made it to the room in a few long strides. Lifting my hand to knock, I had to pause and take a deep breath before tapping gently with a knuckle.
No response.
“Told you,” Emilia whispered.
Their eyes were on my back, but I didn’t even bother to turn around. I turned the knob and let myself in. The door closed silently behind me.
