“Are you going to keep running away from him or suffering in silence? For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You like putting on a performance, don’t you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what that means. And keep your voice down—you’ll scare away my customers.”
“There’s nobody else here!” Mia yelled.
The caricaturist looked around. It was true: the square was fairly empty. He signaled Mia to come closer.
“That guy does not deserve you,” he whispered.
“How would you know? Maybe I’m impossible to live with!”
“Why do girls always fall madly in love with men who only make them suffer, while they barely bat an eye at the ones who would move mountains for them?”
“Ah, I see . . . Because you’re James Stewart fromIt’s a Wonderful Life, huh?”
“No, because my wife was just like you when I first met her. Madly in love with some handsome bastard who kept breaking her heart. And it took her two years before she woke up and moved on, two whole years we lost. And I get enraged just thinking about it. Because we could have spent that time together.”
“Enraged about two years? What difference does two years make now that you’re together for life?”
“You really want to know? Go and ask her. Walk down Rue Lepic to the bottom of the hill, until you hit Montmartre Cemetery, and you can ask her yourself.”
“What?”
“A beautiful day, just like today, and a truck comes out of nowhere and cuts in front of our motorcycle.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mia whispered, lowering her eyes.
“Why? You weren’t driving the truck.”
Mia nodded, took a step backward, and began to walk toward her bench.
“Miss!”
“Yes?” she said, turning around.
“Every day counts.”
She walked down a narrow passage with stone steps, sat on a step halfway down, and dialed David’s number. Straight to voicemail.
“I’m calling to say it’s over, David. I never want to see you again, because . . .”I love you so much . . . Shit, this was so much easier on the bench, the words just seemed to flow . . . A pause this long is ridiculous. It’s too late to stop, just keep going . . .“Because you make me unhappy. You ruined everything, and I need you to know these things, even if it’s with my dying—” Mia cut herself off.Why do I still love you so much . . . ?
She hung up, wondering if it was possible to delete a message remotely. Then Mia took a deep breath and called him back.
“One day soon, I will meet a James Stewart . . .”Ugh, that makes no sense at all . . . did I really say that out loud?“A man who would move mountains for me. I won’t let my feelings for you get in the way. So I’m going to delete them, just like you’ll probably delete this message . . .”Oh, stop it, this is pathetic.“Don’t call me back . . .”Unless you call in the next five minutes to tell me you’ve changed and that you’re coming straightaway on the next train . . . No! Please, please don’t call me back . . .“I’ll see you at the premiere and the junket, and we’ll play our roles. The show must go on, after all . . .”Yes, that’s better, professional and determined. Now stop there, not another word, it’s perfect.“Well, I’m going to hang up now . . .”Great. Utterly pointless, just dragging it out.“Good-bye, David. Um . . . this is Mia, by the way.”
She waited ten minutes. Then, with a sigh, she slipped her phone into her raincoat pocket.
The restaurant was only a few streets away. As she made her way there, despite her heavy heart, her footsteps became lighter.
“You again? If I can ever actually afford a trip to London, don’t expect me to waste my time hanging around on one of your film sets,” Daisy said as Mia entered the restaurant. “What are you doing here? You should be out exploring the city!”
“Don’t you need a waitress at lunchtime?”
