“Why are you staring at me like that?” Paul asked.
Because I want to kiss you right now, the way you just said that . . .
“No reason.”
“‘An angel passed.’ That’s what the French say about a comfortable silence.”
“Since you forgot to bring me the chapters to read, maybe you could at least tell me what’s going on with your opera singer.”
“She’s fine.” Paul rubbed his chin. “Well, actually she’s not. She has a problem.”
“A serious problem?”
“She wants to become friends with the critic. And he has proven to be very attentive toward her.”
“So what’s stopping her?”
“Maybe the fact that she hasn’t told him the truth about herself yet. Maybe she doesn’t want to admit that she’s just an usher.”
“Why would that matter?”
“That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”
“That kind of prejudiced attitude is outdated.”
“One would think . . . But not for everybody . . .”
“Well, if anyone still thinks like that, they shouldn’t. It’s unfair.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“You’ll have to give her a different problem.”
“Meanwhile, the critic no longer has any doubt as to her real identity.”
“But she doesn’t know that.”
“True, but how can she ever really be sincere with him, when everything she says is a lie?”
Mia looked into Paul’s eyes and slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose.
“Where were you coming from when you called me?”
“Saint-Germain. Why?”
“So you took my advice and gave a copy of your book to that waitress.”
“Funny you should mention that. I did, yeah.”
Mia felt her heart start to race. “And . . . what did she say?”
“I barely even got a thank-you. She must still be bitter about it.”
“And that was it?”
“Yeah, she had lots of customers. She went back to work and I went on my way.”
Relieved, Mia pushed her glasses back up.
