When the Heart Falls

Pause. "I don't know."

"But you must. You must see the story through Lance's eyes."

My shoulders slump. "You didn't like it.”

"What?"

My voice is monotone. This pain isn’t any worse than what I’m already feeling. "You didn't like my book, did you? You hated it."

His eyebrow shoots up. "No. I enjoyed it, really. There are some scenes I'll be reenacting later. That shower one, for example. I never knew a person could physically do that."

"So you loved it?" I’m skeptical.

"Comme ci, comme ?a. I liked it."

"How should I develop Lance more?"

"That's for you to discover."

Le sigh. "You must have some ideas. What would you like?"

Monsieur Bellugue chuckles. "You don't have to change the book for me, Winter. I had some ideas on how to improve it. But others will have their own ideas. Make the changes you want."

"Then I'm done."

He claps his hands together once and smiles. "If you think it's finished, then great."

I shake my head. "No. I'm done writing."

Monsieur Bellugue nods. "I thought the same, once."

"Why?"

"A stupid reason. I grew up with three older brothers. Two of them became writers."

"And the third?"

"He became a mime."

"How is he?"

"I don't know. He hasn't spoken in years."

My lips twitch up in a reluctant smile. "Hope you didn't have metamfiezomaiophobia." Though we’ve been speaking French, I say the last word in English because even my French isn’t that good.

"What's that?"

"A fear of mimes."

"I can't believe they have a word for that. And I can't believe you know it."

"I read dictionaries as a child."

"Ah. Well, I had no fear of mimes. I had a fear of writers. Is there a word for that?"

I lay my hands on the table, staring at them for no real reason. "There's bibliophobia. A fear of books."

He tugs on his tweed jacket sleeves. "No. I didn't have that. No. I was scared of my brothers. Scared of their success."

"Couldn't they help you?" I ask, thinking of my cousin, Daring, and her support.

"Of course. But when they helped me, I worried. Does this mean they're better than me? Does this mean I'll live in their shadow?"

"Did you?"

"For a while I did," he says. "They were older than me. Of course they were more successful. But I didn't see that, didn't care. If I couldn't be the best, then there was no point in trying at all."

"So you stopped writing?"

"For three years."

"What'd you do?"

"Miming."

"So that's why I never heard of you."

He chuckles. "A joke. You should write that down."

"Sorry. What changed?"

"My oldest brother passed away, and I realized, I wouldn't live forever."

"What a plot twist."

"No condolences?"

I soften my voice to take the edge out of my snarkiness. "You have mine."

"Thank you. That was a dark time. I realized that any day I might die as well, and if that happened, when that happened, I would no longer be the best. So being the best no longer mattered. Being happy mattered."

I sip my tea. "So you took up writing again?"

"I tried a few other things first. There are some videos out there I hope no one ever sees."

"Can I blackmail you for a good grade?"

"If you find the videos." Monsieur Bellugue winks and takes a bite of a breadstick.

I drain the last of my mug. "Are we done?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Did you like my story?"

I pause to consider, then nod, "I did.”

"Then we're done."





WINTER DEVEAUX

CHAPTER 29





THE CURSOR ON my screen glares at me. I’m tempted to kill Lance off early in the book so I don’t have to deal with ‘developing’ him. Right now I just don’t care how he feels about his best friend and her new love. I check my phone again, but no amount of obsessive watching will make it ring. I’m selfish, the worst kind of selfish as I pray for him to call me, to think of me, when he’s dealing with the potential death of his brother. Get a grip, Winter. The world doesn’t revolve around you.

I need something to take my mind off of him and this damn, silent phone and the mocking cursor on my computer screen, before I throw them both out the window.

Jenifer barges into our room, her hair wild and eyes smeared with make-up that doesn’t cover the dark circles under them. Her nights with Duke have been long. I don’t want to think about it. Nor do I want to analyze my own jealousy that she gets to keep her loser drug-dealing boyfriend, while Cade had to leave.

“Are you here for good or for a costume change?” I’m pretty sure I sound like a bitter old lady.

“Costume change, of course. Why would I come all the way to Paris to stay cooped up in a tiny dorm room? We’re heading to a party at the club…” she stutters and stops talking, avoiding my eyes. “Never mind, you’re probably busy.”

“The club where we went with Cade?”

She nods, still not looking at me.

The pain is still there, but I’m learning to live with it, and this could provide the distraction I need to keep me from going crazy, if it’s not too late already.