“Good.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It reminded me of you.”
“Thank you … I think.” I can’t help but smile. Being compared to a bird should hurt my vanity. However, the way he’s looking at me makes me feel as though I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
“You know, I’d buy every owl in Paris to see you smile at me again like that,” he murmurs.
My cheeks on fire, I stare at Sébastien, trapped by him. Taking in his obscene beauty and, perhaps for the first time, seeing past it. It’s only human to be attracted to him, to take one look at him and wonder what if.
But there have been other attractive men before him who have flirted with me and not once have they ever come close to affecting me the way he does. It’s not love. It isn’t purely lust either. It’s him. He’s a balm, a soothing balm. Whenever he’s near me, I’m not so alone or sad anymore. He angers me, but then he says something that makes me want to laugh. He unnerves me, yet I can stand next to him in silence and discover the peaceful music in it.
He places his hand on the door next to my head and leans forward until our mouths are almost touching. He smiles. But it isn’t the smooth, practiced smile from before. This time it feels unrehearsed. Natural. And it is more lethal than the purest poison ever created. “I think this is where I kiss you, ma petite chouette.”
“Petite chouette?”
“Little owl.” Slowly, he raises a hand to gently push my glasses back into place.
It would be so easy to move an inch, to close the space between us and finally feel his lips on mine again. Learn his taste. Savor his kisses. Find out whether he’s real or just a figment of my imagination. Lose myself in a brief, frenzied moment that offers me reprieve from reality. Wave a white flag in the losing battle that is Sébastien.
I do none of those things.
Instead, I laugh when I want to cry. “No. This is where I say thank you again and bid you a good night.”
Breaking his gaze, I unlock the apartment, grab the bags, and step inside. Before I close the door, I turn to steal one last glance of him. “Thank you very much for the lovely gift. Good night, Sébastien.”
“Wait. Before, in the elevator, you asked me what I was thinking.”
“Yes?”
“Not much gets to me, Valentina. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. But back there … a novel thing happened to me.” The corners of his mouth quirk in an amused smile.
My heartbeat accelerates. “What’s that?”
Eyes on me, he starts to walk backward toward the elevator. “I realized, maybe for the first time, what it feels like to want, to need something you cannot have.” Upon reaching it, he presses its button. The elevator opens almost immediately in front of him. He places a hand on one side of the door, stopping it from closing. “And, also, for the first time in what hasn’t been a short life, I find myself jealous of another man. It’s quite humbling, actually.” He laughs wryly. “And I don’t think I like it one bit.” He pauses. “Your husband is a very lucky man.”
He gets in the elevator, leaving me all alone and missing his warmth. I close the door behind me. Lean on it and press a hand to my chest, feeling the mad beating of my heart. I realize I’m still holding the owl in my hand. Feeling a rush of everything, I raise it, bringing it to my lips, and kiss it.
WILLIAM: HOW’S PARIS? I MISS YOU.
Seconds pass without another message. My fingers hover on the screen, ready to reply as though I were a Pavlovian dog at the sound of the bell. However, I can’t bring myself to do it. Call it pride or spitefulness, but something inside me forbids it. Then, I remind myself that I’m an adult, so I type back.
Valentina: Entertaining. I went to the Louvre. Got to see the Mona Lisa at last. The thought that I should tell William about Mr. Lemaire crosses my mind, but I choose not to.
William: Good. What are your plans for tonight? Have you gone back to our place at rue Vielle du Temple—the one with the red front?
He’s referring to this unassuming steak house in the Marais where we had one of the best crème br?lées in Paris. We must have eaten there at least five times during our stay.
Valentina: No, I’d rather not. Too many memories.
William: Val …
I worry my lower lip, staring at the screen. I want to shatter it.
Valentina: Anyway, I’ve got to let you go. A neighbor invited me over for dinner, and I haven’t showered yet.
William: A neighbor? Is this neighbor a man?
I lower my defenses and allow myself to think of Sébastien for the first time since I left him standing outside my apartment last night. Is this how it was for William when he first met her? Did he take one glance at her and his day didn’t suck so much after all?
Valentina: No. The couple from downstairs are having a dinner party. I met her on the elevator earlier today, and she asked me to join them. What about you?
William: Going out for a drink with Larry. When are you coming home?
Valentina: I don’t know …
It’s like he’s standing on one side and I’m on the other and there’s this space between us that keeps growing and growing, leaving a huge, gaping hole in what used to be our marriage. A minute passes by without an answer. Feeling deflated, I put the phone away. What did I expect? That he would beg me to come home because he needs me?
After the shower, I put on a simple, elegant black dress and classic pointy black pumps. My long hair is up in a ballerina bun. I step away from the full-length mirror to inspect myself. Shrugging, I reach for the clutch lying on the peach accent chair next to me. This is as good as it’s going to get.
I briefly consider calling Joanna to excuse myself from dinner, but then I remember my texts with William. It takes every ounce of will I own to finish getting ready when all I want to do is stay in bed, binge eat ice cream, and feel sorry for myself. However, the last thing I need tonight is to be alone while playing the heroine of a melodrama. Conversation and wine, lots of it actually, will help to take my mind off of the whole thing, anesthetizing the pain, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.