“Okay, ask me something,” he said.
“Where are you taking me?”
Vincent laughed. “You get one question, and you’re going to use it on that? Okay, Kate. Because you’ve been so patient, I will answer.” We stepped up onto the Pont des Arts—a wooden footbridge leading across the river—and began walking across.
The city was lit up like a Christmas tree, and its bridges illuminated with spotlights that made them appear majestic and otherworldly. The Eiffel Tower twinkled in the distance, and the reflection of the moon shone on the surface of the water swirling below us.
We reached the center of the bridge. Vincent led me gently to the side rail and, standing behind me, wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close to him. I closed my eyes and inhaled, filling my lungs with the river’s distinct marine smell, which I had, over the years, come to equate with a state of tranquillity. My heart slowed, and then as Vincent’s muscles flexed around my shoulders, accelerated.
We stood there, looking out at the City of Light together for a few euphoric moments before he leaned his head down and whispered, “The answer to your question of where I was taking you would be . . . to the most beautiful place in Paris. With the most beautiful girl I have been lucky enough to set eyes on, and who I desperately hope will agree to meet me again. As soon as possible.”
I looked up over my shoulder and registered his sincere expression. He turned me slowly to face him. He gazed at me for a full minute with his big dark eyes, as if trying to memorize every inch of my face.
Then he raised his hand to brush a lock of hair back from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear as he lifted my lips to his.
Our skin barely touched. He was hesitant, as if he knew what he wanted but was afraid of scaring me away. Our lips brushed, and I felt like a chord had been struck inside me, and my body was humming with a pure musical note. I slowly lifted my arms to drape them around his neck, afraid that a sudden move might break the spell. But as his lips met mine once more, the magic escalated and the note grew into a sweeping crescendo that blocked out every other sound.
Paris disappeared. The rippling of waves beneath us, the hum of the cars passing on either side of the river, the whisperings of the couples passing us hand in hand . . . they all disappeared, and Vincent and I were the only people left on earth.
Chapter Eighteen
SOMETHING RUSTLED AT THE FOOT OF MY BED. I forced one eye open, and through the haze of an interrupted dream, I saw my sister perched on the edge of my mattress. She looked way too overexcited for this time of the morning. Or was it still night? Raising one eyebrow, she commanded, “Tell me all!” and then, ripping back the covers that I threw over my head, attempted to sound severe. “If you don’t, I won’t allow you to see him again.”
Moaning, I wiped my eyes blearily and propped myself up on my elbows. “What time is it?” I yawned, noticing that Georgia was fully dressed.
“You’ve got exactly fifteen minutes to get ready for school. I let you sleep in.”
I looked over at my clock and saw that she was right. Panicking, I threw off my blankets and began leaping around the room, grabbing a bra and panties out of a drawer and digging through a stack of clean clothes sitting folded on a chair. “I thought that after getting in so late, you might need the extra sleep,” she cooed.
“Thanks a lot, Georgia,” I groaned, slipping a clean red T-shirt over my head and rummaging through my closet for a pair of jeans. And then, having a sudden flashback to the previous night, I sank into a sitting position on the bed. “Oh my God,” I said as I felt my lips forming a reveal-all dreamy smile.
“What happened? Did he kiss you?”
My glowing face must have said it all, because my sister jumped up and said, “That’s it, I have to meet him!”
“Stop, Georgia, you’re embarrassing me. Give me some time to figure out if I even like the guy,” I said as I stuck my feet through the pant legs and stood to shimmy them up my hips.
“We’ve gone over this before,” my sister said, grabbing me by the shoulder and scanning my face for one searching second. “And I’m sorry to inform you, Katie-Bean, but from the look of things, it’s way too late for that.” And she pranced out of the room, laughing and clapping her hands.
“Glad to provide the morning’s entertainment,” I grumbled, and leaned over to speed-tie my shoelaces.
The day passed quickly—I fell into a dreamlike state as soon as I sat down in each class, and spent the hours musing about the previous evening. It seemed too good to be true: Vincent confessing his feelings for me by the river, the candlelit dinner, and then . . . my heart lurched every time I thought of the kiss on the Pont des Arts. And of how after that Vincent drove me home and gave me another kiss, short but stunningly tender, in front of my building.
The look of total devotion that I had seen in his eyes as he took me in his arms had shaken me. I hadn’t known whether to be afraid of it or respond in kind. But I couldn’t let myself reciprocate. I wasn’t ready to let my guard down.
At lunch I turned my phone on to check my messages. Georgia always sent me a few inane texts during the day, and sure enough there were two messages from her: one complaining about her physics teacher and a second, also obviously sent from her phone: I love you, baby. V.
I wrote her back:
I thought I told you to buzz off last night, you creep-o French stalker guy.
Her response came back immediately:
As if! Your beet-red cheeks this morning suggest otherwise . . . liar! You’re so into him.
I groaned and was about to turn my phone off when I saw that there was a third text from UNKNOWN. Clicking on it, I read: Can I pick you up from school? Same place, same time?
I texted back: How’d you get my number?
Called myself from your phone while you were in the restaurant’s bathroom last night. Warned you we were stalkers!
I laughed, and thanked my lucky stars that revenants couldn’t read minds, although I’d have to remember to watch what I did on the days he was floating around town as an all-seeing spirit.
Yes x 3. See you then, I wrote, and for the rest of the day gave up all pretense of paying attention in class.
He was waiting for me when I walked out the gates. My heart rate accelerated as I saw him casually leaning against a tree near the bus stop. I couldn’t prevent a huge smile from spreading across my face.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, handing me a helmet as I approached the Vespa. He pulled his glasses off and leaned forward to kiss me on either cheek. And that insignificant gesture that is repeated dozens of times a day in France—every time you say hello or good-bye, every time you are introduced to someone, or run into a friend—those two little pecks that make up the bises all of a sudden assumed an entirely different meaning for me.
In what felt like slow motion, Vincent’s cheek touched my own, at which point my lungs forgot how to work. He pulled back slightly, and our eyes met as he leaned toward my other cheek and brushed his lips gently against my skin. I opened my mouth to inhale, attempting to send some oxygen to my brain.
“Hmm,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “That was interesting.” His smile was infectious, and I found myself laughing as I took the helmet from his hands and put it over my head, grateful for the chance to hide my face while I composed myself.
“Since it is unseasonably cold today, I was wondering if you’d be up for some of the best hot chocolate in Paris,” he said as he swung his leg over the bike.
“So now you’re seducing schoolgirls with promises of chocolate? You’re a bad man, Vincent Delacroix,” I laughed as he started the motor.
“So what does that make you for accepting my offer?” he yelled over the noise of the Vespa as we pulled away.
“Intentionally gullible,” I said, wrapping my arms around his warm body and closing my eyes in delight.
Chapter Nineteen
THAT NIGHT GEORGIA CORNERED ME IN MY ROOM after dinner. “So where’d you disappear to after school? I was waiting for you.”
“Vincent picked me up after school and took me to Les Deux Magots.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen him two days in a row?”
“Well, today doesn’t really count, being all of fifteen minutes. I had to rush since I have a test tomorrow to study for.”
“Doesn’t matter! Holy cow, this is getting serious!” She made herself comfortable on the end of my bed. “So. Tell me about this ex-criminal mystery man.”
“Well,” I said, grasping for things I could actually say. “He’s a student.”
“Where?”
“Um, I actually don’t know.”
Georgia looked at me doubtfully. “What’s he studying?”
“Ah . . . literature? I think,” I ventured.
“You don’t know what he’s studying, either? Well, what do you guys talk about?”
“Oh, just other stuff. You know. Art. Music.” The undead. Immortality. Evil zombies. There was no way I could tell Georgia anything about him.
Georgia stared me down for a moment and then snapped, “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me about him, that’s okay. You don’t know much about my life either, but it’s not for my lack of trying to include you. I’ve stopped asking you out because I know you’ll say no.”
“Okay, Georgia. Who are you seeing?”
My sister shook her head. “I don’t give you information if you don’t give me any either.”
I reached out for her hand and pled, “Georgia, I’m not intentionally trying to exclude you from my life. You know I’ve a hard time with . . . well, everything. But I’m finally getting back on my feet, and I promise to make more of an effort.”
“Then you’ll come out with me this weekend?”
I paused. “Okay.”
“With Vincent?”
“Um . . .”
Georgia shot me a look that said, See?
“Okay, okay. We’ll go out with Vincent. But not clubbing, Georgia, please.”
Georgia’s black mood transformed instantly, and she bounced gleefully on my bed. “No club. Fine. How about a restaurant?”
“Sure. I’ll check to see if he’s around.” More like, if he’s alive.
“Call him now.”
“Some privacy, please?”
“Okay,” Georgia conceded, leaning over and giving me a kiss on my forehead. She walked to the door, and then turned. “Thanks, sis. Really. It’ll be good to have you back.”
The streetlights were just coming on as we walked up to the subway station. Vincent and Ambrose, who had been leaning back against the magazine kiosk and chatting, straightened up when they saw us. My heart melted into a soppy mess as Vincent walked up and kissed my cheeks, and then, turning to Georgia, gave her his most dashing smile. “And you must be Kate’s legal guardian . . . I mean, sister. Georgia, right?”
Georgia laughed and exclaimed flirtatiously, “Well, just look at you! Katie sure knows how to choose ’em!” She looked like she wanted to stay right there all night, staring into his eyes.
“Georgia!” I exclaimed, shaking my head.
Ignoring me, Georgia looked over Vincent’s shoulder at Ambrose and gave him a flirty wink. “Don’t worry, Katie-Bean. Looks like Vincent has brought someone along to keep me busy. And you would be . . .”
“Ambrose. Enchanted to meet Kate’s lovely sister,” he said in French, giving me a sideways glance. I understood. If she knew he was American, she’d start asking questions. Maybe too many questions, although I was sure he was used to making up cover stories. “So where are you taking us, ladies?”
“I thought we’d go to a little restaurant I know in the fourteenth arrondissement,” she said.
Vincent and Ambrose gave each other a fleeting look, just as Georgia’s phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, and turned to answer the call.
“Not our favorite neighborhood,” said Ambrose in a low voice.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s kind of ‘their’ turf. You know, those people I was telling you about. The ‘other team,’” Vincent said, glancing up to make sure Georgia hadn’t heard.
“What can they do to us outside, in a busy neighborhood, with two humans along?” asked Ambrose. He stared off into space for a second and then nodded his head and turned to me. “Jules said to tell you, ‘Hi, beautiful.’”
“Hey, watch it!” Vincent said.
“He says, ‘Whatcha going to do about it?’” Ambrose said, poking Vincent.
“Jules is volant . . . here? Right now?” I said in amazement.
“Yeah,” Vincent said. “We’re not on official business tonight, of course, but he insisted on coming along. Said he didn’t want to miss out on all the fun.”
“Can I talk to him?” I asked.
“When we’re volant we can be heard only by other revenants—not humans. So Jules can hear what you say out loud, but he can only respond through me or Ambrose,” Vincent said. “But you’ll want to be careful.” He gestured toward Georgia, who was getting off the phone.
“Too bad,” she said. “I had a couple of friends who were going to join us, but they’re not able to come.”
“Shall we?” asked Ambrose, holding his arm out formally for Georgia to take. She laughed delightedly, draping her arm through his, and they headed down the stairs.
Once they were out of earshot I said, “Hi, Jules!”
Vincent laughed and said, “Looks like someone’s got a bit of a crush.”
“Where are you taking me?”
Vincent laughed. “You get one question, and you’re going to use it on that? Okay, Kate. Because you’ve been so patient, I will answer.” We stepped up onto the Pont des Arts—a wooden footbridge leading across the river—and began walking across.
The city was lit up like a Christmas tree, and its bridges illuminated with spotlights that made them appear majestic and otherworldly. The Eiffel Tower twinkled in the distance, and the reflection of the moon shone on the surface of the water swirling below us.
We reached the center of the bridge. Vincent led me gently to the side rail and, standing behind me, wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close to him. I closed my eyes and inhaled, filling my lungs with the river’s distinct marine smell, which I had, over the years, come to equate with a state of tranquillity. My heart slowed, and then as Vincent’s muscles flexed around my shoulders, accelerated.
We stood there, looking out at the City of Light together for a few euphoric moments before he leaned his head down and whispered, “The answer to your question of where I was taking you would be . . . to the most beautiful place in Paris. With the most beautiful girl I have been lucky enough to set eyes on, and who I desperately hope will agree to meet me again. As soon as possible.”
I looked up over my shoulder and registered his sincere expression. He turned me slowly to face him. He gazed at me for a full minute with his big dark eyes, as if trying to memorize every inch of my face.
Then he raised his hand to brush a lock of hair back from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear as he lifted my lips to his.
Our skin barely touched. He was hesitant, as if he knew what he wanted but was afraid of scaring me away. Our lips brushed, and I felt like a chord had been struck inside me, and my body was humming with a pure musical note. I slowly lifted my arms to drape them around his neck, afraid that a sudden move might break the spell. But as his lips met mine once more, the magic escalated and the note grew into a sweeping crescendo that blocked out every other sound.
Paris disappeared. The rippling of waves beneath us, the hum of the cars passing on either side of the river, the whisperings of the couples passing us hand in hand . . . they all disappeared, and Vincent and I were the only people left on earth.
Chapter Eighteen
SOMETHING RUSTLED AT THE FOOT OF MY BED. I forced one eye open, and through the haze of an interrupted dream, I saw my sister perched on the edge of my mattress. She looked way too overexcited for this time of the morning. Or was it still night? Raising one eyebrow, she commanded, “Tell me all!” and then, ripping back the covers that I threw over my head, attempted to sound severe. “If you don’t, I won’t allow you to see him again.”
Moaning, I wiped my eyes blearily and propped myself up on my elbows. “What time is it?” I yawned, noticing that Georgia was fully dressed.
“You’ve got exactly fifteen minutes to get ready for school. I let you sleep in.”
I looked over at my clock and saw that she was right. Panicking, I threw off my blankets and began leaping around the room, grabbing a bra and panties out of a drawer and digging through a stack of clean clothes sitting folded on a chair. “I thought that after getting in so late, you might need the extra sleep,” she cooed.
“Thanks a lot, Georgia,” I groaned, slipping a clean red T-shirt over my head and rummaging through my closet for a pair of jeans. And then, having a sudden flashback to the previous night, I sank into a sitting position on the bed. “Oh my God,” I said as I felt my lips forming a reveal-all dreamy smile.
“What happened? Did he kiss you?”
My glowing face must have said it all, because my sister jumped up and said, “That’s it, I have to meet him!”
“Stop, Georgia, you’re embarrassing me. Give me some time to figure out if I even like the guy,” I said as I stuck my feet through the pant legs and stood to shimmy them up my hips.
“We’ve gone over this before,” my sister said, grabbing me by the shoulder and scanning my face for one searching second. “And I’m sorry to inform you, Katie-Bean, but from the look of things, it’s way too late for that.” And she pranced out of the room, laughing and clapping her hands.
“Glad to provide the morning’s entertainment,” I grumbled, and leaned over to speed-tie my shoelaces.
The day passed quickly—I fell into a dreamlike state as soon as I sat down in each class, and spent the hours musing about the previous evening. It seemed too good to be true: Vincent confessing his feelings for me by the river, the candlelit dinner, and then . . . my heart lurched every time I thought of the kiss on the Pont des Arts. And of how after that Vincent drove me home and gave me another kiss, short but stunningly tender, in front of my building.
The look of total devotion that I had seen in his eyes as he took me in his arms had shaken me. I hadn’t known whether to be afraid of it or respond in kind. But I couldn’t let myself reciprocate. I wasn’t ready to let my guard down.
At lunch I turned my phone on to check my messages. Georgia always sent me a few inane texts during the day, and sure enough there were two messages from her: one complaining about her physics teacher and a second, also obviously sent from her phone: I love you, baby. V.
I wrote her back:
I thought I told you to buzz off last night, you creep-o French stalker guy.
Her response came back immediately:
As if! Your beet-red cheeks this morning suggest otherwise . . . liar! You’re so into him.
I groaned and was about to turn my phone off when I saw that there was a third text from UNKNOWN. Clicking on it, I read: Can I pick you up from school? Same place, same time?
I texted back: How’d you get my number?
Called myself from your phone while you were in the restaurant’s bathroom last night. Warned you we were stalkers!
I laughed, and thanked my lucky stars that revenants couldn’t read minds, although I’d have to remember to watch what I did on the days he was floating around town as an all-seeing spirit.
Yes x 3. See you then, I wrote, and for the rest of the day gave up all pretense of paying attention in class.
He was waiting for me when I walked out the gates. My heart rate accelerated as I saw him casually leaning against a tree near the bus stop. I couldn’t prevent a huge smile from spreading across my face.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, handing me a helmet as I approached the Vespa. He pulled his glasses off and leaned forward to kiss me on either cheek. And that insignificant gesture that is repeated dozens of times a day in France—every time you say hello or good-bye, every time you are introduced to someone, or run into a friend—those two little pecks that make up the bises all of a sudden assumed an entirely different meaning for me.
In what felt like slow motion, Vincent’s cheek touched my own, at which point my lungs forgot how to work. He pulled back slightly, and our eyes met as he leaned toward my other cheek and brushed his lips gently against my skin. I opened my mouth to inhale, attempting to send some oxygen to my brain.
“Hmm,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “That was interesting.” His smile was infectious, and I found myself laughing as I took the helmet from his hands and put it over my head, grateful for the chance to hide my face while I composed myself.
“Since it is unseasonably cold today, I was wondering if you’d be up for some of the best hot chocolate in Paris,” he said as he swung his leg over the bike.
“So now you’re seducing schoolgirls with promises of chocolate? You’re a bad man, Vincent Delacroix,” I laughed as he started the motor.
“So what does that make you for accepting my offer?” he yelled over the noise of the Vespa as we pulled away.
“Intentionally gullible,” I said, wrapping my arms around his warm body and closing my eyes in delight.
Chapter Nineteen
THAT NIGHT GEORGIA CORNERED ME IN MY ROOM after dinner. “So where’d you disappear to after school? I was waiting for you.”
“Vincent picked me up after school and took me to Les Deux Magots.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen him two days in a row?”
“Well, today doesn’t really count, being all of fifteen minutes. I had to rush since I have a test tomorrow to study for.”
“Doesn’t matter! Holy cow, this is getting serious!” She made herself comfortable on the end of my bed. “So. Tell me about this ex-criminal mystery man.”
“Well,” I said, grasping for things I could actually say. “He’s a student.”
“Where?”
“Um, I actually don’t know.”
Georgia looked at me doubtfully. “What’s he studying?”
“Ah . . . literature? I think,” I ventured.
“You don’t know what he’s studying, either? Well, what do you guys talk about?”
“Oh, just other stuff. You know. Art. Music.” The undead. Immortality. Evil zombies. There was no way I could tell Georgia anything about him.
Georgia stared me down for a moment and then snapped, “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me about him, that’s okay. You don’t know much about my life either, but it’s not for my lack of trying to include you. I’ve stopped asking you out because I know you’ll say no.”
“Okay, Georgia. Who are you seeing?”
My sister shook her head. “I don’t give you information if you don’t give me any either.”
I reached out for her hand and pled, “Georgia, I’m not intentionally trying to exclude you from my life. You know I’ve a hard time with . . . well, everything. But I’m finally getting back on my feet, and I promise to make more of an effort.”
“Then you’ll come out with me this weekend?”
I paused. “Okay.”
“With Vincent?”
“Um . . .”
Georgia shot me a look that said, See?
“Okay, okay. We’ll go out with Vincent. But not clubbing, Georgia, please.”
Georgia’s black mood transformed instantly, and she bounced gleefully on my bed. “No club. Fine. How about a restaurant?”
“Sure. I’ll check to see if he’s around.” More like, if he’s alive.
“Call him now.”
“Some privacy, please?”
“Okay,” Georgia conceded, leaning over and giving me a kiss on my forehead. She walked to the door, and then turned. “Thanks, sis. Really. It’ll be good to have you back.”
The streetlights were just coming on as we walked up to the subway station. Vincent and Ambrose, who had been leaning back against the magazine kiosk and chatting, straightened up when they saw us. My heart melted into a soppy mess as Vincent walked up and kissed my cheeks, and then, turning to Georgia, gave her his most dashing smile. “And you must be Kate’s legal guardian . . . I mean, sister. Georgia, right?”
Georgia laughed and exclaimed flirtatiously, “Well, just look at you! Katie sure knows how to choose ’em!” She looked like she wanted to stay right there all night, staring into his eyes.
“Georgia!” I exclaimed, shaking my head.
Ignoring me, Georgia looked over Vincent’s shoulder at Ambrose and gave him a flirty wink. “Don’t worry, Katie-Bean. Looks like Vincent has brought someone along to keep me busy. And you would be . . .”
“Ambrose. Enchanted to meet Kate’s lovely sister,” he said in French, giving me a sideways glance. I understood. If she knew he was American, she’d start asking questions. Maybe too many questions, although I was sure he was used to making up cover stories. “So where are you taking us, ladies?”
“I thought we’d go to a little restaurant I know in the fourteenth arrondissement,” she said.
Vincent and Ambrose gave each other a fleeting look, just as Georgia’s phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, and turned to answer the call.
“Not our favorite neighborhood,” said Ambrose in a low voice.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s kind of ‘their’ turf. You know, those people I was telling you about. The ‘other team,’” Vincent said, glancing up to make sure Georgia hadn’t heard.
“What can they do to us outside, in a busy neighborhood, with two humans along?” asked Ambrose. He stared off into space for a second and then nodded his head and turned to me. “Jules said to tell you, ‘Hi, beautiful.’”
“Hey, watch it!” Vincent said.
“He says, ‘Whatcha going to do about it?’” Ambrose said, poking Vincent.
“Jules is volant . . . here? Right now?” I said in amazement.
“Yeah,” Vincent said. “We’re not on official business tonight, of course, but he insisted on coming along. Said he didn’t want to miss out on all the fun.”
“Can I talk to him?” I asked.
“When we’re volant we can be heard only by other revenants—not humans. So Jules can hear what you say out loud, but he can only respond through me or Ambrose,” Vincent said. “But you’ll want to be careful.” He gestured toward Georgia, who was getting off the phone.
“Too bad,” she said. “I had a couple of friends who were going to join us, but they’re not able to come.”
“Shall we?” asked Ambrose, holding his arm out formally for Georgia to take. She laughed delightedly, draping her arm through his, and they headed down the stairs.
Once they were out of earshot I said, “Hi, Jules!”
Vincent laughed and said, “Looks like someone’s got a bit of a crush.”
