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Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. Blame Iton Paris
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  5. Book One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Book Two
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-four
  41. Thirty-five
  42. Thirty-six
  43. Thirty-seven
  44. Thirty-eight
  45. Thirty-nine

A Bateau-Mouche, or one of its rivals, crept past, “La Vie en Rose” warbling from its speakers. Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose. Tourists waved at us, as usual. I waved back, since I knew what it was like to want to be welcomed by this city. I took a deep breath and nudged Sébastien with pseudo-confidence as if I flirted all the time, as if I knew this would be well received, which I didn’t. “I think you should give me a kiss.”

He hesitated a second. Despite what he’d just said, maybe he was still thinking about my imminent departure.

“Seriously,” I blundered on. “It will make them really happy.”

He glanced at the Bateau-Mouche. One eyebrow went up in that perfect triangle again. “You want me to kiss you to make tourists happy?”

I nodded firmly.

He rolled his eyes but then smiled a little and leaned in and kissed me. The Bateau-Mouche crowd cheered, cameras clicking like crazy.

In my room later, I stared at the Cambridge form for a long time. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sign it and leave. It was the thing I had always most feared about relationships—that they would tie me down, cut off my options for travel—but I couldn’t just walk away now. What did Cambridge have to offer that was better than this?

I checked off the box that said, No, I won’t be able to come, and stuffed it in an envelope. That gave us another six weeks. We had ten weeks in all. Then I would be back in the U.S.

Eleven

So have you . . .?” Adela waggled her eyebrows.

This from a woman who had made a two-month scandal out of kissing someone. Or when Adela waggled her eyebrows lasciviously like that, did she mean a kiss? I didn’t want to expose myself to possible judgment of my morals by asking. I was raised a strict Catholic, too, darn it. “Adela! He’s French!”