“Hm.” I pretend to think really hard about this, even though she tends to make me guess every day she has something on and I never do, because I don’t know her friends and her going-out habits well enough to predict or see a pattern just yet. I know all about her best friends Sylvie and Sébastien, with whom she spends a lot of time during the weekend. And Flo’s parents-in-law whom she’s always gotten along with very well. “You’re doing a cabaret show at le Moulin Rouge?” I joke.

“Close.” She sends me a smile. “I’m going to a MLR event and the president of our troubled republic is rumored to make an appearance.”

“What?” I fake indignation in my voice. “You’re going to have a chat with Dominique Laroche while all I get to do for my Saturday evening entertainment is chat with you.”

“I know. Tough break for you.” She sends me a faux apologetic grin. “But… we could do more than chat, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know very well what she means. She’s been hinting at it, and I’ve been pretty receptive to the idea, taking her hints not only in jest, but giving her a genuine reply at more regular intervals. Still, that video we made plays in my head every time the subject comes up.

“Allez, chérie,” she says. “Tu sais.” You know.

“All right. If I understand correctly, you would like to engage in some Internet sex just to take the edge off for when you find yourself in the magnetic presence of your president.”

“That’s exactly it, yes. You know me so well.” She purses her lips. “I want to see you, Zoya.” Already, when she says my name in an imploring manner like that, I know she wants something really badly. She can’t hide the desire in her voice. “Really see you.”

“Me too.” My tone is suddenly serious.

“Good.” Her smile is sweet and seductive.

“How does it work?” I know it makes me sound overly naive. And it’s not as if Camille is well-versed in long-distance relationship protocols. We’re figuring this out as we go along, together.

“I imagine we find a comfortable place where we won’t be disturbed.” She looks down. “Which, in my case, means I’ll need to get a pussycat off my lap.”

I chuckle. I’m already lying in bed, though I am still fully dressed.

“Then you’ll have to strip for me because you must already be in a sultrier evening mood and I may need a bit more enticing to get my juices flowing.” She sits there grinning again. “What with it still being so early here.”

“Ten in the morning is hardly the crack of dawn.”

“It’s been a bit of a crazy week.” She pretends to stifle a yawn.