I turn to Oliver, and scoot until our sides are pressed together. “Has he asked you for anything? Said anything?” I ask him under my breath.

Oliver worries his bottom lip, thinking. “No… He’s just been my friend.”

“Did you tell him anything about me? About us?” I can’t think of anything Pascal could want from us, there’s so little I could offer, but this coincidence makes me nervous.

Oliver looks down at me through his lashes. “I’ve told him loads about you, Frances. But I’ve omitted the magic, I assure you.”

What have you said about me when I’m not around? I want to ask. But now is hardly the time.

“Come see, I insist!” Pascal says. “Come for lunch on Monday, let me be your host.”

“All right,” Maxine agrees immediately.

“Could be fun,” Lena acquiesces.

I’m cautious of Pascal, but I don’t want what happened with Finn to have destroyed my ability to trust people. I tamp down the discomfort that rises in my throat. “We’ll be there,” I confirm.

And here it is, the sense of adventure, the sense of hope I’ve been desperately searching for. Perhaps France will have the answers I seek. Under the sparkling Parisian stars, I promise myself I’ll be brave enough to keep looking for them.

But something in my gut nags. What if everyone at the school looks at me and can sense that something about me is broken?

Pascal bids us good night at the bottom of the cathedral steps with a dramatic bow and a “Bonsoir!”

Oliver insists on seeing us home. He hails a pedicab for us outside the Moulin Rouge, which is still bursting with activity despite it being well into the night. Down the street, the party at Heaven and Hell has also shown no signs of slowing down. The music is as loud as ever, no longer sweeping waltzes, but echoing horns.

I admire Paris’s commitment to after-hours entertainment, but I cannot wait to be back in bed. All the drive home, my eyes hang heavy, and I have to resist the urge to drop my head onto Oliver’s shoulder.

He steps out of the automobile first and opens the door for us with a polite bow of his head. I almost make fun of his manners and his cotillion classes, but I stop short. Oliver isn’t doing this for show. He’s doing this because he’s a kind person.

Maxine and Lena step away from us, pretending to fiddle with the key to the gate of the building, but I know what they’re truly doing is giving Oliver and me a stolen moment alone.

He pushes the brown waves off his forehead and glances to his shoes.

I can feel my heart beat in the tips of my fingers, and the buzz under my skin has nothing to do with the champagne.