The pounding persists. Maria must be out. A headache shoots through the back of my skull, and a heavy, oppressive fatigue settles into my limbs. Begrudgingly, I slink out of my bed, clad in my pizza shorts and Liam’s college shirt he insisted I keep because I guess he finally did win. My okay window didn’t last as long as I hoped, which is unfortunate because I promised to take Eli on a tour today. Liam wanted to come, too, but I forced him to work. He’s got bags under his eyes again because he’s splitting his time with me and then working late into the night on his master’s project and whatever other work he has to do.
I haven’t seen much of Eli between his budding relationship with Fionn and my own little something, so I was looking forward to today until today became today, and now I have regrets.
I open the door, Eli’s curls greeting me on the other side. “Evelina O’Shea, is that Liam’s shirt?” he asks, a cheeky grin cutting across his face as he enters my apartment.
I blush, mumbling incoherent nothings into my hand and smothering a yawn. We haven’t really talked about what’s going on between Liam and me. Eli has been skillfully absent from the apartment the last week, but I’m sure, as Liam’s roommate, he’s privy to most of it.
“I had another week on the bet, but I guess Maria really is the love whisperer.” He shakes his head.
I open the fridge and pour myself a glass of water to swallow my plethora of morning pills. “I wouldn’t let her call you in on the bet. She manipulated the situation in her favor,” I say with a gulp. “There are sandwiches and desserts in the fridge. If you want to throw them into the picnic basket I left on the counter, I’m going to change. For whatever reason, ratty pizza shorts aren’ten voguethis season.”
“They’ll have their day.”
“Maybe someday.” I do my best Briar Rose impression while walking into my bedroom. A sudden intense stab punctuates where my ovary hangs on my left side, and I crunch.
Uh oh.
It passes quickly, though, and I shrug it off. I can handle a few pricks and prods through the day fine, but it’ll probably be better not to venture too far out like I envisioned. “I wanted to take you to a park on the edge of town, but I’m not feeling great. Would you hate me if we did something closer?”
Eli scoffs. “We can picnic on the balcony if you want or wherever your heating pad reaches. I just want some Evie time. I’ve missed my little shit.”
I glance lovingly at my heating pad, which hasn’t receded into my bedroom’s hellmouth. Tempting. But I haven’t been able to show Eli much of Paris, and I don’t want to let him down. No, I can push a little. It’ll be fine.
“How do you feel about having a picnic at Palais-Royal?” I ask. “I haven’t gotten there yet, and the cherry blossoms are at their peak, and I really need that picture for my blog.”
The fridge door creaks open. “Oh. Pie. As long as this bad boy’s coming. I really don’t care.”
“An impievised tour it is,” I joke, tossing my tunic on.
“Huh?”
“Bad joke.” I sigh. “Liam would have loved it, though.”
“I hate to break it to you, but it’s not the bad jokes he loves,” Eli hollers from the kitchen.
“By the way, we need to discuss how you’re the worst and keep everything from me—” I stick my head out of the doorframe. “Like the identity of the postcard sender.”
Eli’s eyes widen a fraction as his cheeks redden. He grabs a spoon drying by the sink and shovels a heaping bite of pie into his mouth, mumbling what vaguely sounds like “I can’t . . . pie.”
I roll my eyes, stepping into my flats and ignoring another quick stab that steals the air out of my lungs.
He takes another heaping spoonful.
“We were supposed to share that after lunch, you know.” I wrap my scarf around my neck, shooting heavy daggers his way.
Hell.Another stab punctures my left ovary. My heartbeat falters, and I fight to pull a breath from my tightened airways. Sometimes before I leave the apartment, the anxiety that a flare might be imminent heightens. I guess today is just one of those days. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Everything is fine.
“Sorry.” He blushes, scraping the pie plate clean.
“Come on, loser.” I sigh, opening the door and gesturing for him to walk through it. “We’re going to look at cherry blossoms.”
“This bridge used to sparkle.” I lament the loss of the metallic locks to Eli on Pont des Arts, breathing in the fresh, crisp April air. “This is the original lock bridge, but the weight of all the padlocks was a danger to its structural integrity, so a few years ago, they cut them down and redid the sidewalls.”
“They’re beautiful,” Eli mutters, face glued to his phone as we clop over the wooden boards of the bridge.
“How’s it going with Fionn?” I tease, nodding to his phone. “Must be good if you’re already ignoring me this bad.”
“Meh.” He shrugs, tossing the picnic basket over his shoulder. “He knows I’m leaving soon; I’m not looking for anything serious. So we’re just having fun.”
