I don’t remember how long I cried. Little by little, mybody stopped trembling. My shoulders felt heavy. Enzo had covered me with his coat, and I realised that it was cold. Very cold, and I was only wearing a lovely, expensive, and pathetic little pink dress. I hugged the coat around my body with my arms. Noticing the gesture, Enzo cupped my face in both hands, cradling my chin between his thumbs.
“Hey,” he spoke softly. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll find a solution.”
I opened my mouth to speak. A wet, salty tear slipped into my mouth. Enzo took the opportunity to wipe my cheeks with his fingertips, erasing the trace of water on my skin.
“I don’t want a solution,” I mumbled. “I want an answer.”
“Then we’ll find an answer.”
His tone was firm. A promise. An extension of the help he had given me so far. It hadn’t been fate, or Saidi, or Mars in retrograde. It had been Enzo who had guided me to this moment.
I was closer to the truth than I had been a day before.
I pressed my lips together.
“Thank you.”
And just as Enzo was about to respond, the door swung open, and the noise from the charity event—shrill voices, loud music—spilt into the room. Enzo let his hands fall from my face, adopting a relaxed pose at his sides.
His expression turned neutral.
“Dad,” he said, greeting the man who had just entered. Then he leaned down toward me, whispering in my ear, “Just go along with me.”
“Laurie,” the man had tired eyes. The nickname made me shudder. I had almost forgotten Enzo’s real name. Almost. “Say goodbye to the guests for me with your sister, please,” hesaid in French. “I’m exhausted.”
“Right away.” Enzo nodded. He placed a hand on my back, gently pushing me forward. “This is Vera,” he said in English.
Laurent Dubois blinked twice and extended his hand to me. I shook it without any strength.
“Did she come with you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The man scrutinised me from head to toe. It was a look that seemed to ask,What on earth is this tearful girl doing with my son?
Not the best way to start.
But almost immediately, Laurent Dubois’ face lit up with a radiant smile. I noticed the resemblance between him and his son in that expression; Enzo’s eyes crinkled in the same way.
“Well, Vera,” Laurent said, “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.”
I couldn’t tell if he was poking fun at my dishevelled appearance or if he genuinely meant it. Either way, I managed a smile, brushing it off.
“I loved the dinner,” I replied.
Laurent Dubois laughed.
“The fish wasn’t very popular… I’ve gotten into the habit of letting Eloïse choose these things. I don’t know why, since she never eats! Most people filled up during the match. A waste…”
“Vera came all the way here just to talk to you, Dad,” Enzo cut in.
“Oh, really? To see me, you say?” The man scrutinised his son’s face. “How do you know each other, if I may ask?”
“I study at Cutnam,” I said.
As if that explained the situation. Nice one, Vera.
“Colleagues, then?”
