“It’s been a pleasure,” he said.
The smile didn’t linger on his face long enough for me to miss it turn into a scowl as he left.
The door closed behind me with a shriek.
I walked through the hallways of the stadium, feeling like time didn’t work the same way there as it did in other places. A man in a suit guided me back to the room where the charity event had taken place so I could pick up my things. The party was over. Alex was nowhere to be seen (which, to be honest, didn’t bother me one bit), and neither was Enzo (which worried me a bit more). The man escorted me to the stadium’s exit.
Now I had an important question to deal with: where the hell would I spend the night? In my rush to fly to Bordeaux and find something to wear, I hadn’t booked a hotel. I decided I’d stay at the cheapest place I could find; after all, I’d have topay for it myself. I hadn’t brought any extra clothes with me, but at least I had pajamas. It was better than nothing.
I started searching online for a nearby hotel with a room available. It turned out that, since the Belleviste game had attracted a lot of people from outside the city, most hotels were fully booked.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
I heard a sound behind me.
“I’m not one for compliments, but… did I mention how glad I am to see you?”
I was running on empty. I yanked Enzo’s coat up to my neck and shot him a weary look.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Bastian?”
He blocked my path, even though I was just wandering aimlessly. It still irked me. His hair was a mess, like someone had tried to smooth it but made it worse. My lipstick no longer smeared his face, and my handprint had faded.
A pity.
“Well…” He tilted his head. “Yes. But I’d rather be here.”
“I didn’t realize you enjoyed my company that much.”
He slipped to my left side, put both hands in his pockets, and began walking with me. We were moving away from the stadium towards the road, with no clear destination.
“I thought maybe you’d want to see me,” he said, adding a wink.
I was about to slap him again. Then I remembered his expression just before my lips collided with his—there hadn’t been any surprise there; I remembered the grip of his hands holding my body.
I remembered Eloïse’s furious eyes, eyesthat were so much like her father’s.
The vibration of my phone interrupted my train of thought.
I replied that I had just left the party, or something like that, and resumed my conversation with Bastian.
“Why would I want that?” I murmured, pushing all that had happened before my meeting with Laurent Dubois out of my mind.
Bastian let out a sigh.
“Oh, come on, Vera… don’t play games with me.”
“How am I playing games with you?”
He lowered his head and slowed his pace until he stopped. We were on the outskirts of the fairgrounds, barely illuminated by the yellow lights of the streetlamps.
“The connection…” Bastian dragged out the words as his eyes searched mine, “between the Dubois and Julian Garros.”
He didn’t need to say anything more.
He had found something out. Something important.
I jumped in place. Or maybe it was two, three jumps. I had already come off as crazy enough that night. I had gotten information from Dubois, and so had Bastian. I was ecstatic!
