My laugh was inappropriate, bubbling from the depths of my stomach and coming out as a sob.
I had nothing to giggle about. But I did have reasons to scream, and I had been holding back for too long.
“I don’t want to discuss this right now,” I cut in. “I just want to leave.”
This time, Enzo reacted to my request. With a defeated air, he stepped aside, allowing me to pass. I would call a taxi and be at the airport in a matter of hours. After that, I would just need to catch the first flight to London.
“Goodbye,” I said, trying to look him in the eye. Enzo avoided my gaze, so my eyes fell to the top of his head.
I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder and walked past the guy I thought I knew. The guy I thought I had feelings for. The guy whose sight I couldn’t stand anymore.
“Vera!”
For a second, I thought it was Enzo who had shouted my name.
Laurent Dubois approached me, draped in an elaborate black robe accentuated with gleaming gold trim and a grand Versace logo embroidered in intricate detail. He cradleda glass of champagne, its bubbles shimmering in the light. His radiant smile seemed too out of place to feel real.
“There you are, I wanted to talk to you,” he announced, brushing past his son. “Do you have a moment to spare?”
I didn’t have a moment to spare. In fact, I considered turning on my heel and walking away as if Mr Dubois were a mere ghost. But then, a flash of lightning illuminated the room, and I froze.
As I’ve mentioned, storms terrify me. And I couldn’t forget that I was there thanks to that man. He had invited me to his house in exchange for some kind of information.
Laurent Dubois glanced at his son. “Laurie, would you mind if I borrowed her for a moment?” he asked, ignoring the apparent tension between us.
“Vera was about to leave,” Enzo responded.
Dubois looked at me with wide eyes.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Have you not seen the weather?”
“Yes,” I murmured, setting my backpack on the sofa. “I suppose I can wait a little longer.”
“Splendid!” he said, tugging on the tail of his robe, which had gotten caught on the carpet.
I tried to give him my best smile.
“What did you want?”
He returned the smile, showing his teeth. He grabbed my arm and led me away from the door.
“Follow me, we’ll be better off in my office.”
Re-entering Laurent Dubois’s office was like déjà vu.
The man drew the curtains, though the overcast sky blocked most of the light, so he lit the gas lamp resting on his desk. It was evident that the office saw little use from him.
I bit the inside of my cheek, casting a careful eye over the area, in case there was some giant sign that exclaimed “VERA RODRÍGUEZ HAS BEEN HERE” somewhere.
Laurent Dubois gave only a fleeting look at the room before sinking into a plush armchair beside the desk.
“Sit down, young lady.”
The warmth with which he had spoken in front of Enzo had disappeared from his voice. I swallowed and sat in front of him. Laurent Dubois had focused his attention on the champagne, not on me. Why did I suddenly feel so self-conscious? I sank into the chair like a deflated balloon, which only increased my feeling of discomfort.
“Is it about what we discussed yesterday, at the stadium?” I asked.
The man nodded. His moustache curled upward.
