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“Anything.”
So many. But I’ll go with the one most pressing.
“Should I answer Cress from now on? Or should I wait until the burner arrives? Or should I ignore her?”
He pulls out his own cell. “Let me contact Max. GSU may have to be the intermediary until you get a new phone and a new number.”
We look at each other. When did easy conversation disappear? A sound like geese breaks the silence. “Max? Yeah. Okay. Glad it’s all arranged. I’ll expect Yannick. Give our love to Cress.” He clicks off.
“GSU arranged for Yannick to bring a new phone in the morning. Lots of security, so even with your number, Sam shouldn’t be able to track you. Once you have it, you can text Cress whenever.”
My life highjacked, I can only hope relief is in sight. “Thanks.” Only one word, knowing my graciousness index is at minus fifty thousand. “I hope it’s an iPhone.”
Instead of moving away, JL rests his fingertips under my chin and presses his lips to mine. They are cool, dry, and unbearably tender. I pull away.
His eyes flash a question, but I don’t answer. With a resigned air, he says, “It’s an iPhone 5S. In the new color, gold. Max said they’re downloading everything from the cloud, and it will be all ready to go. As soon as you’ve verified everything is there, I’ll deactivate this one.”
My face feels brittle when I try to smile. “Thanks.” I pause for a second. “Another question.” He sighs. “When we arrived, your mother asked who I was, and you said…”
A wolfish grin makes me think this question is okay. “Ma blonde, I called you my blonde.”
My burning curiosity makes me press. “Yes. But why? What difference does my hair color make? Or is that another nickname, like chouette?”
“Hmmm.” He scratches his head, as if considering. “Interesting question.”
“Then answer it,” I demand, my voice a little louder. “Your mother’s reaction was pretty strong. Does she prefer brunettes?”
“Les brunes? No, I don’t think so. Although Angélique…” He pastes on a totally faked puzzled expression.
All the frustration of the last few weeks boils up. I bolt off the bed, put my head down, and barrel into him.
“Ooof.” The wuffling sound reminds me of a big Bernese mountain dog my friend Paul used to have. Cuddly, soft, and comforting.
We both go down, him on his ass, me in his lap. Then he rolls so my back is against the floor. He hovers over me, hands next to my shoulders and knees on either side of my hips. We’re both giggling.
A deep, hitching breath comes from the doorway, combined with a little scream. Tremolo vibrating in her high soprano, Angélique strikes an accusatory note. “I thought you came in here to ask Michelle to join us for un petit goûter.” I push my way up off the floor. She leans against the doorframe, lips puffed in a generous pout.
“That was my intention.” JL gives her a smug smile as he helps me off the floor. “But then we started talking…”
Her skin pales under the carefully applied makeup. “Didn’t look like talking to me,” she whines, tapping her fingers together.
Ignoring her fidgets, I focus on JL. “You never answered my question, Beau.”
“N-n-non.” Angélique has one hand pressed to her chest, the other against her mouth. Stuttering sounds vibrate as if her breath has caught in her throat. “B-b-beau? C’est impossible.”
“Just a nickname,” I tell her, trying to be offhand.
JL is silent.
“It’s an endearment,” she snarls, eyes glowing red. Her sharp little fangs gleam in the incandescent light. “I won’t let you call him that. It’s been my name for him since we first got together in school.”
My jaw drops. “Is that true?”
JL nods, shamefaced. “I didn’t think it mattered. And you picked out the name.”
“Did you call her chouette?”
“Yes, it was his pet name for me,” Angélique screams.
