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“Do you want to watch the sunset with me?” He strolled over to the bed and stared down at my discarded papers, picking one up. It was a version of my mother, where I’d made her stop smiling. “I thought you didn’t draw.”
“Before today, I didn’t.”
And that was so strange, I loved it.
15
Zeke’s sunset was beautiful. And, yes, it seemed to belong to Zeke. It was his sunset, and I got to stand on
his balcony with him and enjoy it.
“Was that supposed to be you?” he asked me but didn’t look at me. Leaning on the balcony, staring at Paris, he did look like royalty staring at the peasants below. Knowing what I did about him now, where he came from and how he got here, I was absolutely certain he meant it to appear that way. Zeke was a man who wanted to be in charge of his world.
“The picture you saw?” I stood next to him, but I didn’t lean on the railing. I didn’t trust it to hold me up. That was ridiculous since it was supporting Zeke just fine, but there it was. I didn’t want to topple to my death tonight. It wasn’t on my agenda to do, ever.
“Yep. That one. Supposed to be you?” He lifted his head to look at the sky more. It was amazing how tuned into him I was. I couldn’t say I’d ever spent this much time observing what other people did before.
I needed to take my hair out of the braids. It was starting to bother me. “No, it’s my mom.”
“Oh.” He turned to look at me. “I thought you might be sketching yourself.”
“Were you worried I was about to cut off my ear?”
His smile was sudden. “We are in Paris. He lived here for a time. Although I think he cut off the ear somewhere else.”
I loved that he’d caught my reference. “I was trying to play with a picture of my mom that I have in my head from an actual photograph. Do you think the job that I did made it look like me?”
“No, actually. Maybe if you had colors. I’ll get you some. You get your red hair from her, right?”
I pulled out one of my braids, transferring the band that I’d used to hold it in place onto my wrist. And then I pulled out the other one. I’d have to fix it before we left or maybe not. The helmet would screw it up anyway. I scrunched my hands through it. It was probably a big giant mess, and I decided I didn’t care.
There was freedom in that. “Yes, from her. We all did. All four of us. But genetically, Dad must carry it too or that couldn’t happen.”
Dad was dark haired, although really gray and thinning now. Maybe he used to be handsome. He’d certainly managed to land my mother when she’d been at the height of her popularity. There must have been something about him then that she saw that I simply couldn’t fathom now.
“Let’s go eat. It’s early. But it’ll be fun to take the bike while the sun is still out.”
“Sure.” That did sound fun. It had been a strange day. “You sure you don’t want me to change?”
He swung toward me, cupping my cheek. “No, Layla, I don’t want you to change.”
Obviously, he was talking about more than my clothes. “Zeke…”
“Eat. Let’s go.”
I guess that sounded like a plan.
We rode his bike, me pressed to his back, to the second arrondissement. I closed my eyes and held on, not because I didn’t care for the scenery, but because what I wanted was to hold on to him as tight as I could right now. He’d never allow it if he understood. But I could pretend it was absolutely okay for me to cling to him as tightly as I wanted because I was on his bike. The restaurant was casual. It was actually a pizza place and tiny inside. Ten tables inside and ten outside.
It was empty since it was so early for Parisian time, and the owner recognized Zeke right away. He sat us toward the back and then started to talk very fast, smiling and gesturing a lot. I did the thing where I smiled and tried not to interfere with what people said since I couldn’t understand it.
Zeke pointed toward me and then smiled at the man, a real one, not the fake one he usually put out in public.
He liked this man.
“Layla, this is Arthur. His son is our cook at home.” He leaned back in his chair and motioned toward Arthur. “Arthur, this is Layla, the woman staying with me for a while.”
As his son cooked for us, I imagined it was possible that Arthur already knew about me. Or maybe not. In any case, Zeke seemed to collect people in Paris. In cafés, in restaurants, in the bar where he hung out at the hotel. He went to these places, maybe with other women, and they loved him.
