Page 31 of You + Me – Against the World

Lily is buzzing with excitement about this impromptu visit and follows me around, giggling. Basile is grumbling and already warning me that we’d better not make any noise, since he needs to study. Worst of all, I don’t even know if my guest is going to do me the honor of showing up. I haven’t heard from him since last night, and he hasn’t deigned to reply to my two texts from this morning.

Arcadi clearly likes to play hard to get.

Or he’s about to stand me up.

At 3:05 p.m., the doorbell makes me jump. I walk slowly out of my room, fighting to stop myself from running down the stairs. My little sister catches me up and runs on ahead, already making me want to kill her.

Georgia opens the door for Vadim. He speaks to her politely and even shakes her hand, something I’ve never seen anyone do before. It seems to please her as much as it touches me.

He looks a little awkward but absolutely irresistible in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. He’s carrying his leather jacket in his hand. He’s made an effort—I’m sure of it—but not too much. Just enough so it doesn’t look like he did. I melt before we’ve even exchanged a single word.

And when he turns toward me, I have a hard time meeting his gaze. Once I’m near him, I completely fall apart and can’t even stammer hello. I put a hand on his shoulder, and this awkward gesture betrays my nervousness. Vadim lets out a low guttural laugh that flusters me.

Seriously, shoot me now.

“Alma, do you think you’re going to be okay?”

My little sister’s mocking voice snaps me back into focus. I pull Vadim inside the house and introduce him to Lily, who has been so looking forward to this that she immediately jumps in and bombards him with her best jokes. Then, I lead him to the living room, where my parents are sitting, silently absorbed in their own activities. I start speaking in French, then switch to English so my guest can understand.

“This is Vadim Arcadi. We’re working together on a short film project due at the end of the semester. For Mr. Abrams’s class.”

“Hello,” Vadim says, without moving any closer.

“Hello, young man,” my father replies, standing up to come shake his hand. “Vadim? What’s the origin of your name?”

“It’s Slavic. Short for Vladimir. My father’s side of the family is Russian.”

“Pleased to meet you,” my mother adds, getting up to greet him and dispel the awkwardness. “So, you have a bicultural background too? We’ve had France and England living under the same roof for thirty years, and it certainly isn’t easy!”

“I can imagine how hard it must be,” Vadim replies with barely concealed irony, taking in the bougie living room.

He can’t help himself. Typical Arcadi.

My father frowns, but deliberately changes the subject. “So, what’s your film going to be about?”

I step in, forcing myself to smile—and to breathe. “That’s what we’re going to decide today. We have to present our theme to Mr. Abrams this week.”

“Alma raves about that professor all the time! He must be brilliant to teach at a film school like yours.”

“I think he’d prefer to be a director if he had the choice… or the talent.” Vadim replies sardonically.

Tension mounts between the two men as they stand in our living room, with its immaculate white walls.

“Well, you’ve already grasped one thing: talent isn’t always enough to build a great career. That’s why you have to work hard—”

“Speaking of which, we’re going to get started now!” I interrupt, putting an end to the discussion.

“It’s also possible to do wonderful things without necessarily working towards a great career at all costs. Or a great house, or great wealth,” Vadim blurts out.

My father isn’t used to having his grand statements challenged, nor being talked back to. His eyebrows are now drawn tightly together above the bridge of his nose.

“My boy, believe me, you have to dream big if you want to achieve even a small part of what you set out to do. You’re young and idealistic, but I assure you there is nothing unpleasant about making a good living.”

“And I assure you that not everyone sees life that way. But that’s your choice.” Vadim locks eyes with my father—who looks taken aback—and shrugs.

His nonchalance terrifies me as much as it fascinates me.

Even while I’m drowning in an ocean of panic, Vadim is never fazed. Ever. So, before he goes too far, I tug him by the arm and guide him toward the staircase.