Page 71 of You + Me – Against the World

“Yes, after our family lunch. But I’m supposed to be spending the afternoon with Clem. I don’t know what she has planned for me.”

“When you’re done with her, call me. I’ll tell you everything. But you have to promise to try to understand and not to judge me.”

Vadim looks away, lost in thought.

This sudden promise of sincerity scares me a little.

“Is it normal that I’m scared?”

“Is there anything that doesn’t scare you, Alma Lancaster?” he replies, teasing me once again.

“Alright, it’s time to get going. I don’t know about you, but I have a big day tomorrow.”

25

For my nineteenth birthday, my parents give me the professional Canon camera I’ve wanted for a long time. I try out this technological gem right away, resting it on my shoulder as I film Lily—who showcases all her usual dances and routines in an effort to land the lead role. My little sister proudly presents me with a one-of-a-kind dress she designed and sewed herself by combining two of my father’s old suit jackets, one light and one dark, then sulks when I choose not to wear it to go meet Clémentine.

And especially Vadim…

My brother, on the other hand, says he’ll give me his gift later on, because he couldn’t think of anything suitable. My mom shoots him a pained look, while my dad makes a scathing remark about his immaturity. That, in itself, is a pretty good gift.

As for my best friend, she drags me away for a makeover afternoon designed to get me to “step outside my comfort zone and realign my appearance with the new inner Alma.” It’s one hell of a program. We begin our shopping session by squeezing ourselves into unwearable pencil skirts and sexy bustiers and end up each buying a black sweater—the same one—with buttons down the back, which we swear we’ll never wear on the same day.

With D’Aragon, there are no problems, only solutions!

A manicure and a full, seriously glam makeover later, I already don’t recognize myself. I manage to wriggle out of the hair appointment my bestie has booked for us thanks to my date with Vadim. Clem grumbles a little, purely for the sake of it, then lets me go, after helping me wipe off the excessive lipstick and gold eyeshadow that made me look like an over-the-top Christmas tree. I laughed so much that my eyes are still watering.

“Did you do your makeup like Nicki Minaj just for me?” asks Vadim, when he picks me up in his truck.

“It was a gift from Clem. To ‘realign’ me,” I reply, slamming the door.

He narrows his stunning eyes, looking unconvinced.

“There’s also a ‘movie star hairstyle’ waiting for me if Clem gets her claws into me again, so you need to give me plenty of good reasons to stay here in this crappy hunk of junk!”

“Happy birthday, Alma.”

Vadim leans over to kiss me. His lips brush against mine, tentatively at first. I pull back, pretending to pout. Then, he suddenly bites my lower lip. I squeal, giggle, grab his face with both hands, and try to nip his earlobe. But Vadim dodges my attack, before dissolving into laughter. We play-fight like two kids in this damn pickup that always has the same effect on us. I never feel more myself than when Vadim Arcadi is around. When he’s as close to me as possible.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, fastening my seatbelt.

“My place? Keith isn’t coming over tonight. I think he has a date.”

“How romantic,” I sigh, pretending to be disappointed.

Vadim finally starts the engine, and we head toward his apartment. As always, I can’t help watching him as he drives. One arm stretched out on the wheel, muscles shifting beneath his skin, his other elbow resting against the window—it’s a sight I never get tired of. His breathtaking profile, simultaneously serious and delicate, will eventually be committed to my memory—I’m sure of it.

Every now and then, a restless hand runs through his curls. Then, his broad palm slips onto my thigh. I place my own diminutive one over it and let my eyes linger on the place where our bodies connect. Sometimes, my fingers caress the back of his neck. I know he likes it by the way he tilts his head, silently telling me not to stop.

I could drive like this with him all the way to the other side of the United States, alone in the world with this boy and his seemingly magical pickup truck that makes us feel invincible. Love stories and road trips have one thing in common: the exhilarating promise of infinity. We know nothing about what awaits us on the horizon, but we keep moving forward, never looking back. Let’s hope the road never ends.

But Vadim is already pulling up alongside the curb. It’s time for my gift—and it will come with a sting. The moment of truth. The truth I begged him to share with me, but that I’m no longer sure I want to hear.

Vadim lets me go in ahead of him, and I discover that his apartment is bathed in a soft light. In the living room, dozens of little tea lights lined up on the hardwood floor spell out my name.

“I didn’t have enough to write ‘Happy birthday,’” Vadim murmurs behind me.

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn around and take him in my arms, preferring to simply kiss him.