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The steel doors are just beginning to close when I hear his breathless voice…
“Alma, wait!”
They slide shut.
The elevator takes me far away from him.
For the last time.
26
Alma
The city is enveloped in a cold mist. Just like my life.
While waiting for the metro at Bastille, I try to make sense of my thoughts. To restore a little order in the midst of all this chaos. To find meaning in everything that has happened in recent months.
Meaning? What meaning?
It’s been three days since I left King Productions. Three days with this sense of injustice twisting in my stomach. Three days full of dread because I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I don’t know which direction to take.
Of course, my father’s advice was to hit the ground running and approach the rival company, just to spite the people who fired me in such a cowardly way. Advice I won’t be following. That would only serve to confirm their doubts about my loyalty. Knocking on Skylight Pictures’ door would be like admitting I was guilty—not to mention that my hopes of ever rejoining King Productions would disappear in a puff of smoke. I have too much to lose. Giving up the best job I’ve ever had also means giving up on him.
Twelve years of waiting, of hoping, of unspoken desires, ending like this?
It’s impossible to get my head around.
Lily looked me right in the eye again this morning and swore that she had done nothing wrong. She never communicated with an employee from a rival company, never took money from anyone. Three days after that terrible accusation, my little sister is still devastated; outraged that anyone would think her capable of such a thing. But she’s taking care of me, pampering me, mothering me. She feels responsible and wants to fix everything.
As soon as Clémentine and Niels heard what had happened, they also dropped everything to come to my rescue. The four of us have spent ages talking about everything and nothing over Häagen-Dazs, mojitos, and strawberry shakes.
It’s a cliché, perhaps, but it worked.
Just as I’m about to get on the metro, a tall, dark-haired man with gray eyes and a black coat steps out onto the platform, and our eyes meet. He’s a little older and broader than he-who-must-not-be-named, but that doesn’t stop my stupid heart from clenching.
I miss Vadim—there, I said his name.
It’s physical. Visceral. I miss his face, his hands, his scent, his kisses, even his murderous glare and his damn smirk.
I should hate him, despise him, stick hundreds of tiny needles into his voodoo doll, but I can’t. Not completely. It doesn’t matter if you feel hurt, or even betrayed—you don’t stop loving someone in three days when you’ve loved them forever.
27
Alma
“Sixteen missed calls? Alma, what the hell are you doing? Why aren’t you answering that bastard?” Clémentine practically snarls when she sees Vadim’s name pop up on my phone.
“Because she’s too proud. She wants to make him sweat,” my sister suggests. “And she’s too afraid to hear what he has to say.”
“If you don’t pick up, I’m going to do it for you!”
Niels snatches my cell phone from me, so I leap off the couch and lunge at him.
“Give that back!”
His new dachshund sweater takes a beating in the battle, but I get my precious phone back.
“I don’t want to talk to him, is that clear?” I insist, sitting back down.
