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“The first one.”

His expression hardens. “You’ve got some nerve, Lancaster. I guess you really are your father’s daughter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He had no problem digging into my life, either. Sticking his nose into things that weren’t any of his business…”

“That was twelve years ago, Vadim. Things have changed.”

“No, clearly they haven’t.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is you did it.” He runs his hands nervously through his hair.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask timidly.

“It’s none of your business.”

He’s talking to me as if I’m a stranger.

“If you claim to love me, then yes, it is my business! Do you doubt me that much? I could help you. Or we could at least talk about it.”

“I don’t need help. Forget what you saw.”

“Vadim, your parents—”

“Are dead and buried. None of this concerns you, so don’t try to get involved.”

“But—”

“I think it’s time for you to go back to Paris, Alma.”

His stormy eyes avoid mine. I have to cross the room to force him to look at me.

“I’m not a kid. You can’t send me to the corner or slap my wrist whenever you’re unhappy with me!”

“No, but I am your boss. The casting is over, and you have no more obligations in L.A. I’ll ask Max to get you a ticket for the next direct flight. You’ll probably leave this evening.”

“One step forward, three steps back…” I whisper, hurt by his coldness.

A flicker of sadness crosses his face. When he sighs and reaches out to touch my cheek, I pull away and slip out of the office.

Looks like he wanted to get rid of me, after all.

***

“You came back earlier than you’d planned, right?” Clémentine asks, sweetening her tea.

“Yes.”

Back to the Parisian gloom, the wet streets, the unsmiling faces, the rush-hour crowds. And I haven’t heard from Vadim since I got here, which doesn’t help.

“Alma? Is anyone there? I had to change metro lines twice to come and meet you here, so it would be nice not to be ignored!”

“Sorry. Jet lag…”

“Yeah right. Come on, spit it out.”