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He holds up a bottle of vodka for me to see, the brand “Russian Standard” written on the label. After placing two glasses on my desk, he pours us both a generous measure.

“Russian alcohol… How ironic,” I blurt out without thinking.

I immediately regret my words. He knows nothing about Vadim’s past, and I don’t want him digging.

“Ironic? How so?” he asks.

“No, nothing, I’m getting off track. What is it they say over there? Na zdorovye?”

I raise my glass and clink it against Maximilian’s, my mind on Vadim. For a change.

The minutes turn into hours as the two of us talk about everything and nothing. One sip of vodka follows another, and our glasses are quickly refilled, which definitely makes the conversation flow more easily. Maximilian tells me more about himself, about his difficult childhood and the lack of any real stability or direction in his life until he landed this assistant job, which “put him back on the right track.” I had categorized him as someone with privilege, who had always had it easy, but apparently I had him all wrong. Maybe I should be wary of him and his angelic smile, but I’m no longer in any state to be cautious. All these confessions are breaking down my defenses, and the more the alcohol flows, the looser my tongue becomes.

“It just goes to show, you can’t always tell what someone’s been through just by looking at them. You’re the perfect example, Max. Vadim too, for that matter…”

“You know, you’ve just confirmed that my instincts were correct. I’d always suspected Mr. King had a complicated history.”

“Yes… Well, he definitely has two faces: one magnificent and one evil,” I snort, pretty drunk by now.

“A bit like Jekyll and Hyde!” Maximilian jokes as he tops up his glass.

“More like millionaire King by day and rebel Arcadi by night!”

Did I really just say “Arcadi”? What an idiot.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from revealing anything else.

“Arcadi? Never heard of him.”

“I must have gotten confused. I was thinking of a character from a story, some kind of rebellious warrior,” I improvise, trying to throw him off the scent.

Maximilian shrugs, uninterested. “So, Mr. King was a rebel…”

“Does that surprise you? At twenty, who isn’t?”

My cheeks burn as I scramble to recover my composure and keep the conversation going as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn’t just disclosed a crucial piece of information about Vadim. Max needs to forget the name I let slip. He needs to keep drinking… And I need to stop. Immediately.

An hour later, I jump into a cab, trying to reassure myself as I watch the illuminated streets of Paris roll by beneath the November rain. Maximilian drank way too much to remember anything. Besides, I only mentioned the name Arcadi once in a three-hour conversation, and I immediately explained it away. He won’t remember it. Vadim will never hear about this conversation. Besides, it won’t happen again. From now on, I intend to keep my distance from his assistant. He’s way too curious, and I don’t seem to be able to keep my mouth shut.

***

It’s Friday evening. Clémentine and Yann have asked me if I want to go out to dinner, Niels has invited me to a club, and Sophie suggested a late-night aqua spinning session. I turned down all their invitations, claiming I had a migraine. Classic excuse. I’m getting ready to spend the evening slumped on the couch in front of the TV when Lily barges in and plants herself in front of me, hands on her hips like a furious shrew.

“Alma Lancaster, I refuse watch you mope around like a miserable lump for another night!”

“I’m not moping. I have a very important date with Scorsese. Clarence has lent me his Goodfellas DVD.”

“Who still watches DVDs? And who watches gangster movies from the last century, come to think of it? Don’t you want to take your mind off things by… I don’t know, going out or something?”

“No, I don’t feel like it.”

“Anyway, did you see? It’s all over social media: May Sim has already found a new victim, some TV actor who—”

“Lily, do we have to talk about this?” I grumble.

“I thought you’d be happy to know she isn’t chasing after your guy anymore.”

“He’s not my guy, remember?”