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Instead, I say, “No, thank you.”
He nods, wringing his hands, but doesn't yet move to leave. I'm biting my lip because if I don't, other words might fly out of me that I don't want to say.
He takes in a deep breath, his chest expanding and then lets it all out as he says, “Goodnight,” and turns around.
He's just as handsome from behind in his tight little boxers. He pulls the door almost closed and then peeks back around it.
His eyes are wide and glossy in the light of the moon through the window. “Natalie?”
“Yes?” I reply, my voice breathy and my heart beating like a marching band.
Time is suspended as he looks into the depths of my soul but doesn't say a word.
He then gently shakes his head as if trying to forget something. “Sleep well,” he says and softly clicks the door shut.
Sleep well? How on earth am I going to sleep well now?
I grab my phone from its charger and tap quickly to my friends.
“Almost drowned saved by Olivier having very complicated feelings so many complicated feelings.”
I was sure I couldn’t possibly sleep after all that happened tonight, but the intensity of it all pulls my eyelids down like sandbags and then suddenly I’m so, so sleepy...
* * *
The alarm rings and I'm still in my dress, sticky and crunchy and wound around my legs. I sigh and smack the clock until it turns off. Wait. That’s the analog clock alarm… my back up… which means that the phone alarm has been dinging for…
Eighteen minutes.
Madame will have already had her breakfast.
I stand up too quickly and a series of stars sparkle before my eyes as the blood rushes to recover gravity. The memories of last night rush in.
That's right. I almost died last night.
Oh yeah, and my hunky boss—to whom I owe thousands of euros—saved me while being practically naked and held me in his arms until we had no choice but to awkwardly say goodnight.
I look at my phone. Forty-one missed notifications. Forty of them from my friends in Paris, asking for more details and freaking out that I'm not replying, and one from my mom with a link to a recipe for a French-inspired casserole along with their travel dates in June.
It takes every ounce of energy I've got, but I dress myself, brush my hair and teeth, and march up to the next floor to granny’s room.
“Good morning,” I call ahead to announce my arrival. “Sorry I’m late!”
She’s not in bed. This is a surprise. A surprise, considering she is bedridden unless she has support, and the door to the bathroom is wide open.
“Madame?” I ask before looking into the bathroom, but sure enough, she's not there.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “Oh no, no, no, no, no.”
I can't have lost Grandmama. She's got to be here somewhere. She's not hiding behind the curtains. She's not tucked into the closet and she's not under the bed either. This room is not that big, even if she was trying to play a trick on me. But I don't peg Madame as the type for practical jokes.
“Oh, no.” I grab my head. “Where can she possibly be?”
Could she be having an episode? Maybe she's lost track of time? The way she was muttering to ‘Henry’ the other day… was it a sign that she needed help? Sure, she’s started hobbling with a cane, but she couldn’t possibly have enough strength to go far. But this is a big house; there’s lots of stairs to fall down, and the grounds are sprawling.
I go down the hallway, peeking through every door I can open.
“Madame, are you in here?” I say with my voice hushed. I can’t let anyone know that I’ve lost Grandmama. I’ll be toast. “Madame?” Nope, not on this floor and nope, not on the next floor either.
