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"Right now?"
"Why not? They're right here, we're right here. We only have a couple of days left."
And just like that she approaches the band, proposes I-don't-know-what to them, and the band leader's face breaks out in a smile. They shake on it, and Natalie comes back.
"Done! Music is covered. But we still need something big." She stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, pleased with herself.
“Did you really just—”
"I did. But our work isn’t finished.” She puts her fingers under my chin and lifts it just slightly to look her straight in the eyes. “Focus, Olivier.”
I love this woman.
Stop it, Olivier. I push that thought out and we sit in silence together. I love watching her think.Stop that, too.
This battle between my head and heart is exhausting.
Her phone pings again. She drops back into her seat and takes out her phone.
“Your parents?”
"It’s Julien."
Julien. That artistic ruffian from the other night. So, they've kept in touch. I mean, that is her right. It's not like the two of us are together. I'm the one who made it clear it couldn't happen. How could I ever expect that she wouldn't go out with good-looking, young, strong, suave, debonair, artistic types?
The back of my throat burns at the thought of him reaching out his hand to Natalie. I have to get that image out of my mind or it will drive me mad.
"Julien," she says, looking off in the distance.
Does she have to rub it in?
"Julien," she says again, and this is really going too far.
"Yes, yes, what about Julien?" I say quickly, and she looks at me with a playful smirk.
"You do know Julien and I are just friends, right?"
"Who? You and the upcoming artist of the year?"
"I heard that!" she declares, pointing her finger in my face.
"Heard what?"
"That twang in your voice. We may be in France, but men in America get that same twang when they're trying to downplay their jealousy."
"Jealousy? I'm not jealous, you can jumpJuuuulien’s bones as much as you like."
“Jump his bones?”
“That’s the expression, isn’t it?”
"Olivier," she murmurs and shakes her head. "Julien is a friend. A friend—" she pauses, looking up at the sky as if for inspiration. "A friend who does light shows."
"And you don’t want to jump his bones?"
"I'm going to ignore that you said that part," she says. "Because I am not ready to talk about bone-jumping with you. But yes, he does light shows,” she opens her arms like it’s plainly obvious, “and now we've got our idea for the Tower.
“A light show. Yes…”
