“Who is it?” I ask, trying to bring back the details of that day.
Louis doesn’t hesitate. “émilie’s best friend. Sasha. She’s a student teacher, too. She got stuck talking to someone that day, and I was already regretting rushing over. It was this endless cycle between us. It never went anywhere good…and then I saw you.”
I sigh. “So you used me to get out of an awkward conversation with your quasi ex?” I sound snarkier than I intend to, but Louis doesn’t mind.
“I know it sounds bad, but yes,” Louis says. “You looked so panicked, and cute, and I realized I didn’t want to be there. It was pointless.”
I gulp, remembering the day at Musée d’Orsay when émilie shot Louis a strange look. She must have seen Louis talk to me, and was thinking about her friend. I also think back to the day we saw Fernando talking to Sasha on the street, and the party on the boat, when the four of them hung out.
“So you and Sasha…，” I start. I know the question I want to ask, but I’m so scared of the answer.
“It’s over. She’s been texting me, and I told her I was done. For good. But I can’t cut her out of my life. We have all these friends in common. I don’t want to lose them.”
I nod sadly. I know everyone has a past, but this seems like it’s not past enough.
“I swear, Mia. Nothing has happened between us since I met you. I think she could tell that something changed in me. I didn’t respond to her messages right away. I’ve never been distant like that before.”
“So you think she told your dad? Maybe she saw us somewhere and went to him?”
I guess in some ways it doesn’t matter how Monsieur Dabrowski found out, but if one of the student teachers despises me because I stole her boyfriend and is trying to ruin my last few days of the program, I’d kind of like to know.
Louis shakes his head. “I thought that at first. I know she can be jealous, but…”
“I just want to know how much trouble I’m in,” I say with a small laugh.
Louis takes a deep breath. “It was my mom. You know how I told her about you and your family legend? I think she’d never heard me talk about someone like that. She didn’t mean to get us in trouble, but my parents talk sometimes, and I guess it came up. That night, after he told you about…the other girls, my dad really laid into me. He told me I should spend more time figuring out what I want to do with life, and to stay far away from his ballerinas.”
I look around us, conflicted. We shouldn’t even be together now.
But Louis sits straighter as he looks me deep in the eyes. “And yes, when I first met you, I thought maybe I just have a thing for ballerinas. But I couldn’t get you out of my head, and I knew it was different this time. You’re not like anyone I’ve met. You’re so passionate about ballet, but you still make room in your life for, well…life. So, to answer your question, the reason why I called Dr. Pastels…I care about solving your family mystery, because you care about it. I just wanted to make you happy. From the moment I met you, I thought, I love to see her smile. And if she’s smiling because of me, then even better.”
“This is a lot,” I say, my heart swelling. Too many different feelings fight inside it; I can’t process them right now. Am I really the girl Louis is describing? Until now, my life has felt like a long stretch of ballet classes. But then I came to Paris, and it’s like the city opened my eyes. Or was it Louis?
The waiter comes to check in on us, and Louis waves him away.
“I told my dad I couldn’t stay away from you. Not if you came back to me.” Then, he purses his lips. “I was really upset about what you said. But I deserved it. When you asked me who I was waiting for that day, I wasn’t honest with you.”
I nod, looking down. It’s true. I think on some level, I knew it. I wanted to believe that he was waiting for Max, because it all felt like a fairy tale. I played Louis up in my head as this dreamy French guy. But real life is more complicated than that.
“I’m so sorry, Mia. These last few weeks with you have been some of the happiest of my life, and I feel like I betrayed you.”
I want to cry and laugh. Throw myself in his arms and walk away from him. I want to hurt him and I want to love him, and I don’t want to have to choose.
“And I’m sorry about the passion stuff,” I say at last. “What I said to you…it was awful.”
“Yes, but there was some truth to it,” Louis says. “Growing up, I always thought that having a passion meant that you couldn’t have any fun. My parents were doing what they loved, but they were working so hard that it felt like they never had time to actually enjoy it. But what you said really got me thinking about what I want to do. It inspired and scared me at the same time. I never told you…but I used to paint.”