Page 24 of The Crimson Lily
8
The yellow sunrays force my eyes to open. I search the room, left, right, down, up, then the sad realization that I am still alone with myself falls upon my shoulders. I decide to wait, figuring or hoping Mr. Business Class will eventually show up. I fully wake up, still numb, clueless about last night’s events, thinking of how I really need to get it all together. I cried, opened myself up to a complete stranger like I’ve never done in this life. I told him my deepest truth, and how did he respond?
I get out of bed and amble to the shower like a zombie. My entire body feels sore, but my head doesn’t hurt—the perks of drinking whiskey instead of champagne. I guess I have that going for me. When I look in the mirror, I gasp, noticing the purple mark on the side of my neck. A hickey or a bite mark, given by none other than my favorite Russian man. I even have a small shadow on my arm and no idea how it got there. Maybe I was in a fight with a devious bear.
I find a green cotton shirt with sleeves just long enough to cover the small mark on my arm. I wrap my white scarf around my neck, then put on my jeans and white sneakers and head down to the restaurant.
Among the many tourists enjoying croissants, orange juice, coffee, and French bread, I see a very familiar face with big dark-brown eyes. There she sits, Béatrice, in front of a tall man who has his back to me. It is Maksim she’s talking to. I don’t know what the two are talking about, but she wears this inquisitive gaze, as if she’s been interrogating him. I pause for five minutes before mustering the courage to walk up to them.
“Lili!” she exclaims when she sees me. She stands from her chair and gives me a warm hug, like she hasn’t seen me in weeks and was worried to death.
Maksim just sits there. He doesn’t even lay his eyes on me and simply holds his cup of coffee close to his lips. Once Béatrice releases me, she sits back down, and I look at her, confused. My eyes must be screaming a thousand questions because she didactically tucks a loose black braid of hair behind her ear and adjusts her glasses.
She probably notices my attitude toward Maksim—how cunning she is. I know because she stares into me with her incredulous and worried eyes.
“I was getting to know your traveling partner a little better,” she forces herself to say with a smile. Her gaze flares with a concerned glimmer. She locks eyes with Maksim, frowns, then looks back at me. “Why are you wearing a scarf? It’s summer!”
I stutter. I don’t know how to respond. I chuckle awkwardly, clumsily, blink a few times, completely speechless. Compared to her and her yellow tank top, I look like an Inuit.
“What…what were you guys talking about?” I ask, flipping my hair to the side of the mark to hide it even more and taking a seat at the table.
Béatrice answers immediately. “Maksim won’t tell me why he brought you here.” She looks angry.
He smirks and leans back. He’s not going to respond to that, so I do in his place. I tell Béatrice everything we’ve learned so far.
“William keeps the dagger in his apartment here in Paris,” I say. “And Maksim will go there tomorrow.”
I hear him express his disapproval with a long sigh. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have divulged the mission to Béatrice. I shouldn’t have shared our intel. But screw him! I choose to royally ignore the persistent, irritated exhales. To be honest, I’m mostly annoyed by the fact he left me alone to die last night. I’m here, after all, partially for him and his mission, so I’m entitled to him ensuring my safety.
“You’re not going with him, right?” she asks me, then veers her gaze to Maksim. “She’s not going with you,right?” Her eyes are truly piercing through him.
“No,” he answers. “She’ll be staying here.”
Béatrice seems to relax her stance She looks at her phone and back at me. “Alejandro messaged me on Facebook yesterday,” she says. “First time in two months! He was worried about you.”
“Oh?” is my sole response.
“I’m meeting him at Luxembourg in an hour,” she announces. She then stands from her chair and casts a quick glance at Maksim. “I don’t know what your deal is, but you’d better make sure she’s safe.”
She gives me a quick smile goodbye, which I return with a short nod, then spins on her heels and leaves. I wonder how long she spent here and how long the two have been talking. She probably didn’t come here without a darn good reason, certainly not just to stay five minutes and leave. Oh well. That’s something I’m not going to find out. I don’t want to ask Maksim. I actually don’t want to talk to him at all. A cup of coffee I didn’t order arrives, and I just look deeply into it, silently, ignoring the Russian man in front of me.
I hear his voice address me out of the blue. “Are you upset about something?”
I don’t answer.
“You look terrible,” he notes.
I raise my eyes to him. I smell terrible too. I showered and scrubbed like a frantic raccoon this morning, but I still smell of whiskey and shame. Or maybe it’s all in my head. I end up giving him my sternest of glares.
“You left me alone last night,” I accuse.
He flicks his chin to the right and raises an eyebrow. He seems confused, as if what I said doesn’t make much sense.
“Someone might be after me, yet you left me alone,” I bark at Maksim.
He leans in and frowns. “I’m a criminal, not a bodyguard.”
Ouch. Fair point. It does hurt though, for a reason I don’t want to evaluate. I dodge his sharp eyes. He notices the evasion and seems to relax his posture.
