10
On the short walk from Vadim’s apartment to my house, I quickly crash down from the cloud I was floating on.
Panic sets in. Not only have I stayed out for the second night in a row—this time without letting my parents know—but my phone is dead and no doubt overflowing with angry, panicked, horrified messages.
On top of that, it’s Saturday morning, and I can’t even escape to the university for the day.
But despite all that … I did it. For the first time. The most beautiful and craziest of first times.
I feel… different.
Is it written all over me?
Will they know that, last night, Vadim changed me?
That he changed everything?
I feel like my lips are still swollen from all those kisses.
My long, straight hair is full of knots that I can’t untangle with just my fingers.
My eyes were shining when I looked at myself in Vadim’s little bathroom mirror—when, still shirtless, impossibly good-looking, and shamelessly confident, he kissed my neck to keep me from leaving.
I force the image out of my mind and try to focus on the hellish time I’m about to endure, which could very well end up being the worst time of my entire life.
Act normal. Look apologetic, tired, but normal.
Shit, I’m blushing again. I can feel the heat spreading all the way to my burning ears.
I take a few more seconds to compose myself before sliding my key into the heavy door of our home. Our housekeeper, Georgia, welcomes me by pulling me into her arms. I don’t know if it’s because she’s relieved I’ve come home in one piece or terrified of what’s about to happen to me.
My mother is perched on the three small steps that lead from the entrance to the living room. In eighteen years, I’ve never seen my mother sit on a staircase. She leaps up to come meet me, screaming “Edward!” in a shrill voice.
I hear my father before I see him. He is ranting and swearing in English, as he always does when he loses his temper.
His native tongue comes back to him in direct proportion to the intensity of his anger.
Amid the torrent of words he practically spits in my face as he furiously jabs a finger in my direction, I can just about catch a few key phrases: “worried sick,” “completely irresponsible,” “betrayed our trust,” “take responsibility for your actions,” “the whole neighborhood was searching,” “haven’t slept all night,” “your poor mother,” “call the police,” and finally, “explain yourself.” Once he’s done, he paces back and forth with his hands clasped on top of his head.
During the silence that follows, Basile and Lily show up, having wisely waited for the storm to subside before making an appearance. My brother looks tense, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he casts me a reproachful look, clearly siding with the adults. My sister nervously bites her lip.
“I’m so sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to worry you. I spent the night with Tim. I knew you’d say no if I asked your permission.”
I’m not proud of myself. Not proud of this fake alibi. But I couldn’t come up with anything better.
Another silence.
My mother puts her hand to her heart, Basile rolls his eyes, and Lily tries to send me an indecipherable message with hers. My father remains impassive, which is a very bad sign.
“Timothy called us. He was trying to get in touch with you all night.”
Oh, well played, Alma…
“Why are you lying to us?” my mother cries out. “I thought I raised you with values. You, your brother, your sister. Why are you doing this to us?”
And the emotional blackmail begins.
“Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell you… because you love Tim more than me. I want to break up with him, and I know you’re not going to be happy about it.”
“Really, Alma? That’s your choice!” my mother retorts, indignant at my accusation.
“No, it’s yours! You’re the ones who introduced him to me, who forced him on me!”
Tears spring to my eyes, despite myself.
“Turning the situation around won’t save you, Alma,” my father says, cold and determined. “And we still have no idea where you were all night. Give us the truth this time!”
“At Clémentine’s! Where else would I have been? She was as depressed as me, so we spent the night talking, comforting each other. She promised me it would be fine, that you’d understand…”
“Then why isn’t she answering her phone, damn it?!” my father shoots back, getting worked up again.
“Darling, is the reason you look so tired because you’ve been crying all night?”
In a sudden show of compassion, my mother wipes away a tear from my cheek.
“So, what is it?” she whispers. “Tell us! Are you… gay? You like girls… is that it?” Her voice has risen to a dangerously high pitch.
Lily bursts out laughing from the other side of the room. “Oh, please tell us it’s true, Alma! That’s exactly what our family’s been missing!”
“This is ridiculous…” Basile mutters, as grouchy as ever.
“Alma, of course it would be quite a shock, but we will always love you just the way you are. Right, Edward?”
The patriarch doesn’t react.
“Let it go, Mom. It’s not that. Nothing like that. And even if it were… Anyway, I’m just… tired of everything you expect from me. It’s too much. I’d like to make my own choices.”
“Well, that starts with learning to make sensible choices, Alma. You’re grounded for a week.
You go to class, you come home from class.
That’s it. No coffee, no movies, nothing.
If Clémentine wants to see you, she can come here.
And no more lies. You sleep here EVERY night.
We’ll talk about this again next Saturday. ”
My father’s sentence has been handed down.
I go shut myself in my room, almost relieved. Last night was incredible and definitely worth a week of punishment. It was worth so much more than that… And this won’t stop me from seeing Vadim at college, only from seeing him elsewhere.
Alone.
I need to talk to him. I turn on the computer on my desk and dig deep into my pocket for the little scrap of paper where he scribbled his cell number, email address, and username just before I left. I log into the college messaging platform that everyone uses but that I hardly ever do.
Clémentine gets in first.
Clemy_juicy: Hey, are you there? Where were you? With him?!
Alma_from_paris: Yes… Thanks for covering for me. Sorry my parents were harassing you.
Clemy_juicy: You know they called the cops?! And you didn’t answer your cell all night either! I freaked out! Did you get my messages?
Alma_from_paris: Phone’s dead. I have to go plug it in.
Clemy_juicy: OK, but after that you’ve gotta tell me everything!
A new chat window opens and blinks on my screen. My heart beats in sync with the blinking.
Arcadius: You can access the internet, so they haven’t put you in a convent:)
Alma_from_paris: Not yet. But I’m not allowed to go out all weekend. And for the rest of the week, I’m only allowed to leave the house for classes.
Arcadius: OK.
Alma_from_paris: Just OK?
Arcadius: Yeah. That’s life.
What’s he playing at?
Alma_from_paris: I don’t know who you are, Arcadius, but I want to chat with Vadim Arcadi. The one from last night.
Arcadius: What do you want me to say, Alma?
Alma_from_paris: That you miss me already? That you were worried about me? That you’re wondering how we’ll be able to see each other before seven endless days have passed?
Arcadius: We’ll see each other in class on Monday, Alma from Paris.
I can suddenly picture the cocky look on his face. As if he’s above everything. Above me.
Alma_from_paris: And that’s enough for you?
Arcadius: No, I can’t wait to see Timothy Wallace either. And your brother. They’ll keep us in line.
Arcadius: Oh, and Abrams. I’d forgotten about him.
I can’t help but smile. Maybe he’s not so indifferent after all.
Alma_from_paris: I’ll talk to Tim on Monday.
Arcadius: You didn’t promise me anything.
My stupid heart clenches.
Alma_from_paris: And you didn’t promise me anything either, is that what you mean?
Arcadius: That’s not what I said.
Alma_from_paris: You hinted at it so strongly that I can already imagine you putting another little tally mark on your list of conquests and thinking about your next prey.
Arcadius: Then you haven’t understood a thing. You still don’t know who I am.
Alma_from_paris: Tell me…
Arcadius: No, I don’t come with an instruction manual.
Alma_from_paris: Vadim, this isn’t a game anymore! Do you know what I risked so I could be with you? What last night means to me?
My eyes mist over.
He doesn’t answer me. He must be preparing the perfect comeback—the one that will either make me fall for him even more or destroy me and give him his freedom back. The final stage of his trap. The trap I fell into like the biggest fool of all.
I hate myself.
I hate him.
Arcadius: Yes, I know. And I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next night without you.
My stupid, stupid heart bursts.
Alma_from_paris: Then come to my place. If my parents won’t let me out, you can come here. They’ll be happy to meet my project partner. We can work together in my room. Or do something else…
Arcadius: You can’t ask that of me, Lancaster.
Alma_from_paris: Why?
Arcadius: You know why. They’re going to hate me the second they lay eyes on me. I don’t belong in their world. I have no business being there.
Alma_from_paris: But it’s my world, too… If you won’t be a part of it, what chance does that leave us?
Arcadius: You’re the one I’m interested in, Alma. Not your social status. Not your luxurious house, your expectations, or your manners. And not your servants who are gonna look down on me. And what’s next? Are you gonna ask me to dress like your brother?
I smile, imagining it.
Alma_from_paris: Well, I wore your leather jacket! You’d look oh-so-handsome in a navy-blue blazer.
Arcadius: I don’t even know what that is.
Alma_from_paris: Liar! You’re just scared.
Arcadius: You see, other people get scared too.
Flashes of last night come back to me, and butterflies settle in the pit of my stomach.
Alma_from_paris: Vadim Arcadi, do you have the guts to come to my place or not? Tomorrow, 3 p.m. You know the way. Proper attire required.
Arcadius: You see, you’re already trying to change me. It’s a no.
Alma_from_paris: I take it back. Come wearing nothing!
Arcadius: Only if you do the same.
Alma_from_paris: See you tomorrow, Vadim.
Arcadius: Alma, wait…
Alma_from_paris: If you care about me, you’ll come.