Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
The twenty-four-hour clinic is small and located on a run-down road in a poorly lit area.
It appears to be a walk-in clinic, and there is a long wait.
It’s almost midnight when we finally see the doctor, a gruff older man who does not speak English and who seems like he resents working the night shift.
Luca negotiates with him for what feels like a worryingly long time until he agrees to treat me.
I see Luca slip him a wad of euros, which could be why the doctor doesn’t look at the form Luca fills out for me with a fake name.
He gives me a brace for my wrist after popping the joint back into place.
It’s horrifically painful, and I’m sorry to say I cry again.
Dane’s face goes tight at my tears, and Xhan makes him leave the exam room.
“Don’t use it for a while,” the doctor says in French, which Luca translates. That’s the extent of his medical input. We’re free to go. No pain meds, but Luca assures me he has some at their apartment.
As Xhan drives us back into Paris, I ask, “How much has Dane told you about the puzzles we’ve been solving?”
“Just about the egg in the cathedral and the note in the cemetery,” Luca says. “Dane texted that you were coming to Paris for the third puzzle.”
Again, that bitter feeling hits that it would have been nice to know that Dane was telling his friends about this.
“The third puzzle is at the Louvre,” Dane says. “Tomorrow morning at 9:22.”
“Best get some sleep, then,” Luca says. “You can catch us up on everything else in the morning.”
Xhan parks alongside a tall building in a lane barely big enough for her car in the fourth arrondissement, the Marais district.
The building is old and would be unsightly anywhere else.
But here, because it’s Paris, it’s charming, with ornate wrought iron lanterns and the requisite flower boxes hanging from the windows.
We go into a small apartment, which is so narrow that there’s only one small window in the living room.
The kitchen is an abbreviated L shape, with appliances that don’t quite fit the tiny area.
The furnishings feel shabby and ill fitting to the space.
It doesn’t seem lived in, like it’s a short-term rental.
At least there are two bedrooms. The apartment probably costs a fortune in rent.
The second bedroom only has room enough for a double bed and a wardrobe, and one tiny bedside table.
Luca hands me two white pills for the pain, and I down them without questioning what they are.
Xhan lends me a T-shirt to sleep in, and Luca gives Dane a pair of sweats.
She hands us new toothbrushes and toothpaste, and says, “Get some sleep and we’ll chat tomorrow. ”
Dane sits on the edge of the bed once she’s gone and rubs a hand over his face. He looks as exhausted as I feel. “I know you have questions. Ask me anything, Zoe.”
Changing and collapsing into bed sound divine, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity to get answers. I lean against the wardrobe. “You work with them, or went to elementary school together, or what?”
“They both work for me. They’re my best friends. They live here, in Paris.”
Again, there’s that twinge of feeling out of the loop. Before I can pick apart the layers of why it matters, he says, “I didn’t tell you because I was hoping we wouldn’t need to see them.”
“You didn’t want me to meet your best friends.” I nod, unable to halt the pinch of hurt that comes for me although I can’t justify it. Not after three days.
“No. We—I didn’t…” He sighs. “It isn’t that. I had it in my head that I’d only call them if we needed help.”
I think I understand. I didn’t expect I’d be in Paris, somehow caring that Dane has friends here who he didn’t tell me about.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he says. “I don’t always do this kind of thing right.”
“What kind of thing? Racing across Europe in the Enigma Challenge? You’ve done it twice.”
He shakes his head. “Communicate.”
“I’m not always good at it either,” I say.
I can’t expect him to do things that a normal friend or partner would do.
There’s a silence, and it seems that’s the end of it.
I go into the small attached bathroom to brush my teeth.
The meds are starting to kick in, because the ragged edge of the pain is gone, which is a relief.
When I come out, Dane hasn’t moved from where he was sitting.
I realize getting out of my dress with one hand is going to be difficult. I dither: Ask him to help or go ask Xhan? He looks up and walks over. Before I can ask, he lets down the back zipper. The fabric falls away, leaving my back exposed.
“I—” I need more than just an unzip. He needs to unclasp my bra too. No. I’ll just sleep in it.
“Hang on.” His fingers brush my skin, and my bra loosens. He moves away toward the bathroom.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“No problem. Sometimes I fuck up, but I am good for a zipper.”
“Dane,” I say. He pauses at the bathroom door. “You didn’t fuck up.”
He stares at me for a long moment before nodding.
“My parents frequently said that I was the embarrassing son. Especially after they were visited by the FBI. I couldn’t blame them.
I believed it for a long time. Not so much anymore—Xhan and Luca have helped a lot with that.
But it means that I’ve historically kept things to myself. ”
My heart cramps to hear he had to deal with that. He doesn’t wait for me to reply. He closes the bathroom door behind him.
I wiggle out of my dress and bra and get into the shirt Xhan lent me.
I turn off the small lamp and slide under the covers.
Moments later, he comes out of the bathroom, and I hear the quiet shuffle of clothing.
I’ve spent the past minutes mentally wrestling with whether I should say more on the whole how-much-do-we-tell-each-other topic, whether I should say he’s not obligated or that yes, I want to hear everything.
Obviously it’s door number two. I want to know everything about him, but we owe each other nothing, except perhaps trust during this challenge.
I decide I’m not going to say anything, but the bed dips with his weight as he gets in, and I change my mind.
“Dane. I don’t want you to think I’m demanding that you tell me everything about your life. ”
There’s a long pause. “I don’t think you’re doing that.”
“All I knew about you three days ago was that Eric hated you for being an evil cryptology bro.”
He gives a light huff of laughter, both amused and chagrined at once. I’m starting to recognize the nuances of the sounds he makes. “Jury’s still out on that.”
“I am the jury,” I say. “And if you want to avoid a conviction, warn me of any nasty surprises that you know of, before they happen.”
“I didn’t know Allard would be there tonight. I would have taken our chances and refused to go. It sounds like he hid until I was out of the room.”
“Is he the worst out there, or is there someone else I need to worry about?”
“Allard and the 1982 are the worst out there.”
“If I never see either of them again, I’ll die happily.”
He grunts in agreement. I’m recognizing his grunts too.
We fall into a silence. His breathing turns soft and even.
Luca’s pill has made me drowsy, but I can’t drift off.
The soldier trick doesn’t work, as usual.
The bed is smaller than the one we had in Barcelona, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
When he shifts slightly in his sleep, his shoulder brushes mine. I freeze. He’s not wearing a shirt.
I wait, but he doesn’t move again. Gently, carefully, I shift my hand so it brushes his side.
Definitely not wearing a shirt.
I realize I’m holding my breath. The urge to run my hand over his chest and feel the rest of him is sharp. Insistent. I want to feel the smoothness of his skin. The slopes of his muscles. To ease the temptation, I move my arm so my hand is away from him.
He may not be the most morally clean person in the world, but that feeling I had in Barcelona comes back: that everything that we’ve done hasn’t been terrible because it’s been enjoyable with him. Even the horror of the wine cellar tonight was tempered by how glad I was to see him.
Dane shifts, turning onto his side, and I revel in his body heat. It takes everything I have in me not to lean back into him. Would it be terrible if I did lean back? If he leaned into me, I don’t think I’d mind.
I know I wouldn’t. And it’s that thought—and the larger question of what that means—that plays like a loop as I finally drift off.