Page 50 of Bittersweet Revenge

“Oui,” Esmeralda replied with a nod.

Oh, for the love of God!Antoine should have at leasttriedto teach her something during the pretend tutorial sessions. They were not even attempting to make their story stick; it was insulting to me. I laughed, tucking Esmeralda into my side and kissing the side of her face.

“You’ve got to stop doing that to people. They will think you don’t understand.” I shook my head while looking at the librarian. “Sorry, she is still very uncomfortable speaking French with anyone other than Antoine St-Vincent. She doesn’t even try with me, so she pretends she doesn’t understand.”

“Esmeralda, please.” I squeezed her hand.“If you’re uncomfortable, reply in English. I’m sure Ms…”

“White,” the librarian offered.

“Yes, I'm sure Ms. White wants to know how Paris was.”

“Okay,” she sighed, looking at me gratefully before turning toward the librarian. “He told you my secret. I don’t like speaking French, but Paris was amazing. The Eiffel towers, the baguettes, the French people with the berets...”

I groaned internally. How did I ever think this girl was a mastermind? She was the worst liar in history. She was a second away from mentioning the garlic-wearing cyclists and Pepe Le Pew.

“She followed her mother's journal; it was quite emotional.”

“Her journal?” Ms. White’s voice faltered. She didn't know that journal existed, but she didn't like that it did. “That’s exciting.” No, she was not excited.

She was scared.

I frowned. The signs were few, but undeniable. Her eyes were a bit wide. Her brows were raised and drawn togetherin a flat line. Her mouth was open, lips slightly tensed. Why did the journal scare her?

“Did you know Esmeralda’s mom?”

“Her mom?” She blinked in rapid succession. “No? Why would I know your mom? Has she come to the school in the past five years?” she asked, rubbing her chin. Damn, she was a textbook liar. No, something was wrong with her and I hated that.

“Caleb.”” Esmeralda shook her head. “Sorry Ms. White. You see I’m asking because–”

“Because she wanted to know if you have any photos of our parents here somewhere so she can get more photos of her mom.”

“Oh.” She shook her head sadly. “No, I’m sorry, Esmeralda. I have nothing. I can only imagine how much you miss her. I’m very sorry I couldn't help.”

She didn’t look sorry; she looked relieved.

I shrugged. “It was worth asking.” I looked at my watch. “We better go, babe. We don't want to be too late.”

She looked up at me, an eyebrow raised and mouthing the word ‘babe’.

The librarian looked at me, trying to hide her contempt.The dislike is mutual, woman, don’t worry. When she turned to Esmeralda, her smile was once more genuine and her eyes had some warmth. It was the only reason why I didn't try to expose her straight away. “Come see me again soon, okay? I would love to discuss your trip with you.”

“Sure, I promise,” Esmeralda called as I pulled her out of the library.

“Babe?” she tried.

“Not a fan?”

She grimaced. “No, not really.” She pointed at the library as I kept on pulling her down the corridor, not sure where I was taking her. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but that woman lied. She doesn't know about the journal, but she knows your mom or of her.”

“How do you–”

I waved my hand dismissively. We didn’t have the time to get into the details. “Just trust me on this. She doesn't like me, but again, who does? She is defensive, even a little scared, and she looked familiar.”

“Yes. She is your school librarian.”

“No.,” I shook my head. “It’s something else. Do you think I acknowledge the help?”

---