Page 32 of City of Love

Noel shakes his head. “If you say so. They sound horrible.”

We chat for the next few minutes until Noel gives me a little nudge, indicating our stop. The whole metro system is a little stressful to me, so I’m glad he’s here. I just picture myself getting on the wrong train and somehow ending up in Germany or something.

Knowing me, it could happen.

We get off the metro, and I loop my arm through Noel’s as we walk, partly for high heel support and partly because…well, because I want to. He glances down at me only for a second before looking back ahead.

Is that good? Bad? Does he want me to move my arm? I look up at him discreetly, but I’m able to read exactly nothing on his face. He’s been pretty touchy feely, so I figured it would be all right, but—

“Relax, Lydia.” Noel’s wry voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “You’ve got my arm in a death grip.”

He’s right. Awkward.

“Sorry,” I say, loosening my grip a little. “I was just stressing out.”

“About the jewelry store?” he says, frowning over at me.

“About holding your arm,” I confess. “Is that okay?”

His frown is replaced by a new smile—how does he have so many? It’s not quite a smirk, but there’s sort of a Mona Lisa effect going on, like he’s smiling at a private joke. I could almost call it smug. Cohen gets a similar look when he’s feeling particularly proud of himself.

“I’ll tell you if I have a problem with anything you do,” he says, giving my arm a little squeeze. “Don’t worry,chérie.”

I exhale. “Right. Okay.” I pause, stopping midstride. “It’s just—can I just say something?”

I’ve never been particularly shy, but this is going to stretch the bounds even for me.

Noel looks at me with one brow raised, waiting.

I take a deep breath before speaking. “I’m not hitting on you,” I say, the words rushing out. “I mean, I’m not trying to flirt or anything. I don’t want you to think I am.”

His maybe-smug smile softens. “I know,” he says. “And I’m not either. You know that?”

“I do,” I say. It was pretty clear from the way he handled our earlier interaction. And it’s better that way, no matter how handsome or strangely comforting he is. I’m only here for a month, and anyway, starting something with Noel would ruin our friendship.

Yeah, bad idea.

My phone chimes, and I welcome the break in our conversation. I pull it out of my purse without stopping to wonder who would be texting me.

The sick, sinking feeling in the out of my stomach when I see the text clues me in.

I’ll see you tomorrow, sexy. Wear something red for me.

The number isn’t one I recognize, but this is clearly Marcus.

Chapter 11

Lydia

Iread the text again. I’ll see you tomorrow, sexy. Wear something red for me.

I’m suddenly tempted to find everything red in my closet and burn it. I can picture Marcus’s eyes flashing even as I read his words—can picture his leer as his gaze runs over my body.

I swallow. “Are we seeing my French class tomorrow?” I say to Noel.

“Not sure,” he says. “Maybe. Why?”

I’m about to lie, to tell him I wasn’t asking for any particular reason, before I remember that this is Noel—the only person who knows everything about my history with Marcus.

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