Page 12 of Only You
‘The weather is quite nice, don’t you think?’
‘Must you always start our strolls with the same observation?’
Sabine scoffed as she looked over her shoulder towards him. ‘You’ve yet to complain. Why start now?’
‘I believe two months is long enough to endure.’
‘Says the one never willing to contribute,’ Sabine said quickly. ‘If you have a more interesting observation, please delight us both.’
Damien smirked at the frustration in her voice, already amused by her impatience. Truly, it was the best part of his days. When General Roulet said protecting her would be one of his hardest jobs, he thought it would be due to Sabine being stubborn or helping her adjust to French society – but no.
There was a lack of anything to do other than watch her. Most faux pas were avoided thanks to Madame Roulet, and Sabine was prim and proper at every turn. She stayed home reading most days until she had to meet an acquaintance Madame Roulet invited to the house, which was practically every other day. Those meant dinners and after-dinner conversations before finally retiring for the night to wake up and do it all over again without showing a hint of disdain.
The boredom he could endure, but the restlessness was new. His only outlet for any energy was their daily strolls through the Jardin du Luxembourg and their occasional fencing sessions. Seeing her façade slip for a moment was a relief; he didn’t understand how she hadn’t gone mad by now.
‘Mademoiselle Kouassi, you and I both know that is not my role.’
‘Perhaps, we should switch. You make conversation and I brood.’ She looked over her shoulder and frowned, scrunching her brows together in what he guessed was supposed to be an imitation of him.
‘Brooding is my specialty,’ he simply said.
‘How do you not go mad not speaking all the time?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder once more. He always stayed a few steps behind her, far enough to represent her status, near enough to interfere when pickpockets lingered too close.
‘The same way you don’t go mad having to make so many conversations about nothing.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Endurance.’
Damien almost laughed as they walked past a group of people listening to a street musician. They were too comfortable for the public setting. Quips during fencing practice was one thing but outside the house, there were many prying ears. He had to remember to be more careful.
When she looked back again, he made sure to observe the crowd. No angry commoners today, but the tide could always turn. Protests had occurred over less than a beautiful, wealthy foreigner strolling through the street.
Beautiful.Damien scoffed at himself.
‘And what do you find so funny?’ Sabine asked. ‘Life,’ Damien answered easily. ‘It’s ironic.’
‘How so?’
‘How not? People kill themselves to stay alive, which they can barely enjoy for one reason or another. Always family or position or something else equally petty. I assume Côte d’Ivoire is not so different.’
‘From what I’ve seen, you Frenchmen seem determined to enjoy yourselves to the fullest,’ she snapped.
Damien looked at her in mild shock, and she blushed at her sudden outburst.
‘I mean, there are bigger concerns at the moment. Right now, the main hope for my country is a peaceful… transition.’
Damien grimaced but understood. He had heard more than enough tales of Africa. Everyday there were merchants seizing the chance to bring home exotic goods and jewels, and the lengths they were willing to go for them. Gold, cocoa, ivory and diamonds all within arm’s reach, supposedly.All at a cost, he thought, as he looked back at Sabine.
He was well aware of the price of France’s expansion – the amount of African blood spilled for it – but he felt separated from it. He didn’t agree with his home country’s land race with the English and Germans, but he couldn’t help but wonder what price those in Mali and Benin had to pay for ‘French advancement’? What didshehave to pay for another country’s greed?
When they passed the crowd, he stepped closer until they were side-by-side.
‘That’s the wish of sensible people, but these are not sensible times. Not yet, anyway,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘Some people like to dance in the ashes of their own fires.’
‘I hope it keeps them warm at night.’
Damien chuckled and she looked at him curiously before asking, ‘What is your name? I mean, your last name. Everyone calls you by your first name.’
‘You already know it,’ he told her. She looked at him inquiringly as he joined her side. ‘I don’t have a last name, nor did I adopt one. I have no family. I grew up on the streets until the general found me. Damien is a name I chose for myself and the only one I care about.’
