Page 26 of Host for the Holidays
I manage a smile. It’s silly to feel jealous of a business relationship. Besides, it’s not like I have any place to talk. Rémy and I have been together a lot since I got here. In fact, I haven’t spent anywhere near this much time alone with a guy besides Josh since we started dating—well, aside from Siena’s brothers, but they don’t count.
Josh doesn’t seem to mind, either. He’s just more mature than I am, I’ve decided. He’s got life figured out, while I’m still puttering around.
“Did you do anything today?” Josh asks, patting the seat next to him on the couch. It’s between him and Rémy, who’s putting away his work stuff into his briefcase.
“Yes,” I say, taking the seat. “This museum was amazing, Josh! My dream location for a shoot.”
“Awesome,” Josh says. “Was it the Louvre?”
I shake my head. “It’s this one really close to here called Carnavalet. And it wasfree.I took way too many pictures. What would you say, Rémy? Like, a hundred?”
Rémy laughs as he shuts his briefcase. “At least. But they were all worth it.”
“Oh,” Josh says, trying to sound enthusiastic.
My smile fades.Shoot. Heisjealous. He didn’t really mean it when he told Rémy to take me around. I must have missed the signs. This was a test, and I failed.
“A small, free museum is cool, I guess,” he says. “I just thought you’d wanna go see some of the bigger Paris sites.”
“I do,” I say, feeling relieved but also kind of weird. “I just wanted to save those for when we can go together.”
He shrugs, grabbing the remote. “Of course we’ll see them together, but I’ve already seen them all. We can go again once all my trainings are over. You should take advantage of the time I’m at work to see as much of the city as you can, Mads. Especially if Rémy here can show you around.” He smiles as he flips through the shows. “He said he doesn’t mind. Right, Rémy?”
Rémy looks at me like he wants to ask me something. I’m sure I’m not hiding my feelings well. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve; I wear it on my face.
“Not at all,” Rémy says, his eyes flitting to me again.
Josh smiles and puts an arm around me, relaxing down into the couch. “Awesome. That means we can relax at night together because, lemme tell ya, I’m beat after these long days at work!”
Josh starts upParks and Rec, and my eyes are on the screen, but my mind is very much elsewhere.
He’s doing it again.
It’s Jack this time. He prides himself on “telling it to me straight.” Sometimes I don’t want it straight, though. Sometimes I want the swirly, cinnamon roll version of life where everyone tells me what I want to hear. I want Jack to say, “I’m sure this time will be different, and Josh will come through.”
I guess that’s the problem, though. Josh sold me the swirly, cinnamon roll version of Paris. Turns out, that cinnamon roll is stale, and the delicious cream cheese frosting is more like straight Crisco. At least for now. It will be better once his trainings are done, I’m sure. I guess I can safely assume no engagements will be happening until then, either.
He stays awake almost an hour this time. I’mthisclose to confronting him about my bed situation, but I don’t want to make things awkward for Rémy by having the discussion in front of him. Also, I can see Josh offering to find me a new place, and I don’t reallywantto leave. The bed isn’t ideal, no, but at least here I’ve got Rémy.
In any case, I don’t feel bad about waking Josh up five minutes after he falls asleep. I’m tired, and Josh’s shoulder isn’t really appealing to me at the moment. I warned you I’m less mature than he is, didn’t I? I’m a five-year-old having a tantrum because I was promised bubble gum ice cream and got vanilla.
It’s dumb and childish. I’m in Paris, for heaven’s sake. I have no reason to complain. It’s probably just the lingering jetlag making me moody. In the morning, I’ll feel myself again.
THIRTEEN
MADI
Idon’tfeel entirelymyself when I wake up in the morning. Maybe that’s partially becausemyselfwould never willingly choose to sleep next to a five-foot drop. Myself would also never choose to pee behind a red curtain. This room is like some sick game show I never wanted to be on, but apparently the price was right for a toilet to be the prize behind curtain number two. No pun intended.
The first thing I do once I’ve climbed down my ladder is open the window.
I regret my choice as a burst of arctic wind blows at my face. I brace myself and stick my head out. Yep, sure enough, my bra is still hanging outside Rémy’s window. Can I just leave it there and pretend someone else’s underwear happened to float onto his laundry rack?
Even the most rose-colored glass version of Madi knows that’s a hard sell. It’s okay, though. Maybe I can sneak into his room while he’s at work today and snatch it.
Rémy’s having breakfast at the table when I get downstairs. He’s already dressed for work in another blazer and button-up shirt. Siena would probably let herself admire him for a minute or two—I can hear her comparing him to a J Crew model—but I refrain.
Today is a longer day for Rémy. I know that from talking to him on the way back from getting falafel last night. He teaches class nineteen hours a week, holds office hours for his students, grades papers, tweaks lesson plans, and attends mandatory meetings for the teachers at Lycée Michel Gontier—that’s the name of the high school he works at. It’s just a couple metro stops away, which he loves, since before coming to stay here, he was commuting from his mom’s house every day for 45 minutes each way.
