Page 48 of Host for the Holidays
“If that’s true, your mom will be relieved.” She turns toward me suddenly, forcing me to stop to avoid running into her.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“She told me about Madi.”
I stare at her for a few seconds, my brain working. “Did she send you here?” Élise doesn’t usually show up out of nowhere like she did today.
She only smiles. “She knew you had an American here. She said she called last night and the two of you were shopping together.” She shrugs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to talk with my mom about this stuff. “She wondered if there was something going on between the two of you.”
“Well, you can tell my mom”—I say it with a look that tells Élise how I feel about her acting as a spy for my own mother—“not to worry. There’s nothing happening.”
Élise has this way of looking at you that makes you feel see-through, like she’s inspecting all the parts you least want inspected. In that way, she actually kind of reminds me of my mom.
“Just be careful, Rémy. I don’t think your mom can handle losing you to an American.”
Now I’m getting annoyed. Maybe it’s because she’s right. My mom’s bias against all things American has a lot to do with feeling like her American husband abandoned her for his career and country. Either way, it’s not really Élise’s place to lecture me on this.
“Like I said before, there’s nothing going on between Madi and me. She has a boyfriend. Soon-to-be fiancé. And she’s only here for another two weeks.”
“Why does it matter how long she’s here if she has a soon-to-be fiancé?”
I fumble for a second over my words because she has a point. “It doesn’t.”
Élise takes another step toward me—a step into the bubble of space that a person only enters for a few distinct reasons.
“Then why have you been keeping me at arm’s length while I’ve been here?”
She’s looking up at me right now, her eyes full of an implicit invitation:let’s pick back up where we left off last time. Honestly, it would make my life easier in a lot of ways if I just listened and did that. It would quiet Élise’s and my mom’s fears about Madi, and maybe it would help me drown out my growing feelings for Madi too.
But it’s the coward’s way out, and, in the long run, it only complicates things. What if Élise came to think I was using her to get the position at Bellevue? It’s better to be completely upfront.
“Élise,” I say, taking a gentle step back, “I want to be honest with you because I care about you. You’re my friend, and you have been for a long time.”
At that last word, the light in her eyes shifts, becoming less inviting and a bit more guarded. But sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, and I don’t want to lead Élise on.
My voice is soft as the next words come out. “Friends is how I want to keep things between us.”
She holds my gaze for a second, then turns around, heading for the coffee table, where I’ve gathered all the things for Madi’s room. “I’ll just help you with the last things. I have to leave to go to dinner with friends soon.”
I don’t believe her. Earlier, she mentioned hanging around for the evening here, and it’s not anywhere near dinnertime. But I also don’t blame her for making up plans with friends. I did the same thing this morning with Madi.
She picks up the bedspread Madi chose for thechambre de bonne, and my heart does a weird, anxious flip. “You don’t have to do that, Élise.”
She swivels her upper body to look at me, hand still on the duvet cover. She’s clearly looking for some explanation—maybe she thinks I just want her to leave.
“I told Madi she could do the decorating in her room.”
That left eyebrow lifts just the slightest bit. It’s the definition of tiny but mighty.
“The room she’s staying in,” I correct myself, suppressing the impulse to smack myself in the head.
Élise will be reporting back to my mom on all this, and it’s not going to be a glowing report. I’d better call my mom soon and reassure her that her son isn’t going to abandon her for the land of hot dogs and Hollywood.
When Élise leaves a few minutes later, I shut the door, head straight for my room, and let myself fall back on the bed. I rub my hands over my face and, surrendering after some seriously impressive self-control, I pull out my phone to check for a text from Madi.
Nothing.
What is wrong with me?
