8

NOW

Maxie arrived at the hospital and found Isaac on the floor beside his bed, shirtless, doing push-ups. She couldn't help but smile. "I thought you were starting to look flabby," she teased, leaning over his bed. He looked up at her and grinned.

"Yeah, well, someone's been bringing me pecans and cupcakes and all kinds of cookies and shit. It's no wonder." He finished his set and rose to his feet. "All I do all day is lay in this bed and eat snacks."

Maxie's eyes danced over his bare chest and muscular arms. Perfect. Absolutely flawless. Every inch of him. "I think you can stand to have a few snacks."

"I never used to eat that stuff. I don't even like sweets."

"My sweets aren't like other sweets," she said, plopping down in the chair.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he said, "I bet." He climbed back into his bed and faced her. "Do you work out?"

"I used to. I was a dancer."

"And you're not anymore?"

She shook her head. "I sort of... fell out of it. Besides, now I have tattoos," she said. He'd noticed them. Big and colorful and vibrant, mostly on her back, though there were a few others scattered randomly on her body. He'd been unable to tell she had any at first glance, but the more she visited, the more he noticed them. It was hard for him not to wonder about the ones he still couldn't see. "When have you ever seen a tattooed ballerina?"

"I have a tattoo," he said. He looked down at his chest, where the single word was written in script across his heart: Hers. He chuckled. "I can't believe I have a tattoo. I don't even know what it means." He looked back up at Maxie, who—red-faced—averted her eyes.

"It's for your mother."

"Van told me."

"So...?"

"So, it's just not like me. Yet again." Looking over her tattoos, he said, "Maybe you influenced me. You have so many. Do they all mean something?"

"Most of them," she said. "Some don't, though. A friend of mine, Bea, is a tattoo artist. Sometimes she draws nice things, and I let her tattoo them on me."

"Right, because if you can't use a friend as a human canvas, what are they good for?"

Maxie chuckled. "Bea did your tattoo."

His eyes widened. "Were you there?"

"You cried like a baby." Isaac scoffed and Maxie laughed. "At least you still know yourself, Isaac. You took the pain like the muscle-man you are."

"And how do you take the pain?" he asked.

With a chuckle, she admitted, "Not so good, actually. I can't relate to people who have tattoos that didn't hurt. All of my tattoos hurt."

"So why do you keep getting them?"

"Because," she said, "once the pain is gone, I have this beautiful thing to look at. Forever. Not many painful things in life leave you with scars that are beautiful."

For a moment, he stared at her. Young and pretty, free-spirited, maybe. Or just rebellious. He wasn't sure yet. Her face was youthful, but her eyes were filled with experience, as her words were filled with allusions. "Childbirth does," he finally said. "Why don't you just keep having babies?"

She laughed again, harder than last time. The sound was light and melodic, effortless. His eyes moved over her face: her wide smile, her cheek bones raised against her eyes, her long lashes fanning out across her lids. But when she looked back at him, she suddenly stopped laughing, stopped smiling. Her face reddened, and to his dismay, she turned her head.

It usually went like that when she visited. He would talk and she would laugh, which made Isaac pause to stare at her every time. And then she would notice, and stop, and look away, and blush, and Isaac would remind himself to be subtler next time, though he always failed.

"So, I get out of here soon," he said, changing the subject so she would look at him again.

"I bet you're excited."

He shrugged. "I don't know what I am. I have no idea what I'm going back to. How am I supposed to pick up when I don't have the slightest clue where I left off?"

"You're a survivor. You'll be alright. And you'll always have us. Me and Van," she clarified.

"Yeah, Van. She asked me to stay with you guys for a while. Just until I... You know."

Maxie's mouth fell open. For a moment, she didn't reply. "Just until what?" she said, at last. Then she quickly dropped her eyes. "I mean... I'm sorry, that was rude. I don't mean to sound like you're not welcome."

"It's fine. I understand. I'm not really sure about it myself. I haven't had a fucking roommate since college. Let alone two women. My girlfriend that I don't even know."

"So you're not? Going to stay with us, I mean." She hoped she didn't sound too eager.

"Van says I practically live with you, anyway—"

"You spend the night sometimes, but I wouldn't say you live with us."

"And I think it may be helpful, just having someone vaguely familiar around for a while." He looked her straight in the eye. "Someone I trust."

She hoped he didn't see the way his words warmed her.

"Well," she said, defeated—or maybe she surrendered. "I guess it isn't such a bad idea for you to come stay for a while. Just until..."

He smiled. "Right. Just until."

Would it be terrible? she asked herself. It wasn't like his presence around the apartment would be anything new. He did practically live there already. She was used to cooking for him. She was used to getting up in the morning to find him doing push-ups in the living room. She was used to him finishing the milk and leaving the carton on the counter. She was used to him forgetting to turn off the hall light before he went to bed.

She was used to seeing him with Van. She had mastered the art of watching them kiss without grimacing. She could now see Van touch him, without looking away. She'd been doing it for over a year already. She was used to it.

But could she get used to nights without him showing up in her room to kiss her and wish her sweet dreams? Could she get used to seeing him hug Van, and not blow her a kiss over her friend's shoulder? Could she get used to serving him dinner, and not have him whisper, "I want you for dessert," without Van hearing? There would be no more subtle glances between them, no more secret grazes and caresses, no more silent I love you's, spoken without even a word. Could she get used to that?

"I saw your Aunt Jenny yesterday. She stopped by before she left," Maxie said.

Isaac nodded. "Yeah. She was sorry to go, I think."

"She said she'll be back soon. To check on you. And she also invited you and Van to go visit her soon."

"Me and Van, huh? She didn't even know about Van. Not before all of this happened, anyway. Neither did Gnar. Or anyone, for that matter. I didn't tell anyone about her."

Maxie shrugged. "Are you surprised? Some things about you changed over the last year and a half, Isaac, but you're still the same unforthcoming, tightlipped cynic you've always been."

"I didn't say I was surprised," he replied. "I'm not at all surprised I never told anyone about Van. I'm not a fucking gossiping female. I was, however, surprised that everyone seemed to know who you were."

Her eyes widened. "Me?"

"You," he said. "Maxie. The girl I was shot protecting. The girl who knew to call my aunt. The girl who, allegedly, I speak often and very highly of." His eyebrows raised. Maxie said nothing. "Gnar even thought we may have..." Her heart pace quickened, she felt short of breath. "Had something between us."

Struggling to keep the truth from her eyes, she forced a smile. "That's ridiculous."

He nodded. "That's what I said. And he was happy to hear it, too. I guess he's been interested in you for a while."

Maxie's mouth fell agape. "He told you that?" It seemed like only the day before Gnar wouldn't have even thought of admitting such a thing to Isaac. And Isaac certainly wouldn't have thought of relaying it.

"Are you single?" he asked.

"What?" she nearly shrieked. Was he trying to set her up? With Gnar? No, it couldn't be. Not Isaac, not the man who was in love with her. Not the man who dared any other to even glance at her when they were together. Van or no Van, Alex or no Alex, Isaac had always been jealous, always so possessive. Maxie was his.

Sensing her angst, Isaac said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I told him I didn't think you were single. You have a boyfriend, right? Allen, or something?"

"Alex," she corrected, her voice low and tormented. "We broke up."

"Oh. Sorry to hear it."

Sorry?

She stood and draped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She needed to get out. Get away from him. She needed to cry. She needed to smoke. "Well, I'm going to go. See you soon?"

He frowned. "Maxie, wait." Why did he always want to her wait? "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you—"

"You didn't," she said quickly. "It's fine. I just have to go."

Before he could reply, the door opened and Van sauntered in. "Oh, hey, Max," she said. She went to Isaac's side and sat down on the bed. "Hi, babe. I brought you something."

Maxie paused to watch Isaac's arm fall around Van. He smiled at her. The way he never smiled at her. Was he falling for her? Honestly falling for her? Swallowing the lump in her throat, Maxie turned away. After all, it was what she had intended when she'd decided not to tell him. Give them a real chance. "Well, I'll see you guys later."

"I brought you food," Van said, not even looking up at her friend. "Baked chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes. No lumps, like you like them."

Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but Maxie spoke instead. "Actually, he likes lumps."

Both he and Van looked up at her, eyes wide. "Well," Van said, clearing her throat. "She would know. She's the one who cooks for us."

Actually, Maxie thought, turning to the door. I cook for him.

"Maxie!" Bea cried into the phone. "Fuck, I've been calling you for a half hour!"

"Sorry, I was on the train," she said. She stood in the elevator of her building as it made its slow ascent to her floor. Bea said something else, but her words came out choppy and unclear. "What? Bea, you're breaking up. What did you say?"

"I said..." Nothing... "by my apartment today and I told him..." Nothing... "so I think he's probably going to show..." Nothing... "I wanted to warn you before you..." Nothing.

With a sigh, Maxie pulled her phone from her ear and looked at it. No service bars. She was surprised she heard anything. "Bea, can I call you back in a minute? I'm in the elevator, I don't have service."

"No! Listen to me! Don't go...." Nothing... "Alex will be..."

Maxie gasped. Alex? "What? Bea, hold on. What about Alex?"

"He..." Nothing. "...And I think he's going to..."

Maxie sighed in frustration. As soon as the elevator doors slid open, she stepped out, thrusting her phone forward to get service. "Okay," she said. "I can hear you."

"Good," Bea said, breathlessly. "I was saying that Alex showed up at my apartment again."

"He did?"

"I told him you weren't here, and he asked where he could find you. I told him I didn't know, but I wanted to warn you that he's probably going to try your place next. And I'm pretty sure he's been drinking." Just as Bea said the words, Maxie turned the corner and there Alex was, standing in front of her door. When he turned and saw her there, his eyes lit up. "You should probably just head over here if you want to avoid him. Or maybe hide out for a few minutes until you're sure he's not there."

With a sigh, Maxie said, "Thanks, Bea, but I'm here."

"Is he there?"

"Yes."

Bea sighed in defeat. "Shit, Max. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, going to him. "I'll call you later."

She hung up the phone and looked at Alex. He appeared tired, worn out. His tiny curls were unkempt, his eyes were dark. He managed a smile, though. As soon as he saw her, he smiled. "Hey, Max," he said.

"Hi," she said, stopping a few feet short of him. She could smell the alcohol on him from where she stood.

"How are you?"

"Not so good," she admitted. "Pretty tired. I just want to go inside and rest."

He nodded. "I understand. I just want to talk to you for a minute. I feel like things ended badly between us. I don't even know why. I just want to talk."

"Can we talk another time?"

His brows furrowed and he dropped his eyes. "Why are you being like this? Don't I at least deserve an explanation? I know I've done some fucked up things in the past, but I've been trying to make up for them."

"This isn't about what you've done in the past," she said.

"Then what's it about?" he insisted. "I love you, Max. I know I don't say it enough, but you know that, don't you?"

Guilt settled on her chest, suffocating her. She couldn't look in his face, into his beseeching eyes. Alex long ago stopped being the bad guy and became the victim, even if he didn't know it. The moment Maxie gave in to her feelings for Isaac, the moment Alex became just a distraction, just a cover, was the moment he became the victim. "You deserve better than me," she said.

Confusion seized his features. He shook his head, reaching out for her. "Why would you think that? I deserve better than you? What twisted world are you living in? After everything I've done—"

"I forgive you," she said.

"That's not enough."

"Well, what else do you want?"

"I want you to give us another chance."

"Alex, no."

"Why?" he probed, his voice rising. His fingers wrapped tightly around her shoulders, his eyes were wide with anguish. Why couldn't it be Isaac standing before her? Why couldn't it be Isaac desperate for her affection? "Do you know what I've been going through without you this past couple of weeks? You have no idea. I don't think I realized myself how much you mean to me. I gave you the time you asked for, Max. Please, I'm just asking you to consider this."

His hands trailed down her arm, his fingers entwined themselves in hers. "I've lied to you. I've cheated on you. I've... I've done a shit ton of other things that I don't deserve your forgiveness for—"

"What about what I've done, Alex?"

"I don't care," he said.

"I care—"

Her words were cut short when he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She tried to pull back, but he held her in place, kissed her with hunger and passion and need. After a moment, she succumbed to his longing, stopped fighting and let him take whatever he needed from her. So long she'd been taking only what she needed from him.

Comfort when she felt suffocated by Van. Company when she felt lonely. Entertainment when she felt bored. He was a distraction when she felt shunned. He was a buoy when she felt as if she would drown in her own love for Isaac. He was a ploy when anyone got suspicious.

He pulled away but kept his forehead pressed against hers. "You've made me a better person, Maxie," he whispered.

I'm a horrible person.

"I've never loved a girl like I love you."

I've never loved you like I love Isaac.

"I never will."

Neither will I.

Resting her hands on his, she gently pulled back. "You should go," she murmured, averting her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alex."

Dropping his arms, he stepped away from her. For a moment, thick silence occupied the air between them. Alex simply stood there, looking at her. And she stood there, waist deep in her own guilt and remorse. "Is it because of him?" he finally asked. The words came out so low that Maxie thought she misheard.

"What? Who?"

"You know who," he said. "You think I'm blind, don't you? Van may be blind, but I'm not. I fucking see everything."

Shaking her head, she tried to move past him. "I don't know what you're talking about. You should go."

He stepped in her path, blocking the door. "You never looked at me the way you looked at him. From the very start, he's had you. And you're so bad at hiding it, Max, I don't know how Van still doesn't know."

"Please, stop. There's no one else, Alex."

"You think I'm stupid? Is that what you think?"

"No, I just—"

"You're stupid!" he lashed out. "He's been playing with you, for a whole fucking year! More than that! I don't care how the hell he looked at you. At night, he was in Van's bed. Right now, Van is at his side. And what are you left with?"

Maxie bit down on her bottom lip, kept her eyes shut tightly, but there was no hiding her distress. Hot tears found their way out and streamed down her cheeks. "Please, stop," she choked out.

Exhaling heavily, Alex took her cheeks in his palms and wiped her tears with his thumbs. "I don't care about any of that, Max. We can start over. We'll forget about the past. We'll forget everything. Let's just start over."

"I can't," she moaned, dropping her chin. She was too far gone. In too deep. Forever lost in the haze of Isaac.

Sighing, Alex finally let her go and stepped out of her way. She hurried to the door and unlocked it. "Hey," Alex called as she pushed it open. Without waiting for her to turn around, he said, "He doesn't even remember you."

Gritting her teeth, she went into the apartment and shut the door behind her.

 

THEN

He showed up the next night bearing groceries. Maxie's eyes widened when she opened the door and saw him standing there, hands full with bags and a bottle of wine. "Isaac, what are you doing here?"

Moving past her into the apartment, he explained, "We're having dinner, remember?"

Maxie followed him to the kitchen. "I didn't know that was set in stone."

He placed the groceries on the counter and turned to her, grinning. "What's the problem? You like to cook. I like to eat. It's a win-win."

She wanted to play tough, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Muscle-man slash comedian. Impressive." He stepped aside so she could unpack the groceries. "What did you get?"

"Everything you need," he said. He pulled her cookbook from one of the bags and she gasped.

"Where did you get that?" she demanded.

With a shrug, he replied, "The shelf."

She took it from his hands and began to flip through it. "Don't worry," he said, continuing to unpack the groceries. "It's still in perfect condition. I just needed it for reference."

After putting the book back safely in its place, she looked over the groceries Isaac had brought and quickly learned that he had not spared a single ingredient, not a single idea for an ingredient. He'd purchased everything—from what she needed to what she wanted to what she may have wanted. She felt like a kid in a candy store. There was a counter of possibilities before her.

"J'ai faim," he said, placing his hand on his stomach. "That means I'm hungry."

"Van won't be home until late again."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry she'll miss it." Though he didn't seem very sorry. "We'll leave her some."

With a sigh, she couldn't help but smile and raised her eyes to his perfect face. "Well, then," she said. "What are we having?"

Smiling, he replied, "Italian."

 

As she cooked, she pretended that they were married. He was the husband, sitting in the living room watching television after a hard day's work while she, the wife, prepared dinner for him. They would sit together and eat, talk about their day, reminisce on the past, contemplate the future, and then retire to bed.

There was no Van. There was no Alex. There were no suicidal or homicidal parents, no loneliness, no sadness. Just two young people, happy and in love. Simple.

The exact opposite of reality.

 

Maxie hurried to join Isaac at the table so his food wouldn't get cold while he waited for her. "It looks delicious," he said, practically salivating over his plate. He tasted a bite and moaned. "Maxie."

She didn't even touch her food, she was too busy watching him chew and moan and compliment her over and over. Finally, he paused. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"Yeah," she said, finally getting some on her own fork. She tasted it and her eyes rolled back in her head as they fluttered shut. "Mm," she moaned. "This is good."

Isaac laughed. "Makes you want to go back, huh?" She didn't reply, and they continued to eat in near silence, both having seconds with a glass of wine.

"I've never been drunk before," she admitted, sipping the wine slowly. "When we were in high school, Van went to a party and came home really drunk. She was throwing up for a full twenty-four hours. And then, she couldn't get out of bed for another day after that. I told myself I would never go through that." She shrugged. "I've never had more than a glass of champagne."

"You didn't go to the party?" he asked.

She smiled. Is that the part of the story he'd caught? "No. I was never much of a party girl. Van was enough for both of us."

"I bet."

"Do you want more?" she asked, motioning toward his empty plate.

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm full, believe it or not."

"Do you want to go to the roof?"

He raised a curious eyebrow. "The roof?"

"Yeah," she said, taking their plates and rising to her feet. It felt as if someone kicked the floor from under her. She wavered, catching her balance on the table.

"Whoa!" Isaac said, jumping up and reaching for her, but she was already steady. "Are you alright?"

Giggling, she nodded. "Yeah, wow. I guess I got up too fast." He glanced at her glass of wine. It was empty. "Anyway, about the roof. Sometimes I go up there, on nights like this. I like to just look at the stars." She dropped the dishes in the sink and turned back to him. "I can clean later. Want to go?"

Her eyes were sparkling with life and slightly out of focus. She was smiling, looking directly at him, swaying ever so slightly. "Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "Let's go to the roof."

She grabbed their glasses while he grabbed the wine and walked close behind her, throwing his arms out whenever she wavered. It was cold on the roof, and there wasn't much there, just a small garden and a sitting area with a heating lamp. "I like to lie down," Maxie said, pushing the chairs out of the way and turning on the lamp. She sat down under the heat and lowered herself to her back. Isaac followed suit, lying so close to her that his big arm rested against her small one.

For a while, they just lay there, talking and laughing and looking up at the stars. Isaac often found himself staring at her profile while she spoke—and she spoke more than he'd ever heard her speak—entranced by her smile and laughter. Between sips of wine, Maxie pointed out constellations, and Isaac pretended to know what she was talking about. She told him about school, her classes, good performances and bad performances. She finally admitted to making her prom date cry, and she laughed as she described the way he tried to hide it.

"So I guess you were a heartbreaker back then, huh?"

She turned over onto her side to face him. He turned over onto his to face her. She shrugged. "Boys just weren't important to me. I listened to Van and all of our friends talk about their boyfriends, and it all seemed so trivial to me. Stupid arguments about nothingness. Breaking up and making up. Jealousy and competition and stupidity. After everything I'd already been through, I just felt above it all."

"Do you feel above Alex?"

With a tiny grin, she admitted, "Sometimes. It's not like we're going to be together forever or anything. I know that. I guess that's why I don't take it as seriously as he'd like. He wants to move forward, take it to the next level—"

"Next level?"

"Yeah. You know. He wants to..." She dropped her eyes. "We haven't... I mean I haven't ever..." She paused.

"You've never had sex?"

She could feel her face flush. Why did she say anything? What did it even have to do with anything? She didn't need to tell him that. Why did she tell him that? "Well, I've never had any real boyfriends," she said quickly. "It's not like I've ever been in love. I mean, I don't have time for love. Especially with dance. Dance takes up my whole life, I don't even have time for a real job. And anyway, when did saving yourself for marriage, or at least true love, become so overrated? I just don't see why virginity has to be such a shocking thing—"

"Hey, hey," he said, raising his palms to stop her. His eyes were cemented on her, and full. Full of something. She wasn't sure what it was, but she liked it. "It's not a bad thing. I wasn't judging you."

"You don't think I'm immature?"

"Having virtues doesn't make you immature."

"And if you have sex, you don't have virtues?" she asked, thinking of Van. Was that what he thought of Van?

"I didn't say that," he said. "You just have different virtues."

"What are your virtues?" she asked, and when the words left her mouth, she could hardly believe she spoke them. What business of hers was it? Was she crossing a line? Overstepping her boundaries? It was the wine, she finally concluded. The wine uncensored her.

Unfazed by her question, he replied, "I'm not as virtuous as you, Maximilienne. Though after meeting you, I sort of wish I had been."

Did he realize how much he warmed her? Were her emotions written on her face the way she felt they were? She didn't care much, either way. Not that night. "Are you a heartbreaker, Isaac?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"I'm asking you."

"Then no," he said.

"And if I ask Van?"

He smirked. "She wouldn't know. She wouldn't know anything."

 

The bottle of wine was nearly finished. He'd only drank two small glasses of it himself. Maxie lay beside him, bleary eyed and giggly, prattling on. "...And in middle school, I wanted to be a teacher. I've always loved kids. I planned on going to school for education, and then I got accepted to Julliard, so..." She shrugged. "What about you? Why did you major in Linguistics?"

"Because," he said. "I went back overseas to be an underground MMA fighter, and I wanted to know the languages."

Her eyes widened. "You moved back?"

"I graduated high school a year early and studied the languages. I already knew French and a bit of Italian. I soaked the rest up pretty fast. Then, when I turned eighteen, I transferred to a school in England, and stayed there until I was twenty-four. Then I came back, and with all the money I'd made, I opened the gym."

"You made that much money fighting?"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "I made that much money winning."

"Wow," Maxie breathed. "Have you told Van any of this?"

He shrugged. "She never asked."

"You know, when I met Alex, the first thing he told me about himself was how well traveled he was. And then he bragged about his job, and the fact that he speaks a little Italian." She smiled at Isaac. "And look at you. You've lived in all of these places, survived there. You speak all of the languages, and Van doesn't even know."

"My mother always told me that enough people will talk about you when you're not around, you don't need to talk about yourself, too."

Maxie smiled. "Will you teach me to speak French, Isaac?

His eyes lit up. "You'd really like to learn?"

"I would love to."

"Then I would love to teach you. Under one condition." Her eyebrows furrowed as she waited for it. "Tell me about your time in Europe, Maxie. It's such a beautiful place, with so many good experiences to be had. I want to understand why you didn't like it."

She sighed and rolled over to her back again. "Well, for the first two weeks, it was amazing. Alex worked a lot—he was there for work—but when he was free, he took me everywhere, showed me everything. During the day, we would sightsee and eat at different restaurants and visit museums and monuments and all the historical sites I'd only read about in books. Then, at night, we'd go to all of these industry parties, and I met celebrities, and designers, and models, and other photographers. It was so glamorous." She paused. Isaac waited. "You're going to look at him differently after I tell you this," she warned with a small grin.

"I already don't like him."

"Why not?" she cried.

"Tell me the rest."

"I haven't even told Van."

"I won't tell her, either."

Shifting to get comfortable, Maxie continued. "Anyway, I got close with one of the models we met in Italy. She ended up meeting us in Spain, since she had a shoot there, too, and we stayed in the same hotel." She stopped again, swallowed hard. "I think I just saw a shooting star."

"Maxie..."

"I've never seen one before. Do you believe in UFOs?"

He smiled. She briefly smiled back.

"He slept with her," she finally admitted. "Ugh, there it is. The big secret. Alex cheated on me and we weren't even officially a couple yet." Isaac's features softened to pity. "He got drunk a few nights later and told me everything. He's... different when he's drunk. Anyway, he told me everything." She laughed and shook her head. "I broke it off with him and ended up staying in Madrid for the rest of the trip while he finished traveling. I took the train by myself to a few other cities, but I ran out of money pretty fast and mostly just stayed at the hotel. Three days before we were due to come back to the States, he met me back in Madrid and apologized and promised it wouldn't happen again." She shrugged. "Believe it or not, we'd only known each other for a couple months by that point. So we just agreed to put it behind us. And I don't bring it up, like we agreed. But he acts like it never happened at all."

She looked at Isaac. His eyes were dark, his jaw was set, but he said nothing. She nudged him. "You deserve better," he finally murmured.

She smiled. "How sweet of you to think so."

"How stupid of you not to think so."

She laughed. "Want to hear something funny?"

"After what you just told me? Yes, please."

"Remember when Alex said I smoked weed in Amsterdam like a pro?"

He looked at her, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Well, that's because I am a pro." Her smile broadened and she shrugged. "Well, sort of. I used to be anyway."

Isaac's mouth hung open in shock. "You smoke?" He couldn't imagine it. Not her. She was too nice. Too soft spoken. Too reserved, too inhibited. She was too innocent. She'd never even been drunk. She was a virgin for Christ sake.

"Only sometimes. After my mom died, it's pretty safe to say that I became a legitimate pothead. But since then, I've slowed down to special occasions. Mostly when I want to think of her, feel closer to her. Like birthdays and holidays. Christmas."

His eyes widened. "You were high that night?"

"Floating," she admitted. "And right now," she added, sitting up, "I think I might be drunk."

She placed her hand on her head to stop the spinning. Isaac sat up, too. "You're definitely drunk. C'mon, let me help you up."

He stood and pulled her to her feet, and then held her by the waist as they made their way back to the apartment. Inside, she lay down on the couch while Isaac straightened the kitchen. In minutes, she drifted off to sleep.

It felt as if hours had passed when he shook her awake to announce his departure. He kneeled down beside the couch, fingering one of the curls that hung from her ponytail. "I'll come back soon. Next time we'll have Spanish, okay?" Smiling weakly, she nodded. "Lock up behind me." As he stood to leave, she called out to him. "Yes?"

"Van is a good person," she whispered, no longer smiling.

With eyes full of emotion, he nodded. "And so are you, Maximilienne."

Shaking her head, she turned over so she wouldn't have to look at him. "No," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm not."