Or however long it took to bring down Xavier Pascal.
Storming back into the gallery, Holly made her way over to the pretentious little posse, who were still huddled around the newspaper clipping. Holly quickly retrieved Alexa’s clutch from the floor, straightened up, and immediately locked eyes with Xavier. Holly may have had trouble sticking up for herself when she’d been hurt. But if somebody made her friend cry—look the hell out.
“Hey, Xavier,” Holly said through gritted teeth, gripping her martini glass in her fist. Her heart was beating a staccato rhythm, but she forged ahead, her boldness growing. “I really hate to interrupt your fifteen minutes of fame, but if you want to know all about American girls, I suggest you ask them.” Fiercely, Holly gestured with her martini glass to the two women from The New York Times who were standing several feet away, shaking their heads in disdain over another painting.
“Who are they?” Xavier scoffed, glancing in the journalists’ direction, but Holly thought she saw his face turn pale.
“Your future,” Holly replied, her cheeks flushing as the words miraculously came to her. It was true, she realized—maybe Xavier was on his way out. “They’re big-time art critics from New York, Xavier, and guess what?” she continued breathlessly. “They think your show sucks.”
Xavier and Monique exchanged a glance, but this time, Holly saw, there was clearly a sense of wariness passing between the power couple.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Monique snapped in accented English, looking icily back at Holly.
“Hmm, ‘simplistic’?” Holly quoted, tilting her head to one side. “‘Juvenile’? ‘So last season’?” She shrugged at a startled-looking Xavier. “Fine—don’t believe me. Just wait for the review tomorrow morning.” Holly didn’t quite know what she was talking about, but she felt that discussing art was kind of like crashing a party—you just had to bluff your way through it. Trembling only a little, she tucked Alexa’s bag under her arm and turned to go. But Xavier’s hand on the small of her back—inappropriate much?—stopped her.
“Just because your little friend found out the truth—” Xavier began viciously, but he never got the sentence out because—before she could think too clearly—Holly had flung the rest of her pomegranate martini straight into his face.
She had been wanting to get rid of the drink somehow.
Holly watched, half-stunned, as the rosy liquid dropped down Xavier’s chin and onto his matching red tie. Xavier blinked madly, obviously too astonished to get angry. Holly heard Monique shriek and several other bystanders murmur in confusion as someone shut off the music. Clearly, now was the time to flee.
“She can do so much better than you,” Holly murmured, not caring if Xavier heard her or not. She backed up, bumping into various people, and then turned and made straight for the exit. By the time she got outside, Holly was grinning, her heart swelling with pride at the memory of Xavier’s befuddled expression. She had to tell Alexa.
Who wasn’t there anymore.
Holly glanced frantically up and down the long arcade, feeling a stirring of panic; the place des Vosges was deserted at this hour. “Alexa!” Holly cried, her voice echoing against the stone arches. But there was no trace of her friend—not even the sound of weeping. Holly bit her lip; had tempestuous Alexa dashed off to do something rash, like set fire to Xavier’s studio or jump into the Seine? Drawing a deep breath, Holly started off down the empty street. Paris was huge, and Alexa could have gone anywhere. Holly could only hope that she’d be able to find her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Best Bets
“Don’t you dare say I told you so,” Alexa sobbed as soon as Holly found her. She was sitting on the edge of a fountain several streets down from the gallery, her shoes kicked off and her head down. Her shoulders shook from weeping, and she barely glanced up.
“I wasn’t going to,” Holly protested softly, immensely relieved at the sight of her friend. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She, too, slipped off her flats—it seemed appropriate somehow—set down Alexa’s clutch, and joined her friend on the cool marble rim. Behind them, carved nymphs emptied their jugs onto a sleeping Cupid. The tinkling sound of the water was calming.
“Do I look okay?” Alexa asked rhetorically, staring at her feet. She wasn’t bothering to wipe her tears as they fell; her face felt like she’d dunked it in the fountain. Alexa remembered the last time she’d sobbed on the streets of Paris: the infamous night of the Diego breakup and luggage-snatching. Tonight felt eerily similar, but much, much worse. Back then, Alexa had feared that her true love wasn’t being faithful; now, she knew. Back then, she’d had her possessions torn from her; now, her dignity.
“Well, considering the circumstances, you could look worse,” Holly began, but hesitated as Alexa continued to sob. Clearly, her attempt at humor wasn’t going to work. And what she’d said wasn’t even true; Alexa, for possibly the first time ever, looked crappy—her face was puffy, squiggly lines of mascara decorated her cheeks, and her careful chignon was coming undone.
Frowning with concern, Holly slid closer to Alexa on the bench and put a comforting arm across her friend’s shoulder. But the gesture only seemed to make Alexa cry harder.
“He—he said he loved me,” Alexa hiccuped, her words coming out in small gasps, her face crumpling with hurt. “He—called me—his muse—I thought I could tell—I know about guys—” She swallowed hard, her body shuddering with sobs as Holly watched her worriedly. “I was—so sure—” she choked out, before burying her face in her hands.
The girls sat together, Holly’s arm around Alexa, the nighttime silence punctured by Alexa’s quiet weeping. The fountain whispered behind them while the lights of the place des Vosges glimmered up ahead. The air blew chilly and brisk off the river, but both girls were too preoccupied to notice the cold.
“I’m so sorry,” Holly finally spoke, her voice soft. Alexa still had her face in her hands, but at least she seemed to have stopped sobbing. Something she had said earlier resonated with Holly. I know about guys. And that was the whole problem, Holly suddenly understood. Alexa thought she knew about guys—everything about guys—but tonight, she’d been proven wrong.
Holly mentally reviewed Alexa’s extensive history with boys—starting with Eliot Johnson in junior high and ending with Diego Mendieta—and realized that Alexa had never officially had her heart broken. Yes, things had clearly been painful with Diego, but Holly knew that Alexa had been the one to initiate the break-up—she was always the dumper, never the dumpee.
Until now.
“I just wish…” Alexa lifted her tear-streaked face, running one arm under her nose. “I wish I hadn’t fallen in love with him,” she whispered miserably, her voice raw from crying. Why did she always have to fall in love so easily, so deeply, Alexa wondered with a sigh. Her head felt heavy, so she rested it on Holly’s shoulder, closing her eyes.
Holly briefly leaned her own head against Alexa’s and let out a sympathetic sigh. She thought back to some of her own boy agonies—Diego last year, Tyler last week—and realized that she, unlike Alexa, had had experience with heartbreak. Enough experience, at least, to help steer an adrift Alexa back to sanity.
“No matter how bad it hurts right now,” Holly began thoughtfully. “After a while—I don’t know how long, I think it’s different for everyone—you’ll get past it. I promise.” She reached down and took Alexa’s hand in hers. “Actually, I think you’re gonna be relieved that jerk is out of your life.”
Alexa sniffled. “I guess he is kind of a jerk,” she conceded, even though it pained her to admit it. In a twisted, masochistic way, she still felt like she loved Xavier. “But when you went back inside the gallery,” Alexa added, feeling a pang of false hope, “did he seem to care that I’d left?” Alexa got that Xavier had a fiancée, but maybe, just maybe, his feelings for Alexa transcended that fact.
“No,” Holly replied, and oddly enough, Alexa thought she heard a smi
le in her friend’s voice. “He got a little distracted by the martini running down his face.”
Alexa lifted her head off Holly’s shoulder. “What do you mean?” she asked Holly, who was biting her lip and raising her eyebrows, managing to look sheepish and proud at the same time. Alexa felt a burst of surprise that lightened her sorrow. Alexa had always suspected that Holly could get seriously badass when provoked, but she felt floored by her friend tonight. “You—you didn’t,” Alexa whispered, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
Holly nodded, now grinning fully. “What can I say? I’m an athlete. I’ve got good aim.”
“Oh, Holly!” Alexa cried, and unexpected laughter rose in her throat. Apparently, Xavier hadn’t known whom he was messing with. Picturing the flummoxed artiste, Alexa started to giggle, and soon Holly was cracking up as well. The two of them laughed together, clutching their bellies as they doubled over, almost falling off the fountain’s rim. When Alexa saw a passing couple glance their way, she knew what she and Holly must have looked like—two trashed girls having a silly night out.
If only.
As their laughter died down, Alexa swiped at her wet cheeks, feeling about fifty percent better. “You know, you never cease to amaze me,” she said nudging Holly in the side. Holly modestly rolled her eyes, her freckled cheeks turning predictably pink. “I mean it,” Alexa insisted, thinking about how often she underestimated Holly. “You’re a lot stronger than I am sometimes.” Alexa felt herself tear up again. She’d always considered herself thick-skinned, but now she realized she was more vulnerable to getting hurt than she’d ever thought.
Holly laughed, quietly this time. “Oh, come on, Alexa,” she said. “I think we’ve both accepted the fact that I’m a humongous wuss.” But, even as she spoke, Holly was remembering how pumped she’d felt during the showdown in the gallery. She remembered swallowing the scary French food at the St. Laurents’ dinner. She remembered walking across Waterloo Station to board that train. For a self-proclaimed wuss, Holly had done some gutsy stuff of late. But Holly knew that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—have done any of it without Alexa backing her up. It was Alexa who made her fearless.
“Well, you’re smarter than I am, in any case,” Alexa sighed, leaning back on her hands and stretching her long legs out in front of her. “Smarter about reading people.” Turning to Holly, she gave her friend a long, serious look. “Hol, I feel so bad about last night—how I freaked when you tried to warn me about Xavier.” Alexa shook her head at how insanely defensive she’d gotten—and how insanely on-target Holly had been. Alexa rarely—if ever—liked to apologize, but at this moment, it felt more than necessary. “I should have listened,” Alexa finished simply, giving Holly a shrug.
I told you so, Holly thought with a small smile, but of course, she didn’t utter those words. “You were too in love to listen,” she replied understandingly. “But you were kind of a pain about it,” she couldn’t help but add, as Alexa nodded soberly. Holly realized that being so up-front with Alexa felt natural—healthy. Not every confrontation had to turn into a fight. Holly knew then that the girls’ friendship was strong enough to bear the brunt of honesty. “Like, when you brought up the whole Tyler thing,” Holly continued, feeling her face grow warm.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Alexa told Holly regretfully. But remembering Holly’s cryptic remark from last night she couldn’t help but add, “Though will you finally tell me what’s going on between you guys?”
Holly drew a deep breath, prepping herself for the big confession. Alexa had her on the spot, but this time—after everything they’d been through tonight—Holly finally felt ready to tell her friend the whole truth. So, she did just that, recounting everything from the car-tastrophe to the phone avoidance to her see-sawing between Tyler and Pierre. “And I’m sorry I kept all this from you,” Holly concluded with a sigh. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, Alexa, it’s just that you were —part of the problem, so…” She trailed off, shrugging.
“Let me get this straight,” Alexa began. She wriggled closer to Holly on the fountain’s edge, momentarily forgetting her own troubles in favor of her friend’s juicy story. “You think Tyler’s not attracted to you?” she prompted, and Holly nodded, her cheeks dark pink in the moonlight. “And you think he was more into me?” Alexa asked. When Holly nodded again, Alexa grinned and shook her head.
“What?” Holly asked warily, hugging herself as the river breeze washed over her. Was Alexa making fun of her?
“Holly Rebecca Jacobson,” Alexa pronounced dramatically, crossing her legs at the ankle. “Let’s consider Tyler Davis, shall we?” Alexa paused for effect, while Holly watched her wide-eyed. “He’s, like, the definition of old-fashioned polite,” Alexa continued, remembering Tyler’s opening-doors-and-pulling-out-chairs personality with a mix of fondness and irritation. “Especially when it comes to sex,” she added wisely. “He never wants to be that kind of guy that pressures girls, so he holds back, you know?” Holly nodded emphatically, looking aggravated, and Alexa smiled. “But he’s really into making sure the girl is completely comfortable first—which is pretty cool,” Alexa mused aloud, wondering if she sometimes sold nice guys short.
“The thing is,” Holly replied in frustration, eager to finally get her host of issues off her chest, “when we were in the car the other night, he knew he wasn’t pressuring me, so why—”
“It would have been your first time together, right?” Alexa cut in, and waited until Holly gave a short, shy nod. “That’s why, Hol,” Alexa went on softly. “Tyler’s all about the location, the setup. Everything has to be…just so. God, once he blew me off just because my dad happened to be downstairs.” Alexa rolled her eyes at the memory; incidentally—or not—that had been the same day she’d broken up with Tyler. “So come on—his car? On the way to Newark?” Alexa shook her head, and Holly smiled in acknowledgment. “That’s so not his style.”
“But was he really the same way with you?” Holly asked Alexa, still dubious. She dropped her arms and rested her hands in her lap. “I mean, you guys did, you know, do it, after all…” Holly’s cheeks burned; it felt kind of bizarre—but also surprisingly normal—to be discussing this super-private stuff with Alexa.
“Well, only because I initiated it,” Alexa admitted, after a moment’s hesitation, recalling the cute/awkward New Year’s Eve at her house. “He thought we were rushing into sex too soon—even though we’d been together four whole months!” Alexa shook her head in amazement. “But maybe he was right—it was after we slept together that things started to go downhill for us.”
Holly blew her bangs up off her forehead, deep in thought; four months was kind of short—at least, by her standards. Then, suddenly, Tyler’s words from the night in the car echoed in her head: I guess I sort of feel like we’re…rushing, he’d said. I’ve made that mistake before. Holly’s heart leaped. So he had been talking about Alexa—to explain why their relationship had turned sour. But Holly’s insecurities had kicked in right away, blinding her to all that. She couldn’t believe she’d been so dense.
“Maybe…” Holly mused aloud, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the expanse of stars overhead. There was a lightening in her chest that felt very close to relief. “Maybe because we’ve been together longer, he feels like the stakes are…higher?” She thought of how she’d felt on the riverbank with Pierre—how wrong the moment had seemed. With Tyler, she realized, she’d want the moment to be even more right. And Tyler must have felt the same way. Of course.
“Oh, totally,” Alexa affirmed, nodding at her friend. “He doesn’t want your first time to be anything but perfect—because he knows you’re worth it.” Alexa grinned as she pictured Tyler running around Oakridge, buying roses, strawberries, and candles for his big night with Holly. “He loves you, Hol,” she said matter-of-factly. “Anyone can see that.”
Holly bit her bottom lip and studied Alexa’s face. “You think so?” she asked, her voice shaky.
Al
exa nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “Tyler and I weren’t ever really in love,” she whispered, trying her darndest not to make the mental leap to Xavier. “But, just from watching you guys in the cafeteria or wherever, I can tell what you have is so much deeper. More meaningful.”
Holly’s own throat closed with emotion as she thought of her sweet, considerate boyfriend, and felt a swell of unfettered affection for him. I do take love seriously, Holly realized, thinking back to her conversation with Pierre the night before. But so does Tyler—and that’s just why I love him. How had there been any confusion? She’d loved Tyler all along, even when she’d been distracted by Pierre. But it had also taken Pierre to help Holly understand the depth of her feelings for Tyler.
“What about now?” Holly asked Alexa anxiously. “After what happened with Pierre, and not speaking for a week…” She shrugged, biting her lip. “Will things still be the same when I get back?”
“I’d bet on it,” Alexa said confidently, and reached over to squeeze Holly’s arm. Alexa realized how much she was enjoying this role of advice-giver; it let her take a break from herself for a while. “I’d bet my—I don’t know—my new pumps,” Alexa declared, pointing to the covet-worthy apricot shoes, and Holly giggled. “You guys just need to talk,” she added, and rose to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. “And besides, it’s not like Tyler knows anything about what happened with Pierre, right?”
And he probably doesn’t need to know, Holly thought with a sigh. She got to her feet, too, assuming Alexa was ready to go back to the apartment—she was definitely feeling the cold now, especially by the fountain. But to Holly’s surprise, her impulsive friend turned to face the fountain, hopped up on the rim, and stepped right in.
Holly watched, half-amused, half-worried, as Alexa, hiking up the short skirt of her paisley dress, began tiptoeing through the ankle-high murky water. “Are you okay?” Holly asked, taking a step closer. “Is this about Xavier?” Alexa seemed calmer, but maybe her unexpected fountain-visit was some sort of troubling response to the trauma.