The apartment was warm, smelling of mulled wine and Gauloises. She spotted Luc immediately by the window. He had grown a beard—a tactical one, she decided, designed to suggest depth. And beside him, a woman. Not a model, which was a relief. A historian, as it turned out. Named Margot. She laughed with her whole face, and she touched Luc’s sleeve when she made a point.
For a long moment, they stood in the dim kitchen, the party humming beyond the door. Then Margot appeared, asked if everything was all right, and Luc said yes, perfectly. Chloé excused herself and walked to the balcony.
He almost smiled. “No. I didn’t.”
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