French kiss (20 page)

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jaw drop.
"But"
Holly continued, jerking her thumb toward the shuttered living room windows, which looked out onto the street below, "you can
elope
with Xavier for all I care. I wouldn't go near him if you paid me a billion euros."

On cue, both girls heard the revving of a moped's engine from the street. Alexa hesitated; she was
dying
to ask Holly to elaborate on her insane Tyler comment, but Xavier was waiting downstairs, and Alexa was too angry right then to have a heart-to-heart with her similarly seething friend.

"I know this may come as a shock," Alexa said coolly, turning to leave. "But I never asked for and I certainly don't need -- your approval, Holly. On
anything."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have dragged me here from England!" Holly retorted, taking a step closer to Alexa. Holly knew, deep down, that she'd come to Paris pretty much on her own terms, but suddenly, she felt like laying the blame on Alexa. "Do you even care that I could get kicked off the track team or, I don't know,
expelled,
if they find out what I did?"
Expelled.
As she spoke, Holly's breath caught in fear; how had she not realized the full consequences of her actions before? "I didn't even really
have
to come," she went on shakily. "You just wanted someone here to stroke your ego!" Then Holly paused and put a

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hand to her mouth, shocked by her own words. She hadn't intended to be so cruel
or
to admit that truth about Tyler earlier. Something about arguing with Alexa always unleashed Holly's hidden temper.

Alexa rested her hand on the doorknob, feeling her chest tighten with hurt. Was Holly implying that she was a
user?
That was absurd; Holly had been more than ready to leave England herself. And Alexa didn't want to lose another second of her romantic night with Xavier on this immature quarrel. "Then you shouldn't have come," Alexa said simply, turning to go. If her hair hadn't been pinned up, she would have tossed it, for dramatic effect. Instead, she added, over her shoulder, "So now why don't you go back to your safe little world, and have a blast at your fabulous ...
track meet."

With those withering last words, Alexa cast a glance back at Holly's expression -- a mix of pain, astonishment, and anger that Alexa knew would bother her all night and slammed out of the apartment.

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CHAPTER ELEVEn

Voulez-Vous?

Trying to regain her composure, Alexa maneuvered carefully down the winding staircase in her high-heeled boots. Her face felt hot and splotchy, so with trembling fingers, she reached into her purple satin clutch and removed her Nars compact. Checking her reflection, Alexa stepped out onto the street and instantly collided with Pierre, who was drifting toward the entrance. Her cousin's bright blue eyes were hopeful, and he seemed as distracted as Alexa herself was feeling. The two cousins, each clearly in their own worlds, brushed by each other with barely a "(7a
va."

The cool evening air felt like balm against Alexa's skin. She sighed, tilting her head back to gaze at the pale mauve sweep of sky, where a few bold, sparkling stars were making their early debut. Then she looked

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across the street to see Xavier sitting on his sleek, dark blue Vespa, flexing the handlebars and grinning at her in the most inviting way imaginable. Her heels clattering against the cobblestones, Alexa hurried over to him, swung one long leg over the moped, and eased herself onto the small seat. It was her first time on a moped, and she felt a thrill race through her, dispelling any leftover negativity.

"Do you have a helmet for me?" Alexa whispered in Xavier's ear as she wrapped her arms tight around his body, her bare knees squeezing against his sides. Xavier himself wasn't wearing a helmet; his thick auburn hair blew into his eyes as he glanced back at her.

"What would be the fun in that?" Xavier responded, his voice low but his eyes dancing.

Oh, boy.
Alexa inhaled sharply, and then returned Xavier's mischievous smile. "You're so bad," she told him softly. Without meaning to, she heard Holly's voice in her head --
there's something I don't trust
-- but then flung the thought away.

Xavier leaned in until his forehead touched Alexa's.
"Merci,"
he whispered. Then he faced forward to rev the engine, and the Vespa shot away from the corner, careening down the street.

The wind lashed at Alexa's face, and she hugged her arms as tight as she could around Xavier.
I'm going

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to die,
Alexa thought as Xavier zipped at breakneck speed around the next corner.
I'm going to die with Holly mad at me and
-- A Citroën sped past them, and Xavier narrowly missed swerving into the small car. Alexa screamed, burying her face in his worn leather jacket, but Xavier only laughed, yelling into the wind that she should loosen up and have a good time.

And as they zoomed through the city, with the sky darkening above them and the Eiffel Tower glimmering overhead, Alexa let herself surrender to both the wind that was savaging her hair and the wild sensation of flying forward at a million miles a minute. By the time she and Xavier reached rue Oberkampf, with its brightly lit bar signs and hopping ethnic restaurants, Alexa was wide-eyed and breathless, and her spirits were as high as they'd ever been on a night out in Paris.

After trying in vain to pat her upswept hairdo back into place, Alexa swung her legs off the moped, took Xavier's hand, and let him lead her into a place called Café Mercerie. They stopped at the grungy bar to get two bottles of dark amber beer -- from a sullen bartender with an eyebrow ring who asked for Xavier's autograph -- and proceeded into a tiny, dimly lit back room lined with long sofas, where a DJ was spinning French hip-hop. There they were greeted by a cluster of artsy guys and girls -- all wearing black-framed

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glasses, vintage band T-shirts, cuffed jeans, and tortured expressions -- who, Xavier explained to Alexa, were his closest friends. Alexa felt a dash of disappointment; he hadn't said anything about meeting up with friends, so Alexa, naturally, had assumed they'd be spending some serious time alone.

But,
she reminded herself,
the night is still deliciously young.

As Xavier went over to dole out cheek-kisses, his friends gazed critically up at Alexa through a veil of cigarette smoke -- most of them not bothering to hide their smirks. Alexa began fiddling with her hair again, hoping it didn't look
too
awful. Suddenly, even though she'd never had the experience, Alexa felt like a shy girl standing in front of the popular table at lunch-time. Holly popped into her head, but then Alexa dismissed all thoughts of her friend entirely.

When Xavier returned to her side, hooked an arm around her waist and, in his low, laughing voice, introduced Alexa to the group as
"ma copine,
" Alexa felt her usual confidence bloom back up, and she grinned. Even if he'd been joking, Xavier Pascal had still called her his girlfriend a title Alexa hadn't even dared hope for. Best of all, none of his hipster buddies seemed to guess that Alexa was American though one of them
did
comment that she resembled Kate

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Bosworth (Alexa felt slightly offended; the look she'd been going for was
much
more Sienna Miller).

While his friends resumed their drinking and chatting, Alexa and Xavier nestled close together on one corner of a sofa, holding hands and sipping their beers. Next to them was a beanpole-skinny guy with a chipped front tooth named Etienne who, Xavier whispered to Alexa, was well-known across France for dipping himself in paint and then rolling across blank canvases. Alexa nodded, her pulse quickening at the realization that she was in the
heart
of Paris's sizzling art scene.
This is where I belong,
she thought contentedly, resting her head in the crook of Xavier's musky neck and feeling utterly at peace in this smoky, seedy bar. Alexa knew then, with utmost certainty, that she couldn't fly back to New Jersey on Sunday. Leaving Xavier and his fascinating world -- seemed unfathomable.

As if reading her mind, Xavier glanced down at her, his face breaking into a smile of such tenderness that Alexa wondered how she or Holly -- could have ever second-guessed him.

"My little angel," Xavier murmured in French, and Alexa realized it was the first time she'd ever been called that; after all, apart from her looks, Alexa was anything but angelic. But she relished hearing Xavier speak the words. Then he bent his head and gave her a soft, tantalizing kiss on the lips. Alexa let out a sigh

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of pleasure, savoring the feel of Xavier's hand as it slid up her knee and along her thigh. Alexa wasn't shy about PDA to begin with, and she adored that Xavier was caressing her in front of all his friends; it made their relationship somehow real official.

Her head still on Xavier's shoulder, Alexa closed her eyes, feeling light and floaty as the alcohol -- and his touch -- went to her head all at once. To her delight, Xavier kept his hand on her leg as he began talking to Etienne about some museum or another. The boys' art world banter drifted over Alexa, meaningless, until she heard Etienne ask Xavier about his gallery opening on Friday night. Snapping to attention, Alexa lifted her head off Xavier's shoulder and sat up straighter, assuming now would be when he'd invite her to his big bash.

But before Xavier could do any such thing, a girl with a scarlet-red bob sitting on Etienne's other side announced to the group at large that Café Mercerie was "over" and they needed to move on to Le Scherkhan, another spot on rue Oberkampf. Alexa scowled at the scarlet-haired girl; not only had she unintentionally broken up Alexa's electric moment with Xavier, but she'd usurped what was usually
Alexa's
role -- the one who decided when it was time to check out the next happening bar or club.

Before Alexa could protest, everyone -- Xavier

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included -- was polishing off their drinks and standing up. Reminding herself that she
had
always wanted to go on a Parisian bar crawl, Alexa followed suit, and soon the whole pack was heading out of Café Mercerie, with Alexa and Xavier bringing up the rear. The minute she and Xavier stepped out onto the street, two middle-aged men wielding chunky cameras sprang into their path. Certain they were bandits. Alexa shrieked and clung to Xavier's arm. But instead of grabbing her bag, the men began snapping pictures and shouting "Xavier! Monsieur Pascal!
Un photo pour
Le Soleil!"

As Alexa blinked against the pop and glare of the cameras, she finally grasped who the two men were.
Paparazzi!
Beal, actual paparazzi, from
Le Soleil,
the French gossip rag masquerading as a newspaper, which Alexa's uncle Julien often made fun of. So Xavier had been right; the tabloids
were
always on his tail. But even as Alexa sensed Xavier tensing up beside her, she couldn't help feeling a rush of raw excitement. So
this
was what it was like to be truly A-list to have your privacy invaded, to be blinded by camera flashes, to see grown men clamoring like little kids for one precious shot
of you.

It was fantastic.

And in the split second before Xavier lashed out in fury at the photo snappers, Alexa tossed them her most dazzling smile and posed, one hand on her hip,

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the other on Xavier's arm. As the cameras clicked away, Alexa felt that this was a moment she'd been traveling toward all her life she'd always secretly believed that she was destined
for some
sort of fame.

Plus, she couldn't wait for Holly Jacobson, along with Portia, Maeve, and everyone back home, to gnash their teeth in envy when Alexa's face ended up all over international newsstands.

Xavier, though, quickly put an end to Alexa's fantasizing. Muttering an impressive string of curses, he shrugged out of Alexa's grasp and charged toward the two men, jaw set and fists at the ready. Alexa gasped, wondering if she should run over and stop him, but she felt another current of excitement that kept her rooted to the spot. Xavier's friends, on the other hand, started to scatter; Alexa heard one of them groan "Not
again"
and another remark that she wanted to be gone before the cops showed up.

Clearly, Xavier vs. the paparazzi was a ridiculously common occurrence.

"Back off, assholes," Xavier threatened, and gave one of the men a hard shove. Alexa's heart slammed against her ribs, her apprehension mingling with anticipation. Was there going to be a fight? She'd never witnessed a brawl on the street -- needless to say, that didn't happen all too often in tree-lined Oakridge, New Jersey. Holding her breath, Alexa watched as the