An afternoon in Disneyland Paris had seemed like such a good idea.

With Manon’s permission, Amanda left work early. Kes met her at the RER station, and they boarded the train to Marne-la-Vallée—a Parisian suburb that hosted the theme park.

The trip took two hours because some moron had left a suspicious-looking backpack at one of the stations.

By the time they got to Disneyland, it was already four. The wait times for the best attractions and the heat forced them to make pragmatic choices, such as foregoing Amanda’s favorite Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster.

“What about the maze?” Kes asked, pointing at Alice’s Curious Labyrinth. “The wait shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”

“Sure.” Amanda perked up. “I have a great sense of direction. Stay close behind me, and I’ll get us out in no time.”

“I tried this one a long time ago,” Kes said. “It’s trickier than you’d expect.”

She grinned. “The harder the better. I enjoy a challenge.”

Forty-five minutes later, Amanda began to suspect she might have underestimated the difficulty of this particular maze. They kept bumping into the same card soldier that yelled “off with their heads” no matter which way they turned.

They were going in circles.

Kes didn’t complain. He just followed her between rows of neatly trimmed hedges, chuckling from time to time at the popping card figures and nonsensical signs. Until suddenly, Amanda couldn’t hear him anymore.

She turned around. Standing a couple of meters behind her, he stared at something on the hedge wall and beckoned to her. She backtracked, expecting to have a laugh at another stupid sign. But it wasn’t a sign he was inspecting. It was a hole—and a rather big one, at that.

He winked at her and nodded toward the opening. Then he bent down and squeezed himself through it. She followed, wriggling her body to avoid the protruding branches.

On the other side was an alley they hadn’t explored before.

Five minutes later they saw the exit.

Amanda sighed with relief. But as they left the labyrinth behind and headed out of the park, irritation took over.

“It’s just so like you,” she said without looking at Kes. “It’s what you do—you find shortcuts and take the easy way out.”

He frowned. “Sometimes, yes. But not always. And anyway, what’s wrong with that, provided I don’t break any laws?”

“I didn’t say you were breaking the law. But you are breaking the rules. We weren’t supposed to get out of the maze through a hole in the shrubbery. We were supposed to find the path that leads to the exit.”

“I’m not familiar with that rule.” He shrugged. “Did you see it written anywhere?”

“No, it’s an unspoken rule—a shared understanding.”

“Well, it isn’t shared by me.” He gave her a conciliatory smile. “Consider this: in the book, Alice uses a rabbit hole as a portal to get into Wonderland. It’s only appropriate that we use a hedge hole to get out of it.”

She considered it. The bastard did have a point.

On the RER ride back home, Amanda scanned the business pages of her paper and then checked her e-mail to see if she’d received any Google Alerts about ENS or Julien Barre.

“Good news or bad news?” Kes asked, pointing at her phone.

She closed her e-mail and dropped the phone into her purse. “No news.”

He put his own phone into his jeans pocket. “His head will roll, you’ll see.”

“You’re bloodthirsty today.” Amanda smirked. “I guess that’s what happens when you spend time around the Queen of Hearts.”

He chuckled.

“I had an e-mail from my mother,” she said.

He waited for her to continue.

“Vivienne wants to take me to dinner on Wednesday night.”

He looked her in the eye. “Don’t turn your mom down on my account. I can be at your place on twenty minutes’ notice, as late as you want.”

“It’s not only that.” She stared out the window. “I just don’t feel like seeing her these days.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

He sat back. “I love complicated stories.”

“She’ll pester me about waitressing again, as if I didn’t know or wasn’t trying hard enough. Then she’ll bug me about you.” Amanda wrinkled her nose. “And while she’s at it, she’ll keep pressing right where it hurts. Like she always does.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” She sighed. “You can’t, unless you have a parent who’s like that.”

He thought about her words. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. It’s tough to have a mother who claims she loves you but always says things that bring you down.”

“Have you told her this?”

She shook her head.

“Have you ever told her how much her opinion matters to you?”

She startled. “Why would I? It doesn’t.”

“Of course it does.”

“What are you, my shrink?” Amanda pushed her hair back. “Enough about Vivienne. Let’s talk about you. I’ve been wondering what ‘Kes’ means for ages.”

He smiled. “No idea. But I’ll google it right away.”

He pulled out his phone and tapped. “OK. Let’s see. In the Punjabi language, Kes means the uncut hair and beard of Khalsa.”

“Who’s Khalsa?”

He glanced at his phone. “Khalsa refers to all Sikhs who’ve been initiated.”

“Right.” She narrowed her eyes. “So, it could be a man or a woman—we don’t know.”

“No, we don’t.” He manipulated his phone some more. “I have another lead. KES is the abbreviation for the Kenyan shilling.”

She grinned. “So, which one did your parents name you after—a bearded woman or a currency?”

“I think my parents just liked the sound of it.”

“Fair enough.” She leaned in. “There’s something else I’ve been wondering.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do Gypsies enjoy the Traveler lifestyle so much? Doesn’t everyone need a place they can call a home?”

“What’s a home to you, Amanda?”

“My apartment.” She paused, thinking. “And Paris.”

“OK. Well, to Gypsies, a home isn’t a house with walls and a roof. It isn’t a city or even a country. It’s the clan. Home is people, not a place.”

She sat back and stared out the window until the train entered an underground tunnel.

“You’re too quiet,” he said. “Should I be worried?”

She turned to him. “When exactly are you leaving?”

“In a week’s time.”

She nodded.

“Will you come with me?” He took her hand in his. “Las Vegas is an amazing place. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”

“Are you crazy? I’m struggling to keep my bank account in the black.”

“Is that your only objection?” His eyes lit up. “It’s not a problem at all. I make enough money to cover all our expenses and pay your mortgage while you’re traveling.”

“You’re insane.”

“Quite the contrary, I’m rational.”

She shook her head. “I’m not a parasite.”

“Amanda, it’s just money—”

“I don’t mean it only in the financial sense.” She wrung her hands. “I need to have goals of my own. I need to be productive, feel useful . . . I’m too much of an achiever for a life of leisure.”

He nodded, the hopeful sparkle leaving his eyes.

“Besides,” she delivered the coup de grâce, “I love my apartment. I love Paris. I’m one of those sedentary folks who need a home with walls and a roof. And a designer couch.”