“Is everything OK?” Mathilde asks as I rush to the door to leave the house.

Sam is eating his breakfast in the kitchen.

I frown. “Yes, why?”

She shrugs with a funny look in her eyes. “I just noticed that Zach doesn’t come down to the kitchen until you’re out of the house.”

The woman is too observant for her own good.

I feign surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“He must’ve just changed his habits,” I say. “He gets a bit of work done first and takes his breakfast later. Or maybe he just sleeps longer than before.”

Mathilde cocks her head. “Uma, darling. I’m forty-three and—trust me—I’ve been there.”

I give her a whatever-do-you-mean look.

“Are you sleeping with Zach?” she asks in a quiet voice.

My eyes dart to the kitchen door.

“Relax,” she says. “Sam can’t hear us. Neither can Zach.”

I look at her. “No, I’m not.”

“Has he made advances? Have you rejected him?”

I hold her gaze, refusing to answer.

She shakes her head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, please. I’m not asking out of curiosity. I worry about you. And about him.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I say.

“Oh, I think there’s plenty to worry about. You’re very pretty and very inexperienced. And you live under the same roof as a handsome single man.”

“That doesn’t mean—” I begin to protest.

“A handsome single man,” she repeats, cutting me off, “who’s lonely.”

I jut out my chin. “He isn’t. He has Sam, and his parents, and his water polo buddies—”

“I meant lonely as in sex-deprived,” she says.

“What are you saying?”

She lets out a sigh. “I guess I’m trying to tell you to be careful.”

“He’ll never force himself on me, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“Of course, he won’t! That’s not who he is.” She waves her hand dismissively before giving me a sad little smile. “What I fear is that he won’t need to force anything.”

I look away.

“And then there’s Sam,” Mathilde says.

My eyes shift back to her. “What about him?”

“Your relationship with the boy… It’s getting too close, too personal.”

I chew on my lip.

“He isn’t your kid, Uma.” Something like pity flashes in her eyes. “Sam has a mother. Colette may have freaked out when he was diagnosed and failed him for years, but she’s coming around now. She’s ready to become part of his life.”

“She has no right!” I spit out, forgetting myself.

Mathilde exhales again, her sigh so long and heavy I almost expect her to run out of oxygen and collapse to the floor. “Do yourself a favor and think about what I said, OK?”

I open the door. “Got to go or I’ll be late for school.”

“Please don’t hate me,” Mathilde says behind my back as I step onto the street. “I really like you, you know. Believe it or not, it would pain me to see your unguarded little heart broken.”

On the métro, I take Mathilde’s advice and think about her words. Gradually, my anger melts away. As I stare out the window at the black wall of the tunnel, I remind myself she meant well.

She was just trying to save me from probable heartbreak.

Can I still be saved?

Maybe. If I think rationally, Mathilde is right. Zach may be a fantastic dad and a wonderful person, but he’s still a man. He wants me because I’m there, easily accessible, and clearly wanting the same thing.

A low-hanging fruit ripe for the picking.

I think about my parents, Marguerite, and Noah… about the lonely future that awaits an unchaste woman from a family with no money, status, or connections. Maybe I should run. I could ask Noah or Freja if I could crash with them until I find another job and then get out of France the moment I graduate.

I’m not suicidal, after all. I don’t want to suffer.

But then I remember Zach’s kiss, and rational thinking flies out the window. That kiss was the sweetest, most powerful, and most addictive thing I’ve ever experienced. The intimacy of what Zach’s lips and tongue did to my mouth astounded me. It took my breath away. Never in my life did I imagine another human being—a man—getting so close to me and connecting with me so deeply. That kiss rocked my world, and now I want more of it.

I want more of Zach.

It’s scary how vulnerable to him I’ve become—and at the same time, it’s exhilarating. My body, my entire being, aches to give him more. Anything he’d like to take. Everything I have to offer.

Even if doing so will hurt me and several other people who are dear to me.

Shame warms my ears as I try to imagine Noah’s disappointment. If what Marguerite has been telling me is true, he’s bound to feel let down. And angry. He doesn’t deserve that. Not to mention Marguerite to whom I owe so much.

Giving myself to Zach would make me an ungrateful little snake who bites the hand that feeds her.

Just yesterday, when we talked over Skype, Marguerite went on and on about how happy it would make her to see her favorite protégée and her son together.

“You’re perfect for each other,” she said for the umpteenth time.

“I’m not so sure,” I dared to argue.

She knitted her eyebrows. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s the way Noah looks at me… like a friend, not a man in love.”

“Oh, Uma.” She rolled her eyes. “I see Parisian mores have gotten to you already. Don’t you know how corrupt the men are who look at women that way? Don’t you know what they want? Noah respects you. That’s precious and rare. It’s something you should cherish.”

She’s right.

And Mathilde is right.

I’d do better to heed their sage advice.

All is not lost.

As long as I’m strong enough to fight my attraction to Zach, I’ll fight it.

Just like he’s fighting his.