“Kingsley!” called a voice he hadn’t heard in over a year. His eyes could barely take in the scene, his heart could barely contain his happiness, his legs could scarcely keep him standing as his sister raced to him and enveloped him in her arms.
“Marie-Laure…” Kingsley breathed her name into her dark hair. She’d let it grow long and loose in their year apart. She’d been the most beautiful girl in Paris when he’d last seen her. Now, he noted with brotherly pride, she’d become the most beautiful girl in the world. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She wrapped her graceful ballerina arms around him. In perfect Parisian French she whispered to him how much she’d missed him, how she thought she’d die if she didn’t see him soon, how awful it was without him, how she would never let anyone pull them apart again. With his chin on her shoulder and her mouth at his ear, Kingsley looked up and saw Søren still at the window, still watching.
Kingsley mouthed a single word at Søren.
Merci.
And Søren merely nodded in return, before disappearing from the window. Kingsley turned his attention back to Marie-Laure.
“How…? I can’t—”
“I’m here,” she said. “A plane ticket came to my apartment. And an invitation to visit you. I couldn’t believe it.” Marie-Laure took his face in her gloved hands and kissed him on each cheek.
“I didn’t believe it, either…until I saw you. I’m not sure I even believe it now.”
“How…” She shook her head and tendrils of hair blew across her face. “Was it Grandmère and Grandpère? Did you…?”
Kingsley rolled his eyes. In her presence, he fell instantly back into his old French habits.
“It is a long story. I will tell it to you…but not yet.”
“I don’t care. All that matters is that I’m here and so are you.” She took him into her arms again and Kingsley embraced her. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that he and Marie-Laure were no longer alone in the cold. Several of the other boys had come outside, no doubt to get a better look at Marie-Laure. They hadn’t seen a woman in months—at least not a young woman who hadn’t taken a vow of chastity.
“This must be the sister.” Father Henry’s jovial voice came from behind them. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said, shaking Marie-Laure’s hand.
Kingsley took his sister’s arm as the priest ushered them into his office. Kingsley barely heard a word as Father Henry welcomed Marie-Laure to the school and apologized in advance for any of the flirting the boys would subject her to.
“We don’t usually allow female visitors,” Father Henry said, stammering slightly. “Not unmarried women, at least. Or women who aren’t in an order. But Mr. Stearns explained the situation to me, that you two had been separated since your parents’ death. We’re happy to have you here for the duration of your visit. Kingsley will have to attend classes and keep up his schoolwork. But you’re welcome to join us in the dining hall for all our meals. We have private guest quarters on the top floor of this building. I’ll have one of the boys carry your things up.”
“Merci, mon père,” Marie-Laure said, beaming a wide smile at Father Henry. Kingsley nearly laughed out loud at the blush that utterly enveloped Father Henry from his collar to the top of his bald head. Marie-Laure had the same effect on men as Kingsley knew he had on women. All either of them had to do was smile.
Kingsley and Marie-Laure went directly to her room on the top floor of the office building. She wandered around, laughing at all the icons on the walls—the crosses, the pictures of saints, the Virgin Mary statuettes strewn about.
“Catholic school?” she teased. “Papa is turning in his grave.”
Kingsley laughed and shrugged. “I know. It wasn’t my idea. The boys at my old school hated me.”
“For seducing all their girlfriends and sisters, no doubt.” Marie-Laure wagged a finger at him.
“Well…of course. But stabbing me was an overreaction.”
Her eyes widened. “Stabbed? You said it was a scratch.”
“A big scratch.”
“I don’t know if Papa would be proud of you or if he would try to kill you himself.”
“Both,” Kingsley said, and they laughed. “What about you? Are you still breaking every heart in Paris?”
“Of course.” She sat next to him on the sofa and crossed her muscular, graceful legs. “I have to break their hearts before they break mine.”
“You should find a rich old man and marry him. He would die soon and leave you all his money. Then you could stay in America with me.”
“Stay in America? Why would I do that? If I married a rich man, I’d pull you out of this awful place and take you back to Paris with me.”
Kingsley leaned back on the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“I don’t know. I think I might like it here. America…it’s not so bad.”
“What is this? My brother…monsieur Paris is the Only City in the World…wants to stay in America? What’s her name?”
Kingsley’s eyes widened.
“Don’t look so innocent,” Marie-Laure said, poking him in the chest. “What is her name? You must be in love to want to stay in this country.”
With a groan to cover his awkwardness, Kingsley turned his face to Marie-Laure.