So, in good French?

"Yes. I renounce trying to be meaningful" - apparently, I did not give up my flippancy. "From now on I will do only what I want!" This had the merit of being honest. I was tired of keeping up appearances, but I could not tell her the truth either!

"Again, I do not understand you," she said weakly.

And I was selfish enough to be happy with my sudden decision.

"You know I behave as if... forget it! I decided to offer you that. If you will open it! Hell, I talk too much in your company. This is one of the problems you cause me." A problem rather insignificant if compared to the rest: the betrayal of my true nature, my work, the State that covered my actions.

"Do not worry," she reassured me, "I don't really understand."

Not for long! I'm afraid.

"Hmm!" Finally. In this case, I could still stay. I should hope so.

"So, in good French?" she said softly.

I meditated on it for a second.

"In good French?" I did not understand what she meant.

"Why this…"

Ah! How to answer a question for which I didn't know the right answer! I smiled, terrorized at the thought of the turn that our discussion would take.

"Well, I would like you to open it please. You may not like it."

"I don't believe that!" she whispered, stroking her fingers over the still closed package.

"You never know! After extensive research, when we have what we expected we do not know if that's really what we would like. " My fingers clenched the steering wheel, ready to crush it. "Sometimes, what we want is unattainable, for some at least, but that does not prevent us from hoping to be able reach it. And often, what we want is not necessarily good for us, and could harm us, or even worse, but it does not stop us from desiring it."

I waited for her reply, torn in two. One side of me wishing that her survival instincts would tell her finally what part of me wanted her to understand. That I was not someone good for her. The other side of me thinking that I would die if she refused the package and got out of the car forever. It was really melodramatic. I was once more sentimental. I heard her heart panic.

"I think I've heard that," she said, looking at me strangely with her great eyes.

Great! I wanted to change the topic of conversation, too.

"Where?"

"Oh, it was Alex, surely."

"Ah, Alex. Yes. Because you listen to him, with all his tall tales?" I replied with too much ardor. What if she now avoided me? Would I allow her to avoid me, if she tried? Her eyes hardened.

"He told me something, but not with the same words - it's too... I think he once told me what he thought and I put him back in its place."

I was not exactly sure what she meant by that, a discussion which I not was a witness for sure, but I sent her a smile of complicity. She looked down and stared intently at the parcel - I did not have the heart to send by mail - shaking in her hands. My old curiosity returned to torment me.

"What do you think?" What a relief to finally say those words out loud! She caught my eye, and her breathing quickened as her cheeks flushed a light pink. I breathed deeply and tasted her scent floating in the air.

"I tried to guess who you are. I do not know much, rather nothing about you."

I froze my face to keep my smile in place, and panic twisted my stomach. Obviously she wondered who I was. She was not scatterbrained. I could not expect her to forget something so obvious.

"No success?" I asked with the little lightness I had left.

"Not really."

I was instantly relieved and I could not help chuckling.

"Do you have any ideas? Have you thought about it? You don't want to tell me what you think?" I continued. She shook her head. Ah! Not knowing was worse than anything. What could she be thinking that would embarrass her so? I could not bear to stay on the floor. "It's very frustrating, you know."

My notice cut her to the quick. Her eyes flashed and she suddenly poured out a flood of words.

"No. I ignore it completely! What is frustrating is that I refuse to say what I think, while you spend your time throwing obscure remarks which force me to seek their hidden meaning! Let us see! How could that be frustrating? Frustrating for you? Or for me?"

"Oh!" I frowned, saddened to realize she was right. I was not impartial. I had just philosophized about the human condition of a vampire, not even for five minutes, trying to make her understand what could happen if I continued to frequent her and she was fully in her right to react like that!

"Other examples," she continued. "Suppose that same person - she pointed to me - has committed a host of bizarre acts, such as to be at the entry of an exhibition at the Louvre days after he saved someone's life - she pointed to herself - in eccentric circumstances ... or know the address - she struck the pack with her palm. You know more about me than I do about you. And then I meet you here today, just at the right time! That also is not frustrating at all."

It was the longest speech I have ever heard pronounced, and this enabled me to complete my list: "You have a really bad temper, eh?"

"I do not appreciate the double game."

Ouch!

I stared, wondering what I should say, until I was distracted by raised voices coming from Alex Krupp's car. He seemed so irritated that he made me laugh.

"What?" she shouted.

"Your boyfriend wonders whether he should come and save you. I'd love to see him try." I guffawed harder.

"Although I am aware of whom you speak," she said in an icy voice, "I'm sure you're wrong." I liked the way she was denying the phrase with her dismissive accent. "Alex is not my boyfriend. Besides, he might already be the boyfriend of someone."

She frowned imperceptibly.

"You mean Vera?"

"What? Why do you say Vera?" She looked at me quizzically.

"I saw how she looks at him, that's it!"

I lied again. Bah! It was recurring!

She frowned more.

"Yes, there is nothing to say. I just hope she will soon find another focus."

"Oh! I doubt it! Most people, when they have one thing in mind, are easy to decipher."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, that person is going to have to be very persuasive with her to change her focus."

"Indeed."

Why should she be constantly an exception to everything? Would it not have been a little more acceptable - taking into account all the things that I had to face - that I could more easily penetrate her character?

"Is it too much to ask for you to open this package?"

"I wonder why," she murmured.

I stared back. She looked away, tore off the brown paper and dropped it at her feet. A gold box appeared. She swallowed, her eyes on the box. She took a deep breath. Her face turned scarlet.

"Alma?" Her eyes looked at me wide open with terror.

"No!" After a long silence she nodded at the box. "This is the dancer, eh?" she said.

"You figured it out."

That was for sure!