Chapter 16
Elena
The Monday sun was unforgiving as it streamed through the courtyard of Sciences Po. I stood by the main gate with Maxime, his hand warm and slightly damp in mine, waiting for Chloé to arrive so we could grab lunch before my afternoon training session.
"You're sure you're comfortable with this?" Maxime asked for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
"I'm sure," I said, though the words felt rehearsed, like dialogue I'd memorized for a performance I didn't fully understand. The weekend at Disneyland already felt distant, something that had happened to a different version of me—one who knew how to be normal without constantly second-guessing every gesture.
Maxime smiled and squeezed my hand gently. Around us, students hurried past in clusters. No one paid us any attention. We were just another couple, unremarkable and ordinary.
I tried to let that thought comfort me, but my mind kept drifting back to this morning's breakfast, to the way Étienne had looked when I'd mentioned I had plans with friends today, his jaw tightening before he'd nodded and reminded me about my training schedule in that careful, measured tone he used when he was trying very hard not to say what he was actually thinking.
"There she is!" Maxime's voice pulled me back as Chloé came bouncing toward us, her expression already lit with mischief, her phone clutched in one hand.
She stopped in front of us, her gaze immediately dropping to our joined hands, and her grin widened. "Well, well, well. Look at you two. I leave you alone for one weekend and suddenly you're doing the whole couple thing in broad daylight."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Chloé—"
"I'm just saying," she interrupted, her eyes sparkling, "this is a major development. You two are perfect together, you know? A gymnastics prodigy and a surfing champion. Both athletic, both ridiculously good-looking. Your kids would probably inherit double the talent—"
"Chloé!" I felt my face burning hotter.
But Maxime was laughing. "Well, that's assuming we can get past my uncle first. He's pretty protective of Elena."
The words were casual, thrown out with easy confidence. I felt my smile freeze on my face, my fingers going rigid in his grip.
Chloé's expression shifted from playful to confused. "Your uncle? Who—"
"Étienne Beaumont," Maxime said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Elena lives at my uncle's house."
I watched understanding dawn on Chloé's face with slow-motion inevitability, her eyes widening as the pieces clicked into place.
"Wait." She held up one hand, her voice rising slightly. "Wait, wait, wait. You're saying that Étienne Beaumont—the guy who posts those moody cigar photos on Instagram, the walking embodiment of forbidden French elegance—is your uncle also?"
"Yeah?" Maxime glanced between us, clearly picking up on the sudden tension. "I thought you knew that. "
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, it's my group project team. They're freaking out about the presentation tomorrow." He glanced at the screen, then back at us. "I need to deal with this real quick. Can you guys wait here? I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Sure," I managed, my voice thin and strained.
Maxime leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead—a gesture that made my stomach clench with guilt—and then he was jogging off toward the library, his phone already pressed to his ear.
The moment he was out of earshot, Chloé rounded on me. "Elena." She kept her voice low, but there was an edge to it I'd never heard before. "Why didn't you tell me Maxime was Étienne's nephew?"
I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "I just... I didn't think it mattered."
"Didn't think it mattered?" Chloé's voice rose slightly before she caught herself. "You're dating your uncle's nephew. You're living in the same house as both of them. How did you think that wouldn't matter?"
"It's not..." I trailed off, trying to find words that would make this sound less complicated. "Maxime and Étienne are completely different people. When I'm with Maxime, I'm just... I'm just a normal girl. Not someone's burden or responsibility or—"
"Or what?" Chloé interrupted, her eyes searching my face. "Elena, please tell me you're not trying to get to the uncle through the nephew. Because that would be—"
"No!" The word came out too loud, too defensive. "No, it's not like that at all. Maxime is... he's sweet and uncomplicated and he makes me feel like I can just be myself without constantly worrying about—" I stopped myself before I could admit what I was really worrying about.
Chloé studied me for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. Then she sighed. "Look, I'm not judging you. But Elena, you have to see how this looks. You're living in Étienne's house, dating his nephew, and the last time I saw you two together, the way he looked at you..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "That was not how a guardian looks at his ward. That was something else entirely."
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. "You're reading too much into it. He's just... he takes his responsibilities seriously. That's all."
"Is it?" Chloé's voice was gentle now, almost pitying. "Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like a man who was trying very hard not to show how much he wanted something he knew he couldn't have."
The words hit like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could form the words, Chloé was already backing away.
"Look," she said, glancing over her shoulder as if checking for Maxime's return. "I'm not going to third-wheel on your lunch date. You two should have some time alone. Just... be careful, okay? This whole 'uncle's house plus uncle's nephew' setup is straight out of a soap opera, and those never end well." She gave me a knowing look, then softened it with a wink. "Text me later. And seriously, be careful."
Before I could respond, she was already walking away, leaving me standing alone with my thoughts spiraling in directions I didn't want them to go.
When Maxime returned a few minutes later, his expression apologetic and his hand immediately reaching for mine, I forced myself to smile and pretend everything was fine. We started walking toward the restaurant, his fingers laced through mine.
The April sun was warm as we walked along the Seine. It should have been romantic. It should have felt perfect.
Instead, all I could think about was Chloé's words echoing in my head: The way he looked at you... that was not how a guardian looks at his ward.
"You know," I said, needing to fill the silence, "I need to eat by one o'clock. I have training at three, and I need at least two hours for digestion."
Maxime checked his watch and grimaced. "Then we'd better pick up the pace. It's already twelve forty-five."
He tightened his grip on my hand and quickened our steps. I felt the slight dampness of his palm pressing against my cool skin, the warmth of his fingers anchoring me to this moment, to this choice I'd made.
We passed a street performer who called out in French with a heavy Italian accent, "Regardez ces beaux amoureux!" Maxime laughed and called back something that made the performer grin. I felt my cheeks flush, but I couldn't help smiling despite the knot of anxiety in my chest.