Chapter 55
Elena
We finished gathering our things in something approaching companionable silence. As we headed toward the exit, I felt lighter than I had in days, as if some weight I hadn't fully acknowledged had been lifted from my shoulders.
The feeling intensified when I pushed through the training facility doors and saw Maxime leaning against his convertible in the parking area, sunglasses on despite the fading light. I forced a smile as he straightened, all easy confidence and genuine warmth—so different from the complicated feelings that seemed to tangle around everything else in my life lately. My chest felt tight with something I couldn't quite name, not excitement but a heavy sense of obligation I was trying desperately to ignore.
"There she is," he called out as Annabelle and I approached. "The star of the mat."
I felt my face heat, aware of Annabelle's curious gaze shifting between us. "Maxime, this is Annabelle. Annabelle, this is—"
"I'm Elena's boyfriend," Maxime said smoothly, extending his hand with that natural charm of his. "It's nice to meet one of her teammates."
The word "boyfriend" settled in my stomach like a stone. I should have felt pleased—should have felt that flutter of happiness that came with claiming someone publicly. Instead, I felt nothing, or worse, a vague sense of wrongness I couldn't explain and didn't want to examine too closely.
Annabelle shook his hand politely, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Well, well."
"So, Annabelle," Maxime continued, his natural sociability taking over. "Elena mentioned you two were planning to get dinner sometime. You should join us tonight—I know this great place."
I felt a flash of surprise. I'd been looking forward to having Maxime to myself—or at least, I thought I had been. There was something sweet about him including Annabelle, especially after our reconciliation, even if some traitorous part of me felt relieved at the prospect of a buffer.
Annabelle glanced at me, as if checking whether the invitation was genuine. I found myself nodding encouragingly. "Yeah, you should come. If you're free?"
"I'd love to," Annabelle said, then hesitated. "Though I should mention—I have a family thing later tonight. But I could do an early dinner?"
"Perfect," Maxime said, already moving toward his car. "Though I should warn you, I'm a bit disappointed—I was hoping to have Elena all to myself tonight."
He said it with a teasing grin, and I felt my cheeks warm despite the uncomfortable tightness in my chest. "You always have me to yourself," I protested, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
"Not always," he said, opening the passenger door for me with an exaggerated flourish. "Your uncle seems to monopolize quite a bit of your time."
There was something in his tone—playful on the surface but with an edge underneath—that made me uncomfortable. Annabelle climbed into the back seat, seeming oblivious to the undercurrent, and I was grateful when Maxime changed the subject.
The drive through the Sixth Arrondissement was pleasant, with Maxime and Annabelle hitting it off immediately. He had a gift for putting people at ease, asking Annabelle about her training, her goals, making her laugh with stories about his disastrous attempts at sports as a kid. I found myself mechanically smiling along, my responses automatic, as if I were watching the scene from somewhere outside my own body.
"So how did you two meet?" Annabelle asked, leaning forward between the seats.
"Beach incident," Maxime said with a grin. "She nearly drowned, grabbed onto me like I was a life raft. Very romantic."
"I did not nearly drown," I protested, the familiar banter coming easier than genuine emotion. "I just got caught in a wave."
"You were terrified," Maxime teased, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "It was adorable."
His hand on mine felt wrong—too light, too casual, lacking the weight I craved but couldn't admit I was missing. I didn't pull away, but I didn't squeeze back either, and I saw his fingers tighten slightly, as if sensing my distance.
We ended up at a Mediterranean place that Maxime knew, tucked away on a quiet street in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, with a surprisingly good vegetarian selection. The three of us settled into a corner booth, and Maxime immediately took charge of ordering, consulting with both of us about preferences but ultimately steering us toward his favorites.
"The vegetable mezze platter here is incredible," he said. "And they do this amazing eggplant dish—you'll love it, Elena."
He was right—the food was excellent. As we ate, the conversation flowed easily around me. Annabelle seemed to be enjoying herself, and Maxime was at his charming best. At one point, he reached under the table to take my hand, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm. The touch should have been soothing, but instead it felt like static—a mild irritant I had to consciously force myself not to pull away from.
"You're quiet tonight," Annabelle observed, her gaze curious but not unkind.
"Just tired from training," I said automatically, the excuse coming too easily. "Long day."
"She does this thing where she retreats into her head," Maxime said, bringing my hand up to kiss my knuckles. His lips felt dry against my skin. "Very mysterious, our Elena."
"Maxime," I said, trying to sound playful but hearing only exhaustion in my own voice.
Annabelle laughed politely, but I could see the question in her eyes—the same question I'd been avoiding asking myself. What are you doing, Elena?
"You two are cute together," she said, though her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "How long have you been dating?"
"Not long enough," Maxime said, before I could answer. "Though Elena keeps me at arm's length most of the time. Very mysterious about our relationship."
There was that edge again, masked by humor but definitely there. I felt Annabelle's curious gaze shift to me, and suddenly the booth felt too small, the air too thick.
"It's not like that," I said, feeling suddenly defensive even though I knew he was right. "Things are just... complicated with family dynamics."
"Her uncle is very protective," Maxime explained to Annabelle, his tone light but his hand tightening noticeably on mine. "Which I respect, of course. But at some point, Elena's going to have to decide if she's twenty years old or if she needs permission to date."
The comment stung, partly because there was truth in it—or at least, a version of truth that was easier to accept than the real reason I kept hesitating. Annabelle looked uncomfortable, clearly sensing she'd stumbled into something.
"I don't need permission," I said quietly, even as a voice in my head whispered that permission wasn't the problem—the problem was that I was trying to force myself to want something I didn't actually want.
"Right," Maxime said, releasing my hand to take a sip of his wine. "Unnecessary drama. Like your family knowing you have a boyfriend."
"Maxime—"
"Sorry," he said, immediately contrite. "Sorry. I'm being an ass. I just..." He reached for my hand again, and I let him take it, feeling like a fraud. "I just really like you, Elena. And sometimes it feels like you're keeping me hidden away."
"I'm not," I insisted, even though we both knew that wasn't entirely true. The real truth—that I was keeping myself hidden away, that I was using him as a shield against feelings I didn't know how to handle—felt too dangerous to voice.
Annabelle cleared her throat. "I should probably get going soon anyway. Family dinner, remember?"
"Of course," I said, grateful for the escape route and hating myself for that gratitude. "We'll drop you off."