He takes my hand the way he did at school, comfortable and relaxed and himself and strolls me past the street lamps.

My heels click and echo. "Who was that guard? How do you know him?"

"Chuck Nadelhorn. We've taken a lot of art cla.s.ses together over the years." He sees my furrowed brow and grins. "Don't be ageist."

I laugh, caught.

"I was the odd one out. I was the youngest in each cla.s.s, by far. Chuck was one of the few people who treated me with respect."

"Then I like him even more than I already did."

Josh plants a singular kiss on my lips. "This way."

He moves forward, and I follow. "I a.s.sume you set this up whatever it is with Chuck in advance?"

"There were a few people involved. I've had some time to prepare," he says slyly. "But we'd better hurry, we only have twenty minutes. Nineteen now."

"As long as I'm not about to be arrested for trespa.s.sing. Or for stealing a nondescript, though no doubt priceless, artefact."

"Only if we're caught."

I stop.

He tugs me forward by our clasped hands. "Come on, come on!"

We race through the room into a corridor gift shop, and we're no longer in Paris, we're in Barcelona two crazy kids running away to discover our own private world. Exploring. Taking risks. A sharp right, and we enter an even darker and even more vast room, but this one couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Anyone who has visited this museum would know it.

"The Temple of Dendur." Josh says it with a finality that tells me we've reached our destination the ancient Egyptian sandstone temple.

I'm intrigued. But baffled. "Any particular reason?"

Josh shrugs in a way that's almost bashful. "I like the temple's reflecting pool. I kind of just wanted to sit beside it and make out with you."

It's actually the best answer he could have given me.

This time he leads me quietly, delicately, to the ledge beside the pool. The reflecting pool is beautiful in its dignified silence. An entire wall of this room is a window, and the lights of the city twinkle inside the still water. We sit down. The air is cold, the granite ledge even colder. He takes off his tuxedo jacket and swings it up and around my shoulders. And then he uses his own lapels to pull me into him. His mouth is warm. We slip into each other as if no time had pa.s.sed between now and Spain. If there wasn't a thousand museum cameras on us, we'd lie down and make love. But touching him is enough. Smelling him is enough. Tasting him is enough.

Being here with him is enough.

And then...we're lying down anyway. His body is on top of mine. We press against each other, our hands and mouths travelling everywhere. We do everything except the one thing we can't do right now. After what feels simultaneously like no time at all and eternity, Josh unwraps his limbs from mine, and we readjust our clothing.

"Before we go." He picks up his jacket from the floor and reaches into an inside pocket. He removes a small tube. I can't believe I didn't feel it earlier. "Joyeux Noel."

My heart is in my throat. It has to be a drawing. I pop open the cap, and sure enough, there's a thick scroll inside. I slide out the paper. I unroll it slowly, because I know that, whatever it is, it's more valuable than anything inside this museum.

It's a tiny island. But instead of the stereotypical single palm, he's drawn a p.r.i.c.kly Joshua tree in its centre. Underneath it are two entwined figures. It's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. They've become a single naked body. The entire ill.u.s.tration is done in rich black ink...with the exception of the girl's bold red hair.

He's nervous. "Do you like it?"

"Let's move to this island tonight. Right this second." I can't hide the genuine longing from my voice. Nor the fear and dread of our upcoming re-separation.

Josh tucks a loose strand of my hair back into place. "We'll move there next autumn, maybe even this summer. And then we'll never be apart ever again."

Chapter twenty-six.

Back at Chuck's door, Josh returns the tube to his jacket pocket. My fancy jewelled clutch is too fancy to be of any actual use. Josh knocks a normal knock, not his special knock and the door opens. Chuck nods his approval. "With thirty seconds to spare."

"Anything you need, you let me know," Josh says as we steal back inside.

Chuck's smile widens into a grin. "Oh, I'll let you know."

"Thank you so much," I say.

Chuck gestures towards the right strap of my dress, which has loosened and keeps falling off my shoulder. I shove it back up. My boyfriend's ensuing blush matches my own. Chuck laughs. "You kids have a good night now, you hear?"

As soon as we're out of earshot, Josh says, "Nothing like an adult to remind you that you aren't one."

I laugh, but as we place our drink order at the bar, our matching ginger ales make the sort-of joke feel all too real. It's always uncomfortable to come home from school only to be faced with even fewer freedoms. The last time we were at a party, we drank champagne. We stayed out as late as we wanted. And zero family members were involved. "Should we find your parents again?" Please say no.

He sighs. "Yeah."

"OhmyG.o.d. Is that the mayor?"

A snappily dressed, elderly photographer is taking pictures of an equally elderly man with tipsy-red cheeks and a sober-looking, much younger partner.

"Yep," Josh says, unenthused.

As we pa.s.s them, I follow Josh's blase lead, and I don't turn my head to stare. Even though I want to. This evening will never stop being weird.

We wander, searching for his parents, but it's a slow-moving process. Everybody seems to know Josh, and they all want to congratulate him on the re-election. Political lifers. Josh remembers the names of children and locations of vacation homes, and he introduces me to everyone. I munch on bland canapes. This is the type of conversation that he despises, but his distaste never shows. It strikes me that if he had the desire...he could be one of them, too. He's a good actor.

It's a little unsettling.

But not nearly so unsettling as the other type of partygoer who keeps pulling Josh aside. Society girls. The female version of him always someone's daughter but with a drive that's both alarming and intimidating. They laugh. They flirt. I eat more canapes. They tower over me. Even the ones who aren't tall still manage to tower over me through their confidence alone. A brunette with an unwinterlike tan does a particularly swell job of pretending that I don't exist. Her hand touches the sleeve of Josh's jacket twice.

After the third sleeve-touch, Josh makes our excuses and steers us away. But even that doesn't stop her from following him with her eyes as we move throughout the room.

Over an hour later, after emoting my most sociable holiday cheer during countless conversations in which I am invisible, we locate his parents beside a large copper...vat? I read the sign. Baptismal font. Unexpectedly, I'm relieved to see them. At least I know they won't ignore me.

As Josh predicted, they've partaken of a few more gla.s.ses of wine. They're relaxed and happy. Mrs. Wa.s.serstein even compliments my shoes. But soon another stranger interrupts us, some famous journalist, and then the pushy brunette re-approaches Josh from behind. She stands in a way that forces him to turn his head away from us to hear what she's saying, which means that I can't hear what she's saying.

The journalist envelops Josh's parents in a conversation about tax incentives. They glance at me occasionally, including me in the discussion with their eyes, but I contribute nothing, feeling dumb and unimportant. The brunette laughs. Josh turns his head to shoot me an apologetic look. I smile as if everything were fine.

We've only been here for two hours, but I'm ready to leave.

A tapestry of a medieval lady snags my gaze. She's giving me a distinctly incredulous "oh, no, this is not happening" face, and I'm grateful that someone sees what's going on here. Even if she is woven.

Josh finally cuts off the brunette, and his father sweeps him back into their conversation. "I'm sorry," Josh says, "but Isla and I are heading out."

What now? I perk up.

The senator looks disappointed. "Come by the house for dinner this week," he tells me. "I'd like to have a real chance to get to know you."

I'm touched. And panicked to think about an evening with them unprotected by a public safety net. "Thank you. I'd like that."

"Marvellous seeing you again." Mrs. Wa.s.serstein gives me a limp, one-armed hug. The words sound friendly enough, but the warmth in her action is debatable.

"It was nice seeing you, too. Thank you for inviting me."

"Are you going straight home?" she asks Josh.

"Nah, we're gonna get some real food first. But I'll probably still beat you back."

"Is Brian taking you?"

"I just texted him." Josh holds up her phone and grins.

She s.n.a.t.c.hes it back, but she's smiling as she hugs him goodbye. "Pickpocket."

"Warden."

It's the first Josh-like exchange that I've heard in a while. His mom is placated enough by his answers, so he puts an arm around my waist and guides me towards the exit. "It's strange," I say, the moment we're alone. "The way you've been steering me around like this tonight."

He yanks away his arm as if it'd been caught in a com-promising position. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, I know. It was the environment. It just feels...weird."

"That whole scene is weird, right?" He gestures towards the fading laughter and string quartet.

"You seem comfortable in it, though. If I didn't know any better, I'd never guess that you hate it."

"Well, I do." He sounds defensive.

"I know. I'm only saying that you're a good actor."

Josh shoves his hands into his pockets, and the museum's dim light catches the sheen of the tuxedo stripe on his pants. "I don't think that was a compliment," he says at last.

"That's not what I meant."

But...it was. And Josh knows it. For some reason, now that I've started, I can't hold back. "The whole thing reminded me of Televised Josh. You, looking so polished. Speaking in that voice. Standing so straight."

Josh opens the museum door for me. His teeth are gritted.

"Knowing all of these people and things that I don't." Shut. Up.

"Yeah, because they've been a part of my life for, like, ever. I'm not gonna be a d.i.c.k in front of the people who keep my dad in office."

"I know! And I know you're a part of this life, so you have to act like that-"

"I don't have to do anything. I choose to be a decent person."

It's a sword through the chest. I've gone too far. I've gone way, way too far. "I'm sorry. I don't...I don't know why..."

"Forget it." But his head is turned away from mine. He's scanning the line of cars for Brian, but, really, it's an excuse not to look at me. I can't blame him. Why couldn't I keep my stupid insecurities to myself?

It's freezing, and I wish I'd brought my winter coat. For the first time ever, either Josh doesn't notice that I'm shivering or he chooses not to offer me his jacket. Not that he should have to give it to me. It's my own fault for leaving my coat behind during the excitement of his arrival at my house.

"I'm sorry," I say again.

He shrugs.

"Do you still wanna get something to eat?"

"Of course." Josh sounds surprised. He pulls his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms. After a minute of uneasy silence, he uncrosses them and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, too. For bringing you. Not that I didn't want you here," he adds quickly, "but because I knew it would suck. These things always do. Not that all of that sucked," he adds again. "Twenty minutes of it were fantastic."

"You don't have to apologize." I stare at the pavement. "You have this big life that I'm not a part of. And I wanted to see it."

Josh's frown deepens.

I open my mouth to try again when a black town car pulls up to the kerb and flashes its lights. The wind turns abrasive as we hurry towards it. The locks pop, Josh opens the back door, and we slide inside.

"Sorry I'm late," Brian says. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour."

Josh shakes his head. "No problem. You know how these events are."

"Do I ever." Brian grins at us in the rear-view mirror. "You've got ninety minutes before curfew. Can I take you somewhere else?"

Josh leans forward in his seat. "You know that cafe on Amsterdam? Kismet?"

Brian snorts. It tells me that he already knows the story. "I think I can find the place."

"Thanks." Josh sits back. And then he turns to me with a sudden alarm. "Is that okay? Sorry, I'm still in stupid party mode. I didn't even ask. I know we're going there for New Year's, but I thought an early visit would be nice. For nostalgia's sake."

"No, it's perfect." I force a smile. "Thanks, Brian."

"That's what I'm here for," he says.

But the feeling inside the car is not perfection. There's no hand holding. We're quiet and ill at ease. As Brian merges into traffic, he tries to lighten the mood. "So, Isla. Did you get to see any of the museum?"

It's a leading question. Clearly, Josh tells him a lot of things. "I did."