come up, his eyes are closed, his mouth slightly parted.

We match each other thrust to thrust. The band launches into a new song. Louder and louder. The crowd is in a frenzy. Étienne screams the chorus with

the rest of them. I don’t know the words—even if I spoke French, I doubt I could make out the lyrics over the roar—al I know is this band is SO MUCH

BETTER than the Penny Dreadfuls. HA!

We dance until we can’t dance any longer. Until we’re gasping for breath and our clothes are soaked and we can hardly stand up. He leads me to the

bar, and I grip onto it with everything left in me. He fal s next to me. We’re laughing. I’m crying, I’m laughing so hard.

A strange girl shouts at us in French.

“Pardon?” Étienne turns around, and his eyes widen in shock when he sees her. The girl has sleek hair and a hard face. She keeps yel ing, and I pick

out a few choice swearwords. He replies in French, and I can tell by his stance and tone of voice that he’s defending himself. The girl shouts again, gives him a final sneer, then spins away and pushes her way back through the pulsing mass.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“Shite. Shite.”

“Who was that? What happened?” I lift my hair to get some air on my neck. I’m hot. It’s so hot in here.

Étienne pats his pockets, panicked. “Fuck. Where’s my phone?”

I fumble in my purse and pul out my cel . “USE MINE!” I shout over the music.

He shakes his head. “I can’t use yours. She’l know. She’l f**king know.” He pul s at his hair, and before I know it, he’s making his way for the door. I’m on his heels. We burst through the club into the cold night.

Snowflakes are fal ing. I don’t believe it. It never snows in Paris! And it’s snowing on my birthday! I stick out my tongue, but I don’t feel them hit. I stick it out farther. He’s stil searching frantical y for his phone. Final y, he finds it in a coat pocket. He cal s someone, but they must not pick up, because he screams.

I jump backward. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? What’s going on? I’l tell you what’s going on. That girl in there, the one who wanted to kil me? That’s El ie’s roommate. And she saw us dancing, and she’s cal ed her, and she’s told her all about it.”

“So what? We were just dancing. Who cares?”

“Who cares? El ie’s freaked out about you as it is! She hates it when we’re together, and now she’l think something’s going on—”

“She hates me?” I’m confused.What did I do to her? I haven’t even seen her in months.

He screams again and kicks the wal , then howls in pain. “FUCK!”

“Calm down! God, Étienne, what’s with you?”

He shakes his head, and his expression goes blank. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” He runs a hand through his damp hair.

What was supposed to end? Her or me?

“It’s been fal ing apart for so long—”

Oh my God. Are they breaking up?

“But I’m just not ready for it,” he finishes.

My heart hardens to ice. Screw him. Seriously. SCREW. HIM.“Why not, St. Clair? Why aren’t you ready for it?”

He looks up at me when I say his name. St. Clair, not Étienne. He’s hurt, but I don’t care. He’s St. Clair again. Flirty, friends-with-everyone St. Clair. I HATE him. Before he can answer, I’m stumbling down the sidewalk. I can’t look at him anymore. I’ve been so stupid. I’m such an idiot.

It’s Toph, all over again.

He cal s after me, but I keep moving forward. One foot in front of the other. I’m focusing so hard on my steps that I bump into a streetlamp. I curse and kick it. Again and again and again and suddenly St. Clair is pul ing me back, pul ing me away from it, and I’m kicking and screaming and I’m so tired and I just want to go HOME.

“Anna. Anna!”

“What’s happening?” someone asks. Meredith and Rashmi and Josh surround us. When did they get here? How long have they been watching us?

“It’s all right,” St. Clair says. “She’s just a little drunk—”

“I am NOT DRUNK.”

“Anna, you’re drunk, and I’m drunk, and this is ridiculous. Let’s just go home.”

“I don’t want to go home with you!”

“What the hel has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me? You’ve got a lot of nerve asking that.” I stagger toward Rashmi. She steadies me while giving Josh an appal ed look. “Just tell me one thing, St. Clair. I just want to know one thing.”

He stares at me. Furious. Confused.

I pause to steady my voice. “Why are you stil with her?”

Silence.

“Fine. Don’t answer me. And you know what? Don’t cal me either. We’re done. Bonne nuit.”

I’m already stomping away when he replies.

“Because I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice echoes through the night.

I turn around to face him one last time. “You weren’t alone, ass**le.”

Chapter thirty-five

Wow, Anna.You are such a mean drunk.”

I pul the covers over my head. Rashmi is on the phone. My head is kil ing me.

“How much did you and St. Clair drink last night?”

Étienne. What happened last night? I remember the club. I remember the music and—Was there dancing? I think there was dancing—and, oh yeah,

some girl was yel ing at us, and then we went outside and . . . oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

I sit up quickly and ohmyfreakinggod my head is THROBBING. I close my eyes to shut out the painful light, and slowly, slowly sink back down into bed.

“You guys practical y had sex on the dance floor.”

We did?

I open my eyes again and regret it immediately. “I think I have the flu,” I croak. I’m thirsty. My mouth is dry. Disgusting. It tastes like the bottom of Captain Jack’s cage.

“More like a hangover.You should have some water. But not too much, you might puke again.”

“Again?”

“Look in your sink.”

I groan. “I’d rather not.”