Last updated June 2013.

A la fin du septembre

"Étienne! How are you, mon chèr?" my mum says on the phone from San Francisco.

"I'm all right," I say, my voice as quiet as possible. I know if I speak any louder, she'll know immediately that something's wrong. "How are you?"

"Good, good," she says. "Just finishing some new pieces. The neighborhood is having an open studio event next week."

"That's great, mum," I say. "I'm sure it'll be brilliant."

"Thanks," she says. "I certainly hope so! By the way, have you heard from your father lately?"

"I think he's in London," I say. "Not sure."

I hate when she asks me about him. She knows exactly where he probably is. It breaks my heart that she still depends on him – because she deserves so much better.

"I see," she says. "Well, you've been awfully quiet lately."

"Don't you enjoy my emails?" I joke. "I put a lot of time and effort into those."

"Of course I do!" she says. "But I like to hear your voice more."

"I'm sorry, mum," I say. "I should be better about that. Things have been really insane here."

"I thought so," she says. "It's so unlike you to not call for a few weeks."

Suddenly I find myself confessing everything to my mum about my new double life. I leave some bits out – my mum's not naïve, she can fill in the blanks herself – but it feels good to finally tell someone the entire story.

When I finish, I feel a sense of relief.

"Don't beat yourself up over this, honey," she says. "I know it probably feels like the end of the world right now. And I know your father and his parents really like Ellie a lot, but you do have a choice, dear."

"But what if she doesn't want me, mum?"

"You shouldn't doubt yourself, Étienne," she says. "Sometimes you just have to take a chance."

I smile to myself. Only a mum could say that so confidently, as if there were no potential complications or mishaps to be had.

"I'll think about it, mum."

"I hope you do," she says. "And Étienne?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful out there. If that scene is anything like it was years ago, it's not something I want a son of mine caught up in. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good night, Étienne. Love you."

"Love you too, mum."

Plusieurs semaines plus tard

To my own surprise, I've actually started to follow some of mum's advice. I'm replacing the endless Parsons parties with something a bit more my style – the cinema. It doesn't hurt, of course, that it's now one of Anna's favorite things to do in Paris.

We sit in silence, in the dark, for several hours at a time. I've started playing a dangerous game with myself – seeing how close I can get to touching her without actually touching her. I enjoy torturing myself, clearly.

Last week, I mustered up the courage to rest my leg against hers, just to see how it felt. I watched ever so slightly as her breath quickened and her skin flushed.

Nothing I had ever seen in the cinema had ever turned me on quite like that.

It gave me a strange sense of hope, an odd feeling that, with just a bit more courage, I could say something to her and we could be together.

But then my father came back to town and made it quite clear that Ellie and I are to be together.

Ellie's becoming less the gorgeous artiste I fell in love with and more the New York party girl her family name almost destines her to be. Apparently I'm the only one bothered by it. When we all went out together for coffee last week, I lost count of how many times my father said beau and belle and magnifique to her.

Ellie falls so easily for his charm, so much like everyone else. She even promised to introduce my father to Kensington family contacts in New York who are looking to work with new galleries overseas. Can you imagine?

When she excused herself to take a call, my father started with his usual complaints.

"Have you even started applying for university yet?" he said in French. "You're going to have to make some effort to get in here. I can't do everything for you."

"Right," I say. "Because I'm not smart and no university will ever take me."

"You're lazy is what you are," he said. "You should be lucky a girl like Ellie even bothers with you. She could do a lot better."

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

At least Anna doesn't know my father or any of the nonsense Ellie's pulling these days.

Her problems are practically cute by comparison.

I find her on an early October evening in the French classroom, muttering alone to herself. She's all "argh" and "umm" and I'd almost think she was mad if I didn't know her.

"Are you all right?"

She looks up at me, startled.

"I'd be a lot better if I didn't have to take this French class."

I sit down next to her. "Let me see," I say, glancing over her work. "Okay, so it's the verb être. It doesn't follow any rule or pattern."

"Ugh, French is impossible," she says, with an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm sure you can do it," I say. "You just got to give it a chance."

She gives me a doubtful look.

"Here, repeat after me," I say. "Je suis…"

"Je soo-ey?"

"Je suis…"

"Je sue…"

I chuckle a bit and she thwacks my shoulder.

"Stop laughing!" she says. "It's totally not funny."

But her eyes light up anyway.

"All right," I say. "Let's try a different way. Watch my lips."

I say the conjugation again in slow motion as her gaze fixes on my mouth.

"Répète, Mademoiselle Oliphant."

"Je suis," she says with more conviction.

"I can't hear you."

"Je SUIS," she says.

"Plus forte!"

"JE SUIS!," she yells and I nearly fall off my chair. We keep going until Anna's practically lost her voice shouting irregular verb conjugations.

"Well," I say, doubled over in laughter. "I don't think they've heard you on the 6th floor."

"They better have heard that all the way outside," she whispers, wrapping her hand around her now sore throat.

"We'll have to aim for that next time," I say.

"I'd like that," she whispers, blushing.

I don't know if it's her voice or her look or something, but I'm suddenly consumed by this great desire to kiss her. Right there. In the classroom. Where just about anyone could discover us.

No. No, no, no.

I turn away quickly and move to leave.

"Right, well," I say. "I trust you've got the rest of this covered, then?"

"When I get my voice back," she whispers. "Thanks for your help, St. Clair."

"Not a problem," I say.

She gives me a weird glance, like she's disappointed, but I'm already out the door.

That was close. Much too close.

To my surprise, Ellie's outside, waiting for me, as I approach Lambert. Oh fuck, what time is it?

"Hey, there you are!" she says, bringing herself in for a kiss. "We've got the dinner tonight with Mathieu and Laure, remember? And then the party after, of course, at that new installation in the 19th."

"Yes, of course," I say. "I just got a bit caught up in some work."

And Anna. And I have no bloody idea who Mathieu and Laure are. Am I supposed to know?

"It's all right," she says. "They'll probably be late anyway. They always are."

"Just like me, then," I say, grinning. I can't stop myself from acting around her.

"Almost," she says, laughing. "So Mathieu does a lot of print work, and Laure's been helping him expanding online. I don't know why more of us aren't using social media to grow our work, you know? There's just so much opportunity – "

Ellie continues but I'm barely paying attention. I know we're going to places most people would absolutely die to get into, but I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

I just want to go back to Anna and take her out for crèpes – something amazing, something effortless, just like her.

I want to take her back to my room and stay there until the sun rises and we can barely move.

But the way things are now – I worry these things will only happen in my mind.

Never in reality.