Chapter 13

As soon as the Parvarotti-look-alike stormed off in frustration, Sébastien let Tiffany go so forcefully, she very nearly toppled. Having put no less than a yard between them, his eyes were as wide as Tiffany's, though they shined with a deeper shade of sorrow. Two whole minutes passed, in awful, motionless silence, save for the background celebrations.

Eventually, something had to be said, and Sébastien knew there was no escaping. He owed her that at the very least. Bracing himself against the bizarre, inexplicable hurt he knew would slice his heart, he explained as quickly and swiftly as he could manage, "Tiffany- Je suis dèsolé, je te prie de me pardoner," and realizing Tiffany's confused look, reverted back to English, "I'm so sorry, please forgive me. You don't know Monsieur Rigattro, he takes whoever he imagines he has even a shred of chance with. I had to convince him…

"I know that even so, it doesn't, in any way, justify my lies and intrusion of your… rights, but…" he broke off, unable to continue. Tiffany had her hand to her mouth, and her stunned features seemed made out of crystal, so still and fragile. Sébastien stared at the polished marble floor, "I have said too much. Since you now detest my presence, in which you have every right to do so, I shall gladly leave. Excuse me-" Slowly, he turned, and walked away silently with defeated grace.

Tiffany stared at his retreating silhouette, her emotions in complete turmoil. She knew not what to think and what to do. Was she going to let him go, just like that— he saved her! Why shouldn't she, he had just forced a kiss on her, that was no better than what Monsiuer Rig- whoever her was, did! Yet, it was different, she was surprisingly mesmerized, that kiss, though rash, was soft and… heaven help her.

Even as her mind was still sorting it all out, struggling in the mess of emotions, her heart seemed to have long reached a conclusion. She noticed a clicking of heels on the marble floor and was belatedly shocked that it belonged to her running feet as Sébastien continued plowing through the crowd. Her slender hand tugged at his. He turned, with hopeful but genuine surprise.

"I'm sorry. I should thank you for sparing me an episode with Monsieur… with him. I shudder just thinking about what would happen if you were not there. We both know that was practical and as long as we don't do that again-" She was the dumbest, and she knew it. His mouth on hers was quite a desirable scenario.

A dark veil flittered over the expression in his eyes. At a lost of words to patch up what she had so blundered, she inserted, "Um… If you want to atone for your monstrous sin, you could honor me with that dance you were talking about. The one I very intelligently promised you. The waltz," she looked at him smile shyly through her lashes, her both hands still clasping his.

Twirling rapidly to a lively three beat couplets, she did not have a clue Sébastien could dance so well. He seemed a natural, moving with great agility and sense of rhythm. Was there anything this man wasn't good at? So far, in the few hours she had known him, he was talented at everything he did. "Do you dance often?"

As he caught her steadily and guided her as they shifted at angles, he supplied, "Moderately. Usually, I can hardly find a suitable partner. But then, I suppose most people have skills of a different level in this area." This guy sure knew his strengths.

"You hardly are 'usually modest'. In fact, you might as well list out all your great accomplishments now, once and for all. It saves my stomach from the gagging it would otherwise undergo," she complained.

He grinned, "Have you been sightseeing? Paris has many facets, some of them exceedingly rich in art and culture."

"Unfortunately, we had only arrived in the afternoon-"

"Where you checked-in at the Hôtel Parisienne?" he asked pointedly, all the while sweeping her across the glazed floor..

Blushing, she just had to find out, "Yes, I noticed someone who looked much like you there. Was he, by any chance, you?" She hoped that it had sounded offhanded.

"Was he as handsome as me?"

Gosh, he was every bit as good-looking as you, Tiffany thought, but said instead, "Sir, I have realized, in all likelihood, it must not have been you. His charm was in an entirely different caliber as yours. In a positive sense of course."

"Really? Though I believe the rose he held strangely resembles the one on my lapel?" Darn, he was good.

"Perhaps, sir, if you had spent your time observing other matters of more use, you might have turned out rather charismatic. But as it is, I shan't be deceitful or mean, and shall abstain from opening my mouth."

They both shared a laugh as the waltz sobered into a slow piece. Undoubtedly, they were both aware that the one dance he'd 'owed' her was over, and music at such leisurely paces were exclusively meant for couples who had established themselves. Yet, they both had not the heart to bid the other au revoir, and thus waited with considerable apprehension for the dreaded words to arrive.