Page 38 of The Crimson Lily

We all straighten our postures, coming closer to Béatrice’s phone to hear Alejandro better.

“He was talking about needing a place to store something very valuable until Friday. Robert gave him the address of a storage house along the Seine. He said the place is highly secure.”

Béatrice gasps. “Shit. That must be the one near Quai d’Orsay! It’s like a parking lot where we sometimes temporarily store our excavation findings.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Alejandro confirms. “I thought this might help.”

“Thank you, Alejandro!” I exclaim impulsively.

“Liliana…” He falls silent, then I hear him clear his throat. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday, Lili. I just hope you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I reassure him. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I won’t do that,” he says. I swear he’s smiling. “Be safe, you two.”

He hangs up before we can say anything else. I remain quiet for a minute, then I turn to Maksim.

“Until Friday…‌That gives us about three days,” I say.

He’s silent. I use this occasion to take a few bites of my croissant. He turns around and disappears into the hallway. I don’t have a chance to catch his attention; he’s already long gone.

“Where is he going now?” Béatrice asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer with a longing sigh. “I guess we never will.” I curl my eyebrows.

“Are you in love with him?”

Wow. That question takes me by surprise. I chuckle nervously, unsure how to respond, knowing my reaction isn’t the most elusive.

She notices and speaks again. “Do you…” She wants to check something but isn’t sure how to phrase it. She closes her big brown eyes to think for a second. “Does he hurt you? I mean…” She clears her throat. “In bed?”

I burst into laughter. I can’t hold it in, nor can I give her an answer that doesn’t sound absolutely insane.

“It’s okay, Lili,” she assures. “Some people like these things.”

“Well,” I say, still laughing. “He…‌hmm…‌he likes it rough.”

She frowns. “Do you?”

I purse my lips, pondering how to say this without screaming a big yes. I go with a single nod.

“What is this place anyway?” Béatrice asks, looking around the room, opening her eyes wide at how it looks like a museum piece from the Renaissance.

“It’s his family holiday home,” I reply, with a hint of pride I don’t quite understand myself.

“Damn!” she exclaims. “If I’d known I could have an Eiffel Tower view on a mafia salary…”

She stands up and goes to analyze the sideboard. She finds the same picture with the same beautiful blond woman and the man in a suit. She holds it for a second before turning to me.

“Any ideas where these two are?” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “He’s not very talkative.” I let out a long sigh.

“Be careful, okay?” she requests. “He killed two men. He’s a criminal.”

“Well, Béa,” I begin. “I don’t know what you think, but after all this madness, I have a feeling I’m not a complete angel either.”

She frowns again. “What makes you say that?”