Die for Her A Die for Me Novella

—the words sizzle through my mind, and I feel like I am bleeding internally.
    Kate drags me back to the here and now. “I saw Vincent yesterday sharing a very tender moment with a gorgeous blonde.”
    I ignore her words and continue drawing. I can’t look her in the eyes right away. She will see it. She’ll know how I feel. “Vince wanted me to check on you,” I say finally. “He doesn’t dare approach you himself. He says he doesn’t want to cause you any more agony. After seeing you sprint out of La Palette yesterday, he was afraid that you might have drawn the wrong conclusion. Which you obviously did.”
    I dare to glance up and see a flash of anger in her eyes. “Jules, I saw what I saw. How much more obvious could it have been?”
    Part of me wants to shrug it off. To let her believe that Vincent and Geneviève are a couple. She is at a weak point—wounded and confused. From decades of experience, I know that this is the perfect time to make a move—right after a girl’s been hurt by someone else. I spend the next few months building their confidence back up, showing them a good time.
    And then, before they can completely fall for me, I come up with something that will make them want to break up. I plant a seed of doubt, make them think that it’s their idea that we stop seeing each other. I act sad, but let them go their own way, and we both end up with a smile on our face, and our hearts a little warmer than before.
    Kate is right there, ready to be scooped up and loved. And I’m so tempted. She is beautiful: not just her face—her entire being is lovely. I see why Vincent is drawn to her. I find myself imagining that I’m holding her, and it makes me feel dirty. If I follow my desire, I will betray the person I am closest to in the world. My best friend. My brother. And although I melt a little more each time I glance up at her, I fix her gaze in mine and tell her what Vincent wants me to. “Geneviève is kindred. She’s an old friend who’s like a sister to us. Vincent’s in love, but not with her.”
    Kate draws a sharp breath, and I look back down at my sketch, breaking her magnetic hold on me. “He’s trying to figure things out,” I continue. “To find a way around the situation. He asked me to tell you that.”
    I study the drawing I’ve made of Kate, and then tear the sketch off the place mat and hand it to her.
    “I look beautiful,” she says in astonishment.
    “You are beautiful,” I say, and leaning forward, allow myself to kiss her forehead. Her warm, baby-soft skin. Get out of here now, before you do something foolish , my conscience tells me, and I stand and book it out of the café. I breathe in the cold winter air, and my thoughts are immediately calmed.
    Don’t look back , I think, and walk faster. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I cannot be falling for Kate, no matter how I felt in the café. No matter how I’m feeling right now. I can’t let myself.
    Vincent’s waiting for me in the front hall when I get home. “What did she say?” he asks, just as Jean-Baptiste walks out of the sitting room.
    “Same thing,” I say. “She can’t bear to see you.” Vincent nods grimly, as if he knew that would be her answer. He glances over at JB, who has stopped next to us and is unabashedly listening in on our conversation. “But I gave her your message anyway,” I say. I turn to JB. “I have important news—Kate saw Charles.”
    “What? Where?” asks Jean-Baptiste, suddenly on alert.
    “She saw him last night at a club near Oberkampf. Said he was standing outside. She couldn’t remember the name of the club. But at least we know he’s still alive and still free to come back home . . . if he wants to.”
    “Did you ask who he was there with?” JB asks.
    I shake my head.
    “We need to get more information from her.” He looks solemnly at Vincent. “You look horrible,” he states.
    Vincent shrugs, and turning, heads toward his room.
    JB crosses his arms and watches Vincent leave. “I think it’s time that I pay Kate’s grandparents a visit.”

TEN
    “ WHY DO THESE SMELL LIKE AN OUTHOUSE ?” I ask, holding up an old, crinkled parchment covered with scrawling in Latin. Gaspard, Vincent, and I are in the library combing through old documents that smell like they were left out in the rain and then shut up in an airtight box.
    “Because they were not properly cared for before they came into my possession,” Gaspard replies curtly. “Just