The Living Statue

26.

Turned out the Paris city center was as breathtaking as it was unconvenient for stylish footwear. The pavement was slick from the downpour that was unleashed upon the city earlier that day and I wrapped my night coat closer around my body in desperate attempt to fight off the unforgiving wind. The night had fallen fast upon the land. Just an hour ago the sky was painted with hues of orange and red, a final stroke of the finest brush to complete a masterpiece that was Paris sunset.

Except for the distant, lonely sound of a violine breaking through the crispy air, the street was utterly silent, serene even. Peaceful. If I wasn't struggling to keep balance on the damn designer shoes I was wearing, I would've enjoyed our marcher through the city center. Even in the cold.

As we proceeded down the wide, cobbled street and through the Arc de Triomphe, I looked up at the sky, breathing in the cold, autumn air. The night smelled of damp earth and wood smoke coming out of rows of tall chimneys hanging over the cityscape like dark silhouettes. There were no stars in the sky, which meant this magical night would be followed by yet another bleak day. I didn't mind, though. Paris was in so many ways similar to London, and I guess that meant cold weather and autumn rains suited it well. Made it even prettier.

"We're almost there," Mr. Torres said, his voice pulling me back into reality.

I glanced at him, quickly, as if afraid to stare for too long. Some part of me really was afraid. He looked nice. More than nice. I was used to seeing him in a suit, but for this occasion he had dressed with particular care.

I had caught him smoothing out the perfectly ironed fabric of his dark vest several times. If I didn't know him, I would've though he was nervous. His face was stern and peaceful as ever, but there was something in the way his eyes were darting restlessly from one building to another, from the cobblestone beneath his feet all the way up to the black sky. He didn't comb his hair, smoothed it backward as he usually does. Instead, he let it hang over his forehead in wild wisps, untamed on top, neatly trimmed on the sides.

It made him look younger than he really was. Boyish, even. As if he had finally let that cool, silly mask of his fall. Of course, to someone who was not particularly observant, there would've been nothing different about him except for the hair, but I knew better. I had watched that man for weeks, observant as I am, and I could tell the difference. Maybe he was not nervous, seeing as anxiousness probably wasn't in his genes. But he was absent-minded, as if his mind was not present but somewhere far, far away.

As I took another step, I almost slipped. Mr. Torres caught me with a feline dexterity, one arm firm on my elbow, the other wrapped around the small of my back. I cursed under my breath as I straightened and stepped away from him, desperate to retain the distance between us. "I just can't understand why we didn't go by car? Surely, it would be much easier. Faster, too," I muttered. "I'm literally moving with the speed of a slug."

"Because," he started, his voice low and huskey, not a trace of nervousness in it, "the restaurant is located in the heart of the city. It's accessible only by foot. Obviously, we would've gone by car if we could."

I scoffed. "Whatever. I shouldn't have worn these damn shoes, then. You should've at least warned me, sir."

"Don't ladies wear shoes like that all the time? Ah, I forgot. You aren't exactly a lady. Sorry."

My eye twitched. Once. Twice. I thought I was going to punch him right there, but digging my nails into my own ribs under the coat, I didn't let my temper flare. "I will not fall for that cheap provocation, sir."

"Can you stop talking?" he asked even as he halted and turned to face me. "I'm trying to concentrate here."

"Oh really? You mean you're trying to concentrate before the meeting you haven't even talked to me about. Why am I even attending when I have no clue what the meeting is held for in the firstplace? If you wanted a representative of the fairer sex by your side for tonight you could've just paid the professional escort, sir."