VERA

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"LONG NIGHT?" Bella said, dusting flour off of her hands.

Days at the bakery went by quicker than I remembered them being, because I had something to look forward to now. The book club—or the not book club full of amateur thieves—to be specific. I wasn't entirely sure if Bella knew what Timothée's plans were involving the Will and his Uncle, so I held off on mentioning it. Especially now.

"Short is more like it," I chuckled weakly, "I think I only slept for three hours."

"Is your roommate keeping you up?" She asked.

No, because I spent the night at your nephew's.

"Not really," I said instead, "she usually stays at her girlfriend's house now, so I guess I have to blame my sleepless nights on insomnia."

Or because I'm involved in a mission to steal back a Will with your nephew.

Once again, not going to say that.

Bella nodded her head, disappearing down the stairs and into the basement. Milk, or something. At least their absence gave me time to think, and my thoughts almost always strayed back to him. Every time I glanced at the storage room door, I remembered the first time I ended up finding the boy I would soon fall in love with. It made the world feel unexpected, but fateful. I was meant to find him, my heart sang.

I couldn't imagine how dull my life would've been if we hadn't made that deal.

I accidentally slept in this morning, waking up to an empty apartment that wasn't mine. Timothée left a glass of milk and a note that said 'steal anything you want from my fridge, petit voleur'—which a hard take on Google Translate told me meant: little thief—followed by a small section that explained he had class to get to. I always did forget he was still in University.

My overthinking mind fed my ego in that moment, telling myself that by not waking me up, Timothée trusted me to roam his apartment by myself. I'd seen almost everything anyways, and I decided to pride myself on that thought.

I can't believe I admitted to loving him yesterday night.

Love was scary, but it just felt so right in the moment.

And to think he was falling—not love yet, I don't think, but just falling—for me too meant more than all of Paris itself. He pretended to love me, saying it would help me write my book, but maybe he was using that as a mask to hide his true feelings. I didn't want to assume. I just wanted it to be true.

But I snapped out of my thoughts when the bell to the bakery rang, twinkling against the morning's sunlight as a figure passed through the glass door.

I'd recognize that curly hair anywhere.

"Toni?" I smiled, leaning over the counter, "hey, what's up?"

She was wearing her paint-stained overalls, something she only wore when she was off from her modelling gigs, a white sweater with black stripes on the ends, and the beaten-up sneakers she's kept since junior year. She looked tired. Maybe a little disappointed.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said, stopping directly across from me, "considering you didn't come home last night."

Heck. I forgot.

This was her first time visiting me in the bakery, and it was just to call me out on my carelessness. She always let me know whenever she went out, but the one time I didn't come back to the apartment, I forgot to tell her.

"I tried to call you," she added, "but nothing went through. I'm assuming your phone died?"

No, it didn't die. I had it shut off for the Scam and never turned it back on, because I was distracted by earpieces, dinners, and daydreams.

"Ugh, I'm so sorry," I groaned, facepalming.

She shrugged. "Girl, you're safe, that's all that matters to me."

"Thank you, Toni."

Usually these confrontations were said-and-done, but I noticed a sparkle in the irises of her hazel eyes that shouldn't have been there.

"So, Vera, never thought you'd have it in you," she grinned, the corner of her pink lips twisting into something purely maniacal, "I'm assuming you stayed...elsewhere?"

I guessed she was going to say that before I heard the words come out of her mouth. She was implying something. Something I'd rather not get into at the moment.

"It wasn't like that, Toni," I sighed, I promise."

She didn't believe me. "So you just happened to stay at a stranger's house for fun?"

"He isn't a stranger," I noted for reference, "and the apartment was too far, so I ended up crashing for a night."

"He?" She exclaimed, "you're telling me you met a guy here in Paris, and didn't tell me about him?"

I did.

In the first week, actually. I told her about Timothée and the basement incident, which leaves me at a bit of a problem, all things considered. She warned me not to associate myself with him—and then I went and associated with him—so in her head she still thinks he's a jerk who played me.

She doesn't know that last night I admitted to being in love with him.

And she doesn't know that he could very much, possibly, be falling for me too.

"It's not a big deal," I said nervously, tapping my fingers against the counter, "and I've barely seen you in between your job and your girlfriend, so there wasn't any time."

Not to mention the fact that this 'not-a-big-deal' was about stealing a Will from a suspected murderer, who just so happens to be one of the richest, and most powerful, people in Paris.

But I can't tell her that.

"Want to walk for me?" She grinned, cocking a brow.

I blinked. "What?"

"Do a little walk, let's see if you can walk properly."

Gosh, I can't believe I haven't died from being Toni's friend all these years. She could be a little pushy sometimes, but I loved her. I just didn't love this conversation.

Thankfully, the bell to the shop twinkled again, and I knew I'd be saved from this awkward conversation about to be pushed on me.

Until I saw who it was.

This was going to be a long day.

Timothée strode in through the glass door, wearing a loosely buttoned red shirt, black jeans, and another one of his toothpicks in his mouth. His curls weren't unruly today, and instead slicked back with a stray curl dangling over his brows—an image of a 50s heartthrob, and it, well...made my 'heart throb'.

His eyes were trained on me the second he saw me.

"Vera, darling," He smiled, unknowingly coming to a stop right next to Toni, "bonjour."

Toni gasped.

I silently died inside.

Timothée didn't seem to notice, until Toni slapped her palms on the counter, whipping her head towards the man in complete shock. If I knew I was about to get thrown into an awkward confrontation, I would have just slept on a park bench instead of staying at Timmy's apartment.

"I know you," she said, narrowing her eyes into slits, "Vera's told me all about you."

The bad parts, mostly. In my defense, it was because I did hate him slightly at the beginning, and never got around to telling Toni about his character development.

Timothée looked bewildered after being addressed by a stranger—or he was shocked at Toni's beauty, which I couldn't blame him for—but quickly caught on when he saw me trying to sink into the ground bashfully.

"You must be the roommate," he said to my friend, before turning back to me, "Have you been talking about me, Vera?"

Toni cut me off. "It's none of your business."

There was an awkward pause, where the three of us nearly suffocated with the unnecessary tension, but then a lightbulb flickered on in the gears of Toni's mind. I could almost see the light shine through her eyes. Actually, given the fact that she still thought he was a jerk, it was more of a dim light.

"You've got to be kidding me, girl," she scoffed, "Is he the guy?"

This time Timothée cut me off. "Care to explain who the guy is?"

"You, you insolent thick-head," Toni spat out, "what the hell are you doing trying to bother my friend?"

Timmy furrowed his brows. "Care to define 'bother'?"

"She stayed at your house last night, didn't she?"

"Well, that's 'none of your business', is it?" He echoed thinly.

But before either of us could process his quick-witted response, he leaned over the counter, grabbing my hand and lifting it to his lips for a chaste kiss. It was clear he was only doing it to spite Toni—who he probably thought was crazy—but I pretended like it was a normal occurrence.

"Book club," he said to me.

I gave him an understanding nod.

And then he left, leaving me with the usual dreamy daze and smile on my face. Unfortunately, he also left me with my best friend, who was currently shooting daggers out of her eyes. I might die in the next five minutes. It's very likely.

"Croissant?" I said weakly, holding up some metal tongs.

Toni glared. "Don't you dare change the subject, Vera."

There was a beat, where the bakery was deadly silent.

"But yes, I want a croissant," she said quickly after, puffing up her cheeks angrily, "but that doesn't change anything."

I nodded sheepishly, bending down to slide open the glass display case and take out a fluffy, fresh baked chocolate croissant (I'll pay for it later). Wrapping it into a napkin like Bella taught me to do, I held it out towards my glowering friend.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I said softly.

She snatched the croissant out of my hand, eyeing it suspiciously before looking back at me. She seemed to be analyzing my expression for any hint of skepticism, but she wouldn't find any. I meant it. I felt like I had drifted apart from her bit by bit, and she had every right not to trust me.

"What was it?" She said.

I hesitated, taking a step back. "What do you mean?"

"What made you stay with him?"

A lot of things, really.

At first it was being his friend. The times he'd wait outside the bakery to show me around Paris, and the times he wasn't afraid to tell me about the things he loved. But when I found out that was just an elaborate way to drag me into this mess, I tried to leave.

SO, the second thing that made me stay was the novel—something I'm almost done writing. Seven more chapters left, by a rough estimate. He kept his promise, and I kept mine.

But then it was him that made me stay.

No deals, no end goals, just him. I fell in love with a boy who loved glass, who always kept his book of poetry tucked away in his back pocket, and the boy who chewed on toothpicks whenever he felt nervous. I remembered being so scared when I couldn't read his actions, but now I realize it was never about that—it was about learning to trust him.

To have faith that he wouldn't let me go when everything was over-and-done.

That's why I stayed.

"Oh, I get it," Toni said, breaking my thoughts like a wrecking ball, "it was his cake, wasn't it?"

I furrowed my brows. "What?"

"Don't lie to me, I saw his rear-end when he walked in this store."

"Toni!"

"Double-cheeked up on a Friday afternoon."

"Toni, stop!"

"Kim Kardashian couldn't even compare."

"I will take back that croissant if you don't stop talking about his butt," I hissed, reaching for the baked good in her hands, "I'm not that shallow of a person!"

"Okay, fine, I'll stop," she laughed, clutching her treat closely to her chest as she began to fall back towards the exit to the shop, "but I'm still mad at you for this, you know."

I smiled. "I know."

"I'm trusting you."

"Okay, Toni."

"He better not end up being a criminal or a murder," she said, "you deserve to much better that that."

I rolled my eyes playfully, waving her out of the shop and towards whatever plans she had next in the day. I owed a lot to her, I really did. Toni wasn't someone I could just throw off to the side in the story of my life, because she was embedded in my life. She wasn't the side character, she helped make the main character.

And, yeah. I missed her.

Hopefully I won't have to hide my secrets from her when this deal is finally done. If it gets done. There's no guarantee our plan to crash the most esteemed gala in France will work, but when it all comes down to it, it's trust. Remember?

And I trust everything will be fine.