Papillon

Chapter 31: Napkins

Bella

Francis was holding my hand.

I wasn't sure if he knew he was doing it, but he was.

He joined me after my tutoring session with Adelaide, just to spend time with us. The two of us were sitting on one side of the bench, Adelaide on the other.

And under the table, Francis was holding my hand.

It was hard not to think about it, because he'd pulled my hand in between his legs, clasping it in both of his. Every once in a while, he rubbed his thumb on my palm and I shivered each time.

How the hell did we get here?

From the enemies-with-benefits arrangement we'd agreed to all the way to me having a nice cappuccino with him and his mother in Central Park, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Comment va-t-elle alors, Mama?" Francis asked with an amused smile on his face. How is she doing then?

"Mieux que toi quand tu apprenais l'anglais," Adelaide responded proudly. Better than you when you were learning English.

"Oh?" Francis chuckled, running a thumb over his lower lip.

"As-tu douté de moi?" I pouted with a hand over my heart. Did you doubt me?

Francis laughed a clear laugh, one that was becoming more and more familiar to me. I couldn't believe there was ever a time I didn't even know what this man looked like when he smiled.

Now, it seemed he was happy a lot. A foolishly girlish and hopeful part of me wanted to believe that it was because of me. I wanted it to be because of me. He'd brought me so much happiness in the last couple months that if I could even return a modicum of it, I would be elated.

"Never, papillon," he promised. "Not for one second."

Green eyes stared back at me, and the two of us were caught in the moment, unable to look away.

"You know," Adelaide mused, bringing both of our attention back to her. Francis cleared his throat while I tried to yank my hand back on instinct. But he wouldn't have any of that. He just squeezed my hand, and with it, my heart.

"When Francis was younger, he used to have a crush on this girl," Adelaide mused.

My breath hitched. Not because of the girl but because Adelaide was telling me something about Francis' past.

"Mama," Francis groaned. "Ce n'est vraiment pas nécessaire." This really isn't necessary.

"Oh, je pense que c'est très nécessaire," I grinned and motioned for Adelaide to continue. Oh, I think it's very necessary.

"Her name was Rachelle, and she was very pretty. Not as pretty as you, Bella, but pretty," Adelaide started. A flush grew on my cheeks, but I said nothing. It felt like being on top of the world to have Francis' mom's approval. I wondered if she knew how in love with her son I was. "Long black hair, blue eyes," Adelaide recalled.

"Huh," I frowned. "Sounds like Alana Martin."

Were blondes even his type?

Francis shot me a disapproving look. "She was not like Alana Martin."

"Alana Martin?" Adelaide asked.

I waved my hand. "Just this girl at school who's obsessed with Francis and he used to flirt with her so much–"

"I flirted with her because it bothered you," Francis deadpanned. "I had absolutely no interest in Alana."

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I shrugged. "It didn't bother me."