“Menteuse,” she retorted, calling me a liar in French. “Qui c’est?” “Who’s who?” She jerked her chin behind me, and I whipped around to see Will standing in the doorway. Dammit. I told him to leave. But he just walked in, smiling gently. “Allô,” he said. “Je m’appelle Guillaume.” I gaped at him, hearing French spew out of his mouth like it was nothing. Guillaume was the French variant of William. Seriously?
