But bailing without saying goodbye is rude. Reluctantly, I drag myself back inside. I see Lucas’s trilby hat in the distance. He’s bobbing his head, talking animatedly to a few Broadway-type people. Moving toward him, I feel fingers wrap around my wrist. I stop, looking up to find Arsène’s dark, hooded eyes on mine. His lips are drawn in a shrewd smile. “Bumpkin. Was that your mother?” Remembering he brought a date, I shake out of his touch with a scowl. “What’s it to you?”
