Page 81 of Counting Down To You

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It’s hard not to get a sense of vertigo when you look down from the top floor, though I make myself do it. It’s harder to make out the landmarks from up here, but I turn, taking in the 360-degree view. Leo looks at one of the maps available, then squints down at the city.

“I think that’s Notre-Dame,” he says, pointing. I squint too as I look toward the landmark. In all honesty, I can’t be sure from up here, but I’ll take his word for it.

Around us, people are sipping champagne, because of course there is an actual champagne bar up here. Robyn would approve.

You bet I would.

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Then, as I’m scanning the top, the lights on the tower change, starting to flash. There are gasps and “oohs” from around, along with exclamations in various languages. I laugh as I look down, watching the tower sparkle in all its Christmas glory. The sky above us is just as beautiful, stars out in force to keep us company.

I glance at Leo, who is brave enough to lean against the railings in a way I’m not. It seems impossible that I’m standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower with a man I’ve known for two weeks. It seems impossible that the man is Leo. It’s probably just because we are in one of the most romantic spots in the world that I feel an almost scary lurch of feeling as I watch him.

You barely know him, Ali, I tell myself.

But I do. Or I feel like I do. And I remember a conversation with Robyn, after she got back from a third date with someone—and decided that, despite giving it a valiant effort, it wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Robyn sighed. “I think, with us, we’re going to know when we know—you know?” I snorted at the phrasing and she nudged me. “Seriously, though. I think we’ll get a feeling. Like with you. I knew almost right away that we’d be friends for life.”

I didn’t knock it, because I knew what she meant. At the end of our first cup of tea together in our corridor kitchen, I’d felt this sense of rightness, of certainty. I feel a similar thing now, with Leo. I can imagine Robyn clapping her hands together in glee. See, I told you! When you know, you know.

But I’m supposed to be leaving in two weeks. We started this with an agreement that it would all be fake. And he made it perfectly clear from the outset he’s not the relationship type. I can’t let myself get carried away, just because he brought me to Paris. Even if some of the things he’s said to me have me questioning that logic.

“Excuse me,” I say to a woman taking a photo on her phone a meter or so away. I gesture between me and Leo. “Would you mind taking a photo of us?” I hold out my phone, and the woman takes it.

I move next to Leo and his arm drops round my shoulders, Paris glittering at our backs. And this time the photo isn’t for show but because I want to remember this.

I take my phone back and thank the woman. I’m not sure if it’s me, or if Leo looks slightly sad in the photo. I lift my hand to touch the side of his face.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

This time, he doesn’t tell me that he’s tired. Instead, he lays his hand over mine, then lowers them both, squeezing my fingers. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get a drink downstairs. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter

We take the lift down to the first floor, where Christmas trees decorate the winter terrace and there are children queuing to meet Santa. We make our way toward the glass dome, adorned with giant snowflakes, and order a warm spiced apple and ginger drink. The warmth in the dome is welcome after standing in the cold—I know my nose and cheeks have gone red.

I can’t fully enjoy it, though, because as we sit opposite each other at one of the tables, Leo looks a little pale, almost nauseous. Nerves jump in my stomach as he takes off his hat.