Dancing With The Devil

Chapter 23

The next day when Alistair suggested that we go to the Louvre I was all over it despite the fact that he looked like hell. Clearly he hadn't stopped drinking after I left. The pale skin that looked sickly and the bloodshot eyes were enough to tell me that his hangover was something savage. And the surprise that coated his face when he glanced at all the empty bottles in the living room told me he didn't remember all that much from the night before which I was thankful for. I was not ready to be opening myself up to another conversation just yet.

Yes, he said things that left me uneasy and with many questions in my head, but now was not the time. I would poke and prod him eventually, but only when I was in a position where I controlled the situation.

We shared another quiet breakfast together, then we were off into the city.

Alistair was obviously in pain due to his aggressive consumption of alcohol last night. I noticed the way he winced when we stood on the train and the light streamed in a little too suddenly. He didn't force a conversation or even make eye contact with me often. Luckily, he was till monitoring the world around us with his usual care which eased my anxiety.

When we did get to the Louvre I was stunned by the spectacular glass structure that jutted out among all of the glorious old buildings. And then I gasped at the horrendous line up of people. Alistair gave me a sideway- and slightly queasy- smile and led me to a small kiosk. There, we were able to purchase tickets and hop into an accelerated access line.

"You know all the secrets in this city, don't you?" I murmured.

"It's part of my job." He responded.

Then that gentle hand settled against the small of my back and he pressed me forward as the line moved.

When we had gone on our 'date' that subtle touch had made me anxious and giddy all at once. I was worried about being touched by any man at all because I had learned that no matter how a man appeared on the outside there could be evil beneath. And he had seemed to have some of the same traits that Josh had boasted. But it had also been exciting. The crowds in the museum had offered security at the time and I had reasoned with myself, appreciating the newness of the feeling. Then, when he had found out who I actually was, that same touch had become an act of control and hatred. One of force and loathing that had taken me into Smith.

And now, after his loaded confession, I had no idea how to feel about his routine touch. But, for the time being, I didn't have much mental capacity to worry about it.

As we progressed through the entrance I was stunned by how many people there were in the museum. From the top, under the beautiful glass pyramid, all the people below looked like ants.

"There's no way we are getting through all of this." I said softly.

"You're right." Alistair agreed as we descended downward. "But I have a strategy for hitting my favorite things fast enough that we have time afterwards for aimless wandering and maybe a steamed milk, if you're up for it."

Alistair strategy was bizarre and unrefined, but oddly effective. It seemed to be a mad dash to and from certain pieces. Through heavy crowds Alistair would grab my hand so we wouldn't lose each other and he would pull me along confidently. But when we reached his target I would see his expression shift. Those strong green eyes would soften and all the urgency would leave his body. As we stared at the beautiful brush strokes that created a painting or spectacular stone sculptures he would lean towards me like he had in Ottawa and explain things to me ever so softly, too quiet for anyone else to hear. I would have a hard time focusing on what he was telling me and instead be absorbed by how close his body was to mine.