AT FIRST, HE APPEARS like an illusion. Camila thinks she is hallucinating when she turns around and sees none other than Laurent towering over them. She thinks that for once in her life she's drank a little too much to handle.
"Hey." Laurent looks cold—both in dress and in expression. Red tinges the tip of his nose and the delicate skin under his eyes and Camila finds the novel look charming on him. In the dim light of the room, she can't make out the different colors of his eyes but knows that they are there, watching her. "Your friend called me and said you're drunk and need to be taken home. Let's go."
"Lau...rent?" She trips over her own tongue, out of surprise and not intoxication. "What are you doing here?" Her conversation with Oliver is completely forgotten and he sits next to her, equally confused.
"Are you two...?" Oliver speaks up and clears the silence.
"I just told you, didn't I?" he replies, not sparing Oliver a glance. "Where's your coat?" Laurent goes through the stack of coats and bags on the armchair next to them before he digs up Camila's belongings, giving them a good pat before handing it to her. "Let's go," he repeats.
"Hold on," she says. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be back home? How'd you know I was even here?" She follows Laurent, who is already briskly walking through the living room without a backward glance.
Oliver calls out after her, "I'll see you later!"
"Laurent! Wait," Camila cries out. She slips on her shoes and almost loses her balance. Before she tumbles against the umbrella stand by the door, a firm hand grasps her shoulders and steadies her. "Jesus, Laurent. At least be polite to my friend."
"I don't want to."
"What's even going on?"
"Come outside and I'll tell you." His words are teasing but his tone is a little too sharp for Camila's liking.
"You know what? You're being difficult and confusing. I'll go home myself," Camila huffs. "Seriously, you can't just barge into someone else's party and drag me out of it."
"For your information, your friend called me over."
"What friend? No one here even knows you."
"You must have forgotten but you told someone at this party about me, otherwise my phone wouldn't be blowing up with calls from an unknown number the second hour I land in New York. It's late and cold and you're drunk. Let's just go."
"No! I'll go when I want to."
"If you didn't want to you wouldn't have put on your coat and shoes so fast," he points out.
He's right but Camila doesn't want to admit it. Drowsiness creeps into her body the moment they settle down and she stifles a yawn. "No," she refuses.
"Ok. Go back and I'll wait outside."
"No."
"Camila..."
"Fine! We'll go home. But I want to walk."
Laurent looks at her in disbelief. "You can barely stand right now. I'm calling a cab."
"Why are you back so soon?"
"Why are you asking? You don't want to see me?"
"It's not that..." The heat from her stomach rises to her face. "I'm just surprised. You showed up out of nowhere and I didn't even say goodbye to my friends."
"You can go now," he says. "I'm sorry I rushed you."
"No. Let's go home," she says as if home was awaiting the two of them. Camila decides that Laurent can answer all her questions when she is more clearheaded and awake, and just seeing his face soothes a part of her in an inexplicable way.