Die for Her A Die for Me Novella by Amy Plum Read Free Book Online

Bac Métro stop when she leaves and comes back from school. And every night around ten thirty, Vincent leaves whatever he’s doing and goes to stand across the street, watching her window from ground level until she turns off her light and he knows she is—for one more night—safe and sound in bed.
    It’s not like she’s in danger. Vincent just wants any news of her we can give. And the only news we can give him is that she’s changed back into Sad Girl. I hate to see her like this, robotically going to school and back with an empty look. I want to see the spark return to her eyes. Watch the happy glow return to her cheeks.
    It’s obvious how much she misses Vincent. And I know she’ll only be happy again if he finds some way to get them back together. I find myself wishing that I could work that magic for her. That I could bring the smile back to her face. But I slap at those thoughts as if they were mosquitoes. What am I doing, caring so much about my best friend’s love? I deny my feelings for her because they shouldn’t exist.
    I begin spending more time alone, drawing and painting. Disconnecting my thoughts, and letting my paintbrush express what I’m feeling. One night I’m in my bedroom working on a sketch of a woman who looks remarkably like Kate when Vincent comes bustling through my door in a panic. I flip the paper over and lay my pencil on it.
    “She just saw me with Geneviève and . . . Jules, you should have seen her face,” he gasps.
    “Who, Kate?” I ask.
    “ Who else? Yes, Kate!” He takes a breath and starts again. “I was having coffee at La Palette with Geneviève, asking her about what she and Philippe did to make their revenant-human marriage work. Talking about it made Gen upset, so I was comforting her. It was totally innocent—you know how I feel about . . .”
    “You feel like her brother. Go on,” I encourage him. He throws himself down on my couch and covers his eyes with his palms. “Kate saw us. And from the look on her face . . . Jules, she must think that Gen and I are together.”
    I pause. “Is that a bad thing?”
    Vincent drops his hands. “Yes, that’s a bad thing, Jules. A very bad thing. She’s hurt. I hurt Kate.”
    “Okay.” I shrug, not knowing what he wants from me.
    “Jules, you have to talk to her for me. You have to let her know that I’m trying to find a solution. And that nothing’s going on with Geneviève.”
    No , I think. You can’t ask me to do that . The last two weeks have been hard enough, watching her from afar. The last thing I need is to come face-to-face with her. To remind me of how much I care for her. “And you can’t do that yourself because . . .” I prod.
    “I’m not sure she’ll even talk to me now,” he says. He presses his fingers to his temples. “You should have seen her face.”
    Vincent is a study in pain. I can’t refuse my friend, however conflicted I feel. One look at the desolation on Vincent’s face and I agree.
    “I’ll find her tomorrow,” I promise.

NINE
    THE PARK IN FRONT OF KATE’S BUILDING IS silent on weekend mornings. Everyone must be sleeping in , I think. For an hour it’s only the pigeons, a pair of ravens, and me enjoying the spectrum of autumn colors, of the changing leaves in the early Saturday-morning chill. After a while the warm, yeasty smells coming from the bakery across the street draw me from my hideaway, and I take a break to buy a pain au chocolat , savoring the flaky pastry as the chocolate baked inside melts in my mouth.
    I wait another hour before I see her come out the front door, and then follow her to—surprise, surprise—the Café Sainte-Lucie. The café owner greets her and gives her a table in the front window. To avoid all semblance of stalkerhood, I wander around the neighborhood for a half hour before returning to the café. I walk silently up to her table and slip into the seat facing her. She’s so caught up in The Catcher in the Rye that she doesn’t