Chapter Eleven
I couldn’t realize how true my statement was until the dinner plate was set before me.
It wasn’t anything too spectacular—lemon salmon with a side of wild rice and green beans—but I devoured half the meal in less than a minute. My cheeks bulged as I chewed enormous mouthfuls, glancing up at Laurent, well-aware of my unladylike demeanor, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten something so delicious. Laurent simply chuckled, scooping a proper-sized forkful of fish and rice before popping it into his mouth.
“That’s why I like you, Bindi Bairam. You’re not afraid to indulge in whatever you’re hungry for.”
I paused in my chewing for a moment, and the black caravan flashed in my mind and I wondered if he somehow knew what I’d done—that I’d broken in a second time. Maybe that had been the purpose of this dinner all along—a chance for Laurent to reprimand me?
Grinning sheepishly, I grabbed my napkin to wipe my face and swallowed a hard gulp. “I could say the same about you.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I’ve only seen two of your official performances, but I found them breathtaking! You just seem to improvise as you go—I’ve never seen you rehearse and yet, it’s not as though you need to.” I stabbed another piece of fish onto my fork. “You’re really very talented,” I added hastily.
Laurent glowed with delight, setting his fork on the side of his plate as he reached for his wine glass. “Well, you know what they say… You’ll never work a day in your life when you’re doing something you enjoy. And that’s certainly the case with me. I love what I do. Every day is a new adventure.” He swirled the libation inside the glass, his silver eyes lazily following the gentle sloshing of the red wine. “What about you, Bindi? Why did you wish to pursue a career in theatrics?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but snapped it shut again. It was a question that skated through my mind every so often, but one I could never seem to answer. I didn’t know why. I just—as strange as it sounded, I couldn’t remember. It seemed I couldn’t remember a lot of things lately. “I suppose I’ve always been interested in entertaining others.”
The reply, vague as it was, didn’t seem to satisfy Laurent. “Nothing more specific?”
“None that I can recall,” I admitted, coloring at the realization that I had no idea what had led me here, to Cirque du Noir. Taking my own wine glass in hand, I copied his motions, swirling the wine before sipping it. I’d never drunk wine with my dinner before and couldn’t say I really liked the bitter flavor. “And you?” I continued, wanting to draw attention away from myself. “What inspired the great Laurent Elilchelvan to open up his own circus? It’s not exactly a popular profession these days.” I used my finger to trace the rim of the glass absentmindedly before propping my elbow on the table and settling my chin in my hand.
“I suppose it was always a dream of mine,” Laurent replied.
My brow furrowed slightly as I took another sip of wine. “Well, that’s hardly a satisfactory answer.”
“What more can I say?” he answered on a laugh. “I always knew this was what I was meant to do.”
“When did you know? How old were you?”
He breathed in deeply and then cocked his head to one side. “The exact day is difficult to pin down. Regardless, though, I love being able to make my dream a reality.”
“I suppose not everyone can say that.” I took another huge bite of fish, my attention drifting outside to the passing shadows. “How do your parents feel about your business?”
“How do yours?” Laurent asked.
I blinked, and the gears in my mind froze up. “Um… I’m not entirely sure they know.” Did I bother to tell them what I was doing or where I was going? Hmm, that was a good question and there were others still—where were my parents and why hadn’t I thought of them once? In fact, I couldn’t recall a time within recent memory that I’d thought of them.
And when I tried to think of them now, I found I couldn’t. It was incredibly strange, but it was as if they’d never existed—I couldn’t recall their names or faces. And the more I tried, the more everything became a complete blur in my head, a series of erratic images that made no sense. I was (sadly) getting used to this odd, scatterbrained feeling, but it was still off-putting at the same time. I found no explanation for why I kept forgetting details that should have easily been on the tip of my tongue.
“I… I seem to be forgetting things lately,” I admitted to Laurent in a soft voice. “Perhaps I need to see a doctor?” I added with an embarrassed little giggle.
Laurent leaned over the table and covered my hand with his own. “You don’t need to see a doctor, Bindi, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
I frowned. “I can’t seem to remember things I should be able to remember.”
He shook his head. “You are… why you’re perfect,” he answered and tightened his fingers around my own. He held my gaze and there was something within his that made me feel the truth of his words.
There was nothing wrong with me. I was just fine.
Feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the long and awkward silence, I searched for another topic of conversation and continued to notice the fact that Laurent was still holding my hand and his eyes were settled on my mouth, as if he wanted to kiss me again. And I wanted him to kiss me again. I forced myself to look away.
“I don’t want to be the only one talking about myself, Laurent,” I said as I looked back up at him.
“Perhaps I just find you far more interesting than I find myself.”
I studied him, but couldn’t read anything beyond the expression of amusement on his face. “That or you’re avoiding answering my questions by simply asking other ones. I believe the proper term for that is deflection.”