TWENTY-THREE THE NEXT DAY, VIOLETTE TEXTED ME AT SCHOOL, asking if I wanted to go to a movie that night. I texted back: Too much homework. Sorry! Then how about coffee? Perfect! After school. Sainte-Lucie. I’ll see you there. I smiled, thinking of how her English was coming along. She was actually using contractions! In just a few short weeks, she had begun to sound more like a normal teenager and less like a dowager duchess. And when I heard her speak French with the others . . . well, she definitely was picking up more “street” expressions. She was already seated when I arrived at the café, and stood to greet me with a huge smile on her face. Kissing my cheeks, she exclaimed, “Kate! You were so amazing Saturday night!” We sat down, and she continued to gush, but in a softer voice so the people nearby couldn’t hear. “I still can’t believe how well you fought after just a couple months of training. We told Gaspard about it, and although he insisted he couldn’t take any credit, I could tell he was really proud.”
