The hotel lobby in Paris still smelled faintly of polished wood and the citrus polish they used on the brass railings. It was late evening, and the warmth of the lights inside contrasted sharply with the damp air that clung to my coat from the drizzle outside. I had just come back from a quiet dinner with Julian, still carrying the faint hum of the day’s applause somewhere in my chest.

We had not talked much over dinner. It wasn’t an intentional silence, just the kind that comes when both ...