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and she willingly let him lead her out of the wide hallway and into the narrow light wood-paneled passageway outside of a European Parliament committee room. Wall-to-wall carpeting dampened the din from the hallway and the press bar nearby.
    ‘I missed you,’ Cyril Cuvelliez said in English and pressed his lips against hers.
    His American pronunciation didn’t disguise his French diphthongs. His soft, insistent lips. The natural way he helped himself to what he wanted.
    ‘I didn’t know you’d be here this week,’ murmured Klara with her lips against his.
    She felt how her body immediately, uncontrollably, came alive.
    ‘I didn’t think I would be.’
    He said something more, but it was drowned out by the buzz in her ears. Blood was suddenly pumping through her. The pure physical attraction. He pulled away from her and smiled.
    ‘As if I needed an excuse to come back to you,’ he added.
    ‘You could have texted me,’ Klara said. ‘But I’m glad you’re here.’
    As she stretched up to his lips again, she closed her eyes, determined to ignore how simplistic and seductive what he said was. Meanwhile her fingers snapped open the only button on his charcoal gray suit jacket. She slipped her hands under it and felt his skin shiver through the thin, light blue shirt. He sighed with pleasure. How she loved that he sighed when she touched him.
    ‘I was a bit tied up,’ murmured Cyril. ‘But I’m here now.’
    ‘How long? Can we meet?’
    Klara inhaled his scent. As if she could keep him captive inside of her by breathing him in.
    ‘Just until tomorrow. I have a dinner tonight until quite late, I’m afraid.’
    She felt his breath on her cheek, his stubble, and his warm, dry hands. She was defenseless against this. Against him, against the disappointment she felt that she wasn’t able to see him more often. She nodded.
    ‘Not even a lunch date?’ she said, and nibbled his ear.
    ‘You’re terrible,’ he said. ‘In a wonderful way. How could I refuse? Today?’
    Klara nodded, felt a surge of excitement.
    ‘I have a meeting until one. One-thirty at my place?’
    Cyril fished out his phone, checked his calendar.
    ‘I’ll push my staff meeting forward to four. The dinner doesn’t start until eight.’
    Klara stretched up and kissed him before pushing him away.
    ‘Now go away,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you in a few hours.’
    He smiled.
    ‘I miss you already,’ he said.
    She nodded, exhilarated, but also deflated. Like always after one of their brief encounters.
    ‘It’s best if you leave first so we won’t be seen coming out together.’
    He nodded and kissed her again as he buttoned his jacket. He straightened his tie.
    ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.
    And with that, he disappeared without turning around, back out into the everyday of the European Parliament.
    Klara stood there, leaning against the wall, the taste of Cyril still on her lips. She opened her eyes slowly. Her ears were still ringing. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. She blinked a few times. Ran her hands through her hair. How had this happened?
    How had Cyril managed to get through her defenses, her searchlights and alarms, her locks and her barbed wire, everything she’d put in place to protect herself from this very thing? Or not this. This, whatever it was, was wonderful, as long as she managed to ignore what would inevitably follow. The inexplicable. The emptiness. The unfathomable opposite of what had slowly started to take root inside her.
    Why now? Why couldn’t she distance herself now? She looked good, she knew that. She wasn’t starved for attention, quite the opposite. The European Parliament was full of young, intelligent men, a majority of whom she suspected she’d be able to enchant without much trouble. At least for a while.
    And it wasn’t that she hadn’t tried. During her first six months in the European Parliament, she’d slowly come back to life. After Mahmoud. After her year in London had turned out