The Forbidden Heart by V.C. Andrews Page A

me to have pizza with him.”
    She looked more devastated about that than about her mother’s attempted suicide. She
     took her hand out of mine and sat back.
    “But you said you had to have dinner with your uncle.”
    “Yes, I did say that. I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry,” I said.
    She didn’t say anything. She rose and went to her aunt and uncle. Her aunt hugged
     her. Vincent said something to his father and then came to me.
    “The doctor says she’ll be all right, but they want her to have psychological counseling.
     My mother,” he added, looking back at his parents, “is blaming my father for not being
     understanding enough.” He looked back at me. “Are you all right? I told you that you
     didn’t have to come.”
    “No, I’m fine. It’s just . . .”
    “What?”
    “Denise,” I said. “I told her I was having dinner with my uncle.”
    “So?”
    Was he that oblivious? “I lied to her.”
    “You don’t have to say that. Just tell her I called you and talked you into meeting
     me. Why should you have to report to her? Don’t worry about it,” he added quickly.
     “I’ll tell her. I’ll fix it. C’mon. I’ll take you home.”
    I looked at Denise again. She was standing with her arms across her breasts and staring
     at us while her uncle and aunt continued to speak with the doctor. I stood up, thought
     a moment, and then approached her as we headed out.
    “Do you want me to wait with you, Denise? I don’t have to go home. I’ll call my uncle,
     and later you can come home with me. There’s a spare bedroom, and I’m sure my uncle
     wouldn’t mind you staying with us.”
    “Good idea,” Vincent said.
    “No,” she said. “I don’t need you to stay with me. I have my own home.”
    “She’s just being nice,” Vincent told her in French.
    She smirked. “I don’t need anyone to be nice to me.”
    Vincent’s parents began arguing. His mother was tearing into his father. The doctor
     looked embarrassed and overwhelmed. Vincent shouted to them, and his mother retreated.
    “Your mother needs me,” Denise told him, and went to her.
    “This is very unpleasant for you, Emmie. You just meet all of us and get thrown into
     this family tragedy. Come now. You should go home.”
    I wanted to say something more to both Denise and Vincent’s mother, but I followed
     him out instead, put on the helmet, and got on the scooter. He started up and away,
     not saying anything more than “ Mon Dieu , what a night!”
    When we reached my uncle’s home, I got off and handed him the helmet. He leaned over
     to kiss me good night. I didn’t kiss him back.
    “Stop blaming yourself for something unimportant,” he ordered. “Besides, why do you
     have to make excuses to Denise?”
    “Your cousin is in love with you, Vincent.”
    “What?”
    “How can you be so blind to it?”
    “That’s ridiculous.”
    “Nevertheless, it’s true.”
    “She’ll have to grow out of it. I never did anything to give her reason to think I
     was encouraging such a thing.”
    “You didn’t have to. She’s desperate.”
    He thought a moment. “Well, what do you suggest?”
    “Going slowly,” I said. “Helping her, especially now.”
    He shook his head. “Such a sensible young girl. You’ll make me grow up.”
    “Is that so terrible?”
    He laughed. “I want to see you again and again and again,” he added, smiling more
     like the Vincent I had first met. “To . . . how did you say . . . till the soil.”
    “I’m not in the mood for farming.”
    “Not tonight, but tomorrow . . . you know tomorrow?”
    “Too well,” I said. “ Bonne nuit , Vincent.”
    “ Bonne nuit. À bientôt ,” he called after me. I didn’t look back until I heard him leaving and watched him
     disappear around a turn.
    The skeptical part of me wondered if I would ever hear from him again. Maybe hearing
     all the truth frightened him.
    I headed into the house. Both Maurice and Uncle Alain were sitting