Free French kiss by Aimee Friedman

occurred to Alexa before, it hit her then: Had Diego ... cheated on her? Maybe, on some weekend when she'd slept over at Portia's mansion instead of Diego's dorm, he'd gone out to a party and stumbled home trashed, only to find one of his sultry hallmates outside his door. Maybe they'd started kissing drunkenly, and....
    Impossible, Alexa decided in the next heartbeat. What college girl could compete with her? Alexa might still be in high school, but she gave Diego everything he wanted -- and then some. No boy -- and Alexa had dated an impressive number -- had ever been unfaithful to Alexa St. Laurent. It simply wasn't done.
    But Diego had planted a seed of doubt in her head. And that was enough to drive Alexa to the brink.
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    "Opportunities?" she repeated, her voice strangely calm. "How interesting. Here's another opportunity for you."
    And there, on the top of the Eiffel Tower in full view of the Japanese couple, the Italians girls, and the now wide-awake security guard -- Alexa raised her hand and slapped Diego Mendieta square across his flawless face.
    Talk about making a scene.
    Steaming, Alexa stalked out of the Eiffel Tower's entrance, her high-heeled mules slapping the pavement. Diego ran up behind her, grabbing her arm. When she twisted around to confront him, she saw the red handprint on his high cheekbone and felt a tiny pang of remorse.
    Diego's own eyes were full of regret. "Alexa, look ... maybe I shouldn't have said that," he mumbled. "We need to talk...."
    "You know what?" Alexa replied icily. "I think what we need is some serious time apart from each other. Because, as far as I'm concerned, I am done with you, Diego."
    And she was, Alexa realized as Diego held her gaze. Diego clearly wasn't cut out for Paris -- and he wasn't cut out for her.
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    Wordlessly, the two of them caught the Métro at Trocadéro and rode it back to their hotel, remaining on opposite sides of the car like strangers. Tonight was supposed to be their last in the hotel, but Alexa knew that she couldn't stay another minute. Right there on the train, she decided that when she got back to their room, she'd pack, check out, and call her cousins, whose number she had stashed on a slip of paper in her wallet. Alexa wasn't positive they were back from Avignon yet, but she'd take a chance. Let Diego sit and stew in the soulless Hotel Rive Gauche alone for one more night.
    But after they'd walked into their hotel room, Diego immediately took off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and retrieved his suitcase from under the bed. Alexa, who'd started pulling huge handfuls of clothes from the armoire, raised a curious eyebrow. Was Mr. Princeton homesick for college -- catching a flight back to New Jersey tonight?
    "You're leaving?" she demanded, a Richard Chai satin tube top dangling from one finger.
    "What, did you expect me to stay and subject Paris to my rudeness?" Diego asked quietly. "I think I'd be better off elsewhere." Diego paused to refer to his trusty Frommer's guide, which he'd been keeping on the bedside table. "Like Barcelona," he offered curtly,
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    avoiding- Alexa's gaze. "Or any Spanish-speaking place. Barcelona's only an overnight train ride from Gare Austerlitz."
    Alexa knelt to unclasp one of her bags, a little unsteady. So Diego, too, had formulated a plan on the Métro . She'd been half-hoping that he would follow her to her cousins', begging for forgiveness.
    Since Diego was a meticulous packer (or, in Alexa's opinion, simply anal), and Alexa had practically the whole of Bloomingdale's SoHo to stuff into her six bags, the two of them finished packing at the exact same time. They locked the door, took the elevator down to the lobby in hostile silence, checked out, and exited through the hotel's sliding doors for the last time. Holding their respective bags, they stood on the boulevard St-Germain, regarding each other... perhaps also for the last time.
    "I guess this is good-bye?" Diego asked gruffly, looking down.
    Alexa