Free London by Carina Axelsson Page A

I didn’t go weak in the knees. He had that kind of effect on me. After a long hug, he pulled back and gently pushed my hair behind my ears as he smiled at me in that slow, tender way he has. “I’ve missed you, Holmes,” he said. But I didn’t get a chance to answer because his hand suddenly dropped from my face as if it were a hot coal and his eyes darted to something behind me.
    â€œWhy, Sebastian! How lovely to see you!”
    Of course. It was my mom.
    Honestly, I thought as I listened to their small talk, what was the point of finally being in the same city if we couldn’t even have five minutes alone together?
    â€œSo, are you excited about seeing the London sights?” Mom asked.
    Sebastian’s eyes darted to me quickly before he politely answered. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Anderson, thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”
    â€œAnything in particular? Which exhibitions do you have lined up?” I bit my tongue as I heard my mom quiz Sebastian. But as always, he was prepared.
    â€œWell, I’m especially looking forward to seeing Rubens at the National Gallery, and Tracey Emin at the Hayward Gallery.”
    â€œWell, that sounds like a good plan,” Mom answered. She was smiling but I could tell she was surprised—even pleased—by his perfect answer. She quickly moved on. “And how do you like Bloomsbury? Axelle tells me you’re staying there with an aunt…” The chitchat continued for a few more minutes until Mom’s phone rang and she answered it.
    There was a moment of awkward silence as my mom left the room. It was as if she’d broken the spell. But then Sebastian suggested we grab a bite to eat, an idea I jumped on. I was hungry, in need of some fresh air, and eager to escape from Mom.
    â€œI’m starving,” he said. “I only had a sandwich on the Eurostar. Can we get a burger anywhere near here?”
    At least one thing would never change, no matter the distance between us, I thought ruefully: our mutual love of a good burger and hot fries. “Absolutely, Watson. Follow me.”
    I made for the door as quickly as possible after a quick good-bye to Halley. (London is not Paris. You can’t just walk to a local restaurant with your dog and sit at a table together, unless you’re outdoors. In Paris, it’s jamais un problème ! ) But if I was hoping Mom would let us go without sticking her oar in again, I was wrong. Her head popped around the kitchen doorway as we were making our escape.
    â€œNot longer than two hours, please, Axelle. You have to be in Mayfair for your show fitting with Belle La Lune at eight thirty a.m. We’ll have to leave at seven forty-five to get across town in time. Sebastian, it was lovely to see you—though I’m sure I’ll see a lot more of you this week.”
    Believe it or not, my mom said that bit about seeing Sebastian all week without the tiniest trace of a corny smile or wink.
    While she’d been thrilled when I first met Sebastian in Paris, now after months of watching us struggle to spend time together—and not really succeeding—my mom had finally intervened and told me that she felt I was too young to have a boyfriend who lived so far away.
    â€œYou should be going out and having fun, Axelle—here and now—making the most of your opportunities and making new friends, not glued to your phone waiting to speak to someone who lives three hundred miles away…”
    That was the part of her argument that always made me roll my eyes, because what seemed to fly completely over my mom’s head was the fact that I’m not glued to my phone waiting for Sebastian to call. I’m glued to it hoping someone will call with a new mystery for me to solve.
    Grrr! Mom!
    We shut the door behind us and walked out through the front gate and onto the street. As we turned right and walked past St. Stephen’s Church, I realized we were the