The minute hand on the oversized clock set into the wall of the Musée d'Orsay was ticking closer and closer to twelve. Through the clock, which formed a floor-to-ceiling window, Stellan could see the Louvre’s facade glowing festively across the river. 

Inside, on the museum’s top floor, the tinkle of laughter and clink of glasses had been growing over the past hour, like as the year waned, the energy in the room grew. Elodie stood near the elevators, hands behind her back, prim and proper, like all she was thinking about was how she might possibly be of assistance should Madame Dauphin need her. Stellan knew better. He saw her inching closer to a half-full bottle of champagne abandoned on a corner table. 

He skirted the room, doing one last sweep before midnight. Checking the clock once more, he made his way to the lighting panel, lowering the lights so the view took center stage.

When he stopped next to Elodie, he inclined his head toward the champagne. “Bad idea.”

Elodie straightened. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

“So you won’t care to help me with the bottle of champagne I have back at my room when we’re out of here in an hour?” 

“Depends,” she said, and then, leaning away from the wall to look him up and down and not bothering to lower her voice at all, “What are you wearing under that fancy outfit?”

His hands paused in unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket, and he glanced around to make sure none of the VIP guests happened to be walking by. “Yet another bad idea. Two within a minute. If this weren’t you we’re talking about, I’d think that might be a record.” 

“I’m only kidding.” Elodie tossed her blonde hair. She smelled like apple shampoo and the perfume she’d told him to get her for Christmas. “You know I don’t have to ask. I’ve seen exactly what you’re wearing under there.”

He sighed. It’s not like it was untrue. And it’s not like he actually cared about her teasing tonight, either. They were usually more careful when they were on duty—even Elodie took her job seriously, as much as she sometimes pretended not to. But tonight—New Year’s Eve—was different. 

The Dauphins threw a party every year. It was always a cliché—Paris landmarks, champagne, fireworks. But it was also easy. There was never family drama like there was at Christmas, and even the people who drank too much were jolly rather than angry. No one yelled when they were drinking champagne. The worst that had happened lately was the year Madame Dauphin had tried to wear a dress a size too small and it had split up the seam ten minutes before the party started. Luckily, Elodie had a needle and thread in her emergency kit. 

A small group of people wandered to the clock to gaze out over Paris, and Stellan and Elodie both moved further into an alcove near the elevators. As easy as tonight was, they still had to be discreet. The Circle hated to remember that the help was attending their parties. 

“So what’s your New Year’s resolution?” Elodie asked, chewing on a fingernail. 

“World peace,” Stellan murmured, squinting down the hall in the direction of a shriek and a chorus of laughter. Everyone had been screened before they came into the party, of course, and no one expected violence to break out tonight, but he and the security team were in charge of the safety of the guests, and even people drunk on champagne were still drunk. Last year, Colette’s father had tried to flick a cigarette butt into the river and very nearly ended up with his entire body in there instead. 

“World peace isn’t a resolution.” 

“What’s yours, then?” he said.

“I have no need to better myself. There’s no improving on perfection.” 

He rolled his eyes. As the clock inched closer to midnight, more and more of the guests drifted out of the Impressionist galleries and into the room with the clock to watch the fireworks at the strike of twelve. Luc brought up the rear, smiling politely at an older, bearded man Stellan recognized as the envoy to Serbia. When Luc passed them, he turned and made a pleading face. Elodie spread her hands. Lucien hated these things, but he knew there was nothing they could do to get him out of such a major one. 

“Here’s a more fun one,” Elodie whispered. “Who are you going to kiss at midnight?” 

The minute hand made one more tick. Only minutes away, now. Stellan craned his head to look down the hall in the other direction, to where the drunk mayor of Paris was hitting on a waiter. “Don’t they say whoever you kiss at midnight is the person you’ll kiss all year long?”

Elodie shuddered. “You mean be stuck with that one person? For twelve whole months? If that were true, new year kisses would not exist.”

He nodded sagely. “You’re right. I suppose I should be safe and not kiss anyone, just in case. If you want to beg, though, I could reconsider.”

“Gross,” Elodie said sweetly.

Stellan settled back against the wall and rolled his eyes--and pointedly did not remind her of how much of this afternoon she’d spent in his bed. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” Elodie fished in her pants pocket and swiped on pink lipgloss with a tiny flecks of silver glitter. It made her mouth sparkle, even in the shadows. “You know I will never kiss you in public. It’s a slippery slope. One midnight kiss and you’re going to want to hold my hand and pretty soon you’ll be falling in love with me like some kind of stupid cliché.” 

“Gross,” he parroted her. 

She snorted, and turned it into a delicate clearing of her throat when a couple Dauphin cousins—socialites who were less famous than they thought they were—sneered at her. Elodie straightened and quieted, but not before she jabbed her elbow into Stellan’s ribs. She always had to have the last word. 

He knew they already were a stupid cliché—friends with benefits. That was how it had been between them for a couple years now, and both of them were happy with the arrangement. Her teasing did make him wonder, though, for just a second, what tonight might look like if he were with someone else. Someone he . . . cared about, as stupid as that sounded. He frowned at himself. Sentimental was not his usual state of being. The holidays—with all the saccharine romance involved—could get to a person, he supposed. 

And he did love Elodie. Of course he did. But not in that way, and she didn’t feel that way about him, either. In fact, if he read the signs correctly—and he most often did, even though she wouldn’t tell him anything—she was actually interested in someone these days. Jack Bishop wasn’t here tonight—he was in London, with the Saxons, doing just what Stellan and Elodie were doing here—but the Dauphins would be visiting the UK in a few weeks, and they’d see him then. The three of them together was always a good time, and he was interested to see if he was right about what was developing between his two friends. It didn’t make much sense. Stellan and Elodie were practically the same person, but Jack and Elodie were as different as night and day. Maybe it would work out because they were so different. Not like their current relationships were anywhere near normal . . . 

The panorama of Paris through the clock was now nearly obscured by people. Stellan’s eyes were on every new person to come into the room, but there was nothing amiss. 

“Une minute!” someone called. Champagne glasses were passed, and some of the world’s most powerful people giggled and tripped over their feet in their haste to get to the view. 

“Dix!” Someone yelled, and the rest joined in, “Neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un . . . bonne année!” 

The minute hand clicked into place at the top of the clock, and past the numbers, fireworks exploded in the sky. 

Over the clinks of glasses and the raucous laughter, Stellan elbowed Elodie in the side. “Happy New Year,” he murmured. 

The whole party was still clinking glasses and raucous toasts. Elodie looked just a little wistful. She glanced up at him, then over his shoulder. “Hey, I think I heard a strange noise in the stairwell.” 

“Really?” He hadn’t heard anything. “I’ll be right back.” 

As soon as he hit the landing one level down, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. He whirled. In the dim light from the room above, Elodie grinned, her lipgloss sparkling. She skipped the rest of the way down the stairs, and pulled his face to hers. 

He shot one glance up the stairs, but when he saw that no one was watching, he kissed her back.

It was only a few seconds before she pulled away, stretching up on her toes to nip his earlobe hard. “Happy New Year.”

“Ow,” he said, shoving her off. “You realize you’ve just shackled yourself to me for the whole year.”

She was already halfway back up the stairs. “Small price to pay to make sure you’ll share your champagne later.” 

“If you’re lucky,” he called up after her, and, as she disappeared back into the party, he wiped her sticky lipgloss off his mouth and said, “Happy new year, El.”