Page 154 of The Substitute Fiancée

Then the questions begin.

“Miss Chevalier, you seem to assert that everything we perceive is movement,” Mr. Dubois begins.

“That’s correct.”

“It’s a bold position,” he comments skeptically. “By your logic, even architecture would be movement.”

My heart skips a beat. He’s trying to unsettle me.

He’s testing me—I can feel it.

A second of hesitation. Then I ground myself.

“In a way, yes. It all depends on the frame of reference we adopt. Take Notre-Dame de Paris: if we stand on its square today, we would instinctively describe it as ‘persistent.’ But if we shift to a broader timescale and journey through the centuries, we would see it rise stone by stone, burn, then be rebuilt again and again over time. It persists through time while remaining in motion. That dialogue is what I tried to translate in works twenty-one and twenty-two.”

“If I recall correctly, you also claim that movement is life,” he continues. “Would you say the cathedral is alive?”

A smirk flickers across his lips. He thinks he’s trapped me.

“Once again, it’s a matter of perspective. The cathedral isn’t limited to its walls. It’s also made up of the men and women who built it, maintained it, and passed through it over the centuries. In that sense, it’s permeated by life.”

“You seem very confident,” Ms. Ilse remarks.

Heat rushes to my cheeks.

“I don’t claim to hold an absolute truth. What I’m offering is a reading—a journey, a sensory exploration. Nothing more.”

She nods slowly.

Impossible to tell whether she’s convinced.

Mr. Hamid speaks for the first time.

“Your approach to the theme is interesting,” he says, and despite myself, my heart surges with hope. “However, I find it strange that certain areas of your paintings are executed with extreme care, while others seem barely sketched—almost unfinished.”

My stomach tightens.

“That’s intentional,” I say. “The moment is precise. Then it fades. All that remains is an impression. An emotion.”

“A bold choice,” Mr. Dubois comments.

Silence falls again.

“Art is a risk,” I say firmly. “What’s the point of creating if we don’t explore new paths?”

He studies me for a long moment, then turns to Ms. Mainville.

Glances are exchanged. Unreadable.

“Very well,” she concludes at last. “Thank you for your presentation, Miss Chevalier. We have other candidates to see. We’ll announce the results tomorrow evening at the school.”

I thank them and watch them leave, completely drained.

Alexander joins me shortly after. He smiles, then cups my face in his hands and kisses me softly on the lips.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I survived,” I say. “Answer tomorrow night.”