I’m still shuddering all over when I hear a knock. Someone is at the door.
I pause, my hands mid-swipe. Who’s here? Luci?
Sidestepping, I peek through the glass from a distance. A man I don’t recognize stands outside.
One more pat for my hair, and I open the door. He stands on the steps, chocolate-brown hair, casually handsome. He wears blue jeans with a button-down, and something about his stance tells me he’s American, even before he speaks.
“Hi,” he says, both the greeting and accent confirming my guess. “Sorry to bother you.” He angles toward the courtyard. “I live in the other apartment and thought I’d introduce myself.”
“Hello,” I say, and wait.
He grins at me. “Oh.” With a shrug, he sticks out his hand. “I’m Noah. That’s the introduction part.”
I’m not sure if it’s his charm or the fact he’s from the States, but my shoulders relax. No pressure to impress or apologize for my presence. He’s just another tenant, and not part ofthe family.
“Noah Marteau,” he says, and my muscles bunch again. An American Marteau, approachable and attractive. But still one of them.
Shaking his hand, I force a pleasant expression. “Brooke.” I leave off my last name. It’s certainly not ahouseholdname, but I can’t risk recognition.
He shifts on his feet, as if I’m making him nervous instead of the other way around. “I won’t keep you. Thought I’d come over, in case you ever need anything. I’ve been here a couple of years and know my way around. And I speak French.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I say. “All of you have been so welcoming.”
“Really?” Something I can’t read flickers on his face, but he covers it with a grin. “Good.”
I remember Chantal’s cold reception. “Well, most everyone.”
He laughs, and I relax even more, sensing a we-don’t-fit-in fellowship with the stranger on my steps.
He edges back, signaling his exit. “Like I said, if you need anything I’m right next door.”
“Great, thanks. And I guess I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”
“Sorry?”
“At the main house. Family dinner?” It’s a safe assumption he’ll be there.
“No.” He drags out the word, smiling oddly as he diverts his gaze. “I wasn’t invited.”
“Oh.” Discomfort ties my tongue, and I’m not sure what else to say. There’s a story underneath his tone, one he’s not willing to share.
However, since he’s here. . . “Any tips on what I should expect tonight? And what I should wear?”
Noah chuckles. “As long as it’s not jeans or shorts, you should be fine.”
“So, business casual or Sunday clothes?” I join in the joke, feeling the camaraderie again. Two outsiders from another world.
Or maybe he is from this world, just slightly removed.
“Exactly,” he says. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. And the food is always excellent, so enjoy yourself.” He walks down the steps. Pauses.
When he faces me again, the friendly smile is gone, replaced by a wary expression. “One thing, though.”
He grits his teeth, like he’s chewing over what he wants to say.
“Be careful with Ric.”
9
