“Gracie!” He snags my wrist as I turn toward Étienne.
“Let me go, Jackson,” I implore quietly, meaning it in every sense.
“You wanthim?” He releases my wrist, stunned. “After what he’s done?”
“There’s more to all this than you realize.”
“What could possibly explain him using you to fuck with me?” he asks indignantly.
I glance at Étienne. His jaw is clenched.
“Please,” I say. “He’ll understand. It’s the only way we’ll be able to move past this.”
Étienne looks torn as he stares past me at Jackson. Suddenly he reminds me of the hurt, frightened little boy he once was.
“Do you want me to tell him?” I offer.
He hesitates and then nods.
I turn back to Jackson. “Sébastien had an affair with Étienne’s mother that your family didn’t know about.” It’s a struggle to maintain eye contact considering what’s just happened between us, but I force myself to as I continue. “Étienne is Sébastien’s son.”
Jackson’s face drops off a cliff. “I don’t understand.”
“We can explain,” I reply.
“Well, can we get in my car before we all blow off this fucking mountain?” he suggests.
Jackson is sittingin the driver’s seat and Étienne is folded into the passenger seat beside him. I’m in the back, between them. We’ve filled Jackson in.
He rakes his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that wasyou.”
He remembers the day Étienne came running into the garden, crying and bleeding, and how we went with his mum to drop him home.
Jackson’s jaw is rigid with tension as he and Étienne stare at each other.
They’recousins. It’s blowing my mind.
Jackson faces forward again and drags a hand over his face before meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Albie will be so distraught when he finds out about this.”
“I know.”
Jackson’s expression grows thoughtful. “Sébastien’s bedroom is still exactly how it was when he died—Albie never touched it.”
“That’s so sad.”
“What I’m saying,” Jackson continues, looking across at Étienne, “is that all of Sébastien’s things will still be in his room. We might be able to find your mother’s letters tohim.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’ll help you to piece everything together.”
Étienne sighs and drops his head. This must be so overwhelming. How helpless and alone must he have felt, watching his mother’s health deteriorate, while all the time, Château Angèle loomed over the town he loved, a constant reminder of the cruel woman—thefamily—who had shunned him. I can’t blame him for wanting to lash out at the people who had hurt him and Estelle. He was a terrified child and instead of helping him, Sandrine threatened his sick mother in her bed. What sort of person does that? I’ve always tried to see the good in her as Jackson’s mother, but there’s no looking past this.
I reach forward and touch Étienne’s arm. He grabs my hand and gives it a hard squeeze, his eyes shining as he glances over his shoulder at me. I let him go and sit back in my seat.
He and I have things to work out, but that can wait. I have a feeling that if we unpack the betrayals and secrets of his family and hopefully right some wrongs, other things will fall into place.
“We should go there now,” Jackson says. “My mom and Albie are out.”
Étienne quickly shakes his head. “I can’t go back to that place.”
My heart contracts at how vulnerable he sounds.
