“Jackson and I will search for them. I’ll let you know how we get on.”
He nods his agreement and gets out of the car.
Jackson and I stare at each other again in the rearview mirror.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “You’re a good man.”
He smiles sadly. “Just not the man for you, eh?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He averts his gaze. “It’s okay, Gracie,” he says gruffly, and then suddenly his tone is all business. “Do you want to drive Mellie’s car back or would you prefer to ride with me?”
“I’ll drive.”
He gives me a curt nod.
As soon as I’m out of his car, Jackson sets off, but Étienne remains, leaning against his GTi. When he sees me coming toward him, he straightens up and meets me at the back of Mellie’s Clio.
“I’m sorry,” he says as we come to a stop in front of each other. “I should have told you everything from the start. I wish I’d trusted you.”
“You really hurt me,” I reply in a voice thick with emotion.
“I know.” He looks miserable as he holds his hand out to me. “Je suis désolé, Grace,” he says hoarsely. I stare at his hand and then I take it and a second later he’s tugging me into his arms. “Please forgive me,” he says as I bury my face against his neck. “It was so wrong.” He smooths my hair away from my cheeks, trying to protect them from the havoc created by the wind. “But everythingthat happened between us, from the moment we kissed, was real. For me, it was real.” His voice is low and fervent, his body warm and solid against mine. “I kept telling myself that I wouldn’t fall for you, that it was a casual thing, that you’d be going home soon, but then you decided to stay and it scared me. I tried to keep you at a distance, but I couldn’t. Every time I pushed you away, I was fighting with another part of myself that wanted to pull you closer.” Suddenly he’s clasping my jaw in his hands and staring into my eyes. “I care about you, Grace. I more than care, I—”
I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
He gasps and pulls back, his eyes roving around my face. And then his mouth is on mine again and we’re fighting against the elements to pour everything into our kiss. Our tongues lock and tangle as he walks me back against Mellie’s car, the wind stealing our breaths, my heart quickening as I pull his body flush to mine, still wanting him in spite of all that he’s done. I’m certain we’ll get past this.
“I should go,” I say, breathing heavily against his mouth as we break apart. “Jackson is expecting me to follow; I don’t want him to worry.”
He tenses and then he nods, resting his forehead against mine. “I’ll be at Les Saules.”
“I’ll find you there,” I promise.
We give each other one more hard hug and then go our separate ways.
Jackson opens thedoor to me, his expression stark. “IknewI recognized Étienne from somewhere, that I hadn’t just seen him around town.” He places a photo frame into my hands.
The image is of a younger Albert with his wife, Josie, standing beside a twentysomething Sandrine and a man of around the same age. Sébastien’s resemblance to Étienne is strong.
“I’ve never seen this photo before,” I say. In fact, I’m not sure that I’ve seen any pictures of Sébastien.
“Albie keeps them in his room. There’s this one too.” He switches out the frame for another.
My eyes widen at the sight of a young curly-haired boy in Josie’s arms. “He looks just like Étienne at the same age! There’s a photo of him at his house that is almost identical—even their poses are the same.”
“My mom would have seen him andknown,” Jackson says grimly. “What she told Estelle about there being no proof…That was bullshit. That’s the only proof Albie would have needed.” He points at the photo in my hands.
He’s right.
“I can’t believe my mom would do this. I know she can be difficult, but I didn’t think she was cruel. He was just a little kid.”
“I know.” I sound as despondent as he does.
He beckons for me to come inside and shuts the door behind me. “Let’s go and see what we can find.”
Sébastien’s bedroom is on the top floor, looking over the garden. As Jackson said, it doesn’t appear to have been touched in years. There’s a faint coating of dust over everything, but not as much as there was at Les Saules. Someone cleans the room sporadically.
