If Sébastien hadn’t died, he would have united the two families once more.
Now it is only Étienne who unites them. He’s the key to unlocking this story.
38
We’ve only just walked backinside when we hear a car pull up. Étienne glances at me and then goes to the door. I follow him and he opens it in time to see a blue BMW parked beyond his Peugeot.
I stare in horror at the sight of Jackson and his mother in the two front seats.
“No,” Étienne says firmly, and then he slams the door.
I look at him with alarm as he stalks down the corridor and turns to go up the stairs.
“Étienne!” I call out.
“No. No, Grace,” he calls back. “You deal with them.”
This is the second time he’s reminded me of a child today, but that’s clearly how Sandrine makes him feel.
When I open the door again, Sandrine is on the doorstep, Jackson hovering behind her.
I feel a sudden rush of fury, despising her for what she’s done.
“What are you doing here?” I ask coldly.
“Please, Gracie,” she says. “I want to see him.”
“He doesn’t want to seeyou, Sandrine.” I’m over trying to be in her club.
“I need to apologize to him.” And okay, she does sounds contrite. Maybe even ashamed.
It’s a day for firsts.
“Mom is really sorry,” Jackson says from behind her. “I told her that we know everything.”
I stare over Sandrine’s head at him. His eyes are pleading with me.
She’ll be gone soon, back to the States. It might be another year before she returns. What if an apology helps Étienne to put all this behind him? Fury and vengeance are no good for anyone. And if anyone deserves to feel peace, it’s Étienne.
“Wait here,” I say, closing the door.
It would be a betrayal to let them come inside, especially when I know Sandrine waltzed in with entitlement twenty years ago. She can stay out there in the hot sun.
I cautiously venture upstairs. Étienne is standing at the window of his childhood bedroom, staring out at the mountains with his arms folded across his chest.
“Étienne,” I say gently.
He shakes his head.
“She wants to apologize to you.”
He snorts. “Fuck herandher apology.”
I walk over to him and place my hand on his back. He stares down at me, his eyes stormy.
“What she did to you—and your mum—was unforgivable. And you don’t have to forgive her; you’re under no obligation. But I do think it might help to hear what she has to say. It might help you to let go of the past and move on.”
His expression is pained, but eventually he gives me a barely there nod and follows me back downstairs.
