“Who?”
“Vivek, Mom’s lawyer. He called earlier to share some thoughts, but I couldn’t speak.” He checks his watch, adding, “He asked me to get back to him before the end of the day as he’s away next week.”
If Vivek’s in New York, it’s the early afternoon for him.
“You can call him now, if you like.”
He gives me an apologetic look. “Do you mind? It shouldn’t take long.”
“Go for it. I’ll just sit here, enjoying the ambience and drinking my rosé.” I smile at the waitress who has reappeared to pour it.
“Thanks,” Jackson says, scooting his chair out from the table.
I take a sip of my wine and realize that I forgot to ask for ice. I always drink rosé with a couple of cubes knocking about.
Our waitress is now serving a table for eight but through the restaurant window I can see a guy in a black T-shirt making drinks behind a small bar area. Taking matters into my own hands, I get up and go inside. “4runner” by Brenn! has just started playing over the sound system.
“Excusez-moi,”I say as I squeeze between two vacant stools.
The bartender glances up from what he’s doing, dark hair curling down across his forehead, and my heart skips a beat.
Iknowthose eyes: more gray than blue and framed with thick, dark lashes.
Iknowthis man.
And he knows me.
“Étienne,” I murmur with disbelief, my heart thumping.
“Hello, Grace,” he replies.
6
I met Étienne when Iwas seventeen, the year that Chloe first came to France. That summer had been hideous from the start. Every morning I’d arrive at the pool at Château Angèle, hoping that I’d be welcome, and every afternoon I’d leave feeling worse than ever.
Jackson was like a different person with Chloe. In previous years, with me, he was all “Come and have a swim with me, Gracie!” “Come and play Ping-Pong with me, Gracie!” “Come and play tennis with me, Gracie,” which never went well, but the sight of him in his tennis whites made up for my aching limbs. I used to walk into a room and his face would light up—and it still did that summer, but if Chloe followed me his lips would sort of straighten as though smiling wasn’t cool. All he wanted to do was lie around sunbathing, or at most play the occasional game of water volleyball. I was thrilled whenever he suggested it because I felt like I was getting fun Jackson back, but the lust in his eyes as he watched Chloe bouncing about in her skimpy bikini made me feel sick to my stomach.
One day I was so upset that I left my beach bag at the pool and took off. I didn’t know where I was going, but I had to do something to distract myself from the sparks that were flying back at the château, so I walked into town and climbed down to the riverbank, heading away from civilization.
At its widest point, the river was shallow and slow-moving—a tributary of the much larger Ardèche River—but the farther upstream I went, the faster it seemed to flow. As the vegetation thickened, I was forced right down to the water and had to wade through the shallows, but I didn’t care that my progress was slow. I was in no hurry to go back home.
Eventually, I came across a small two-story house in a clearing surrounded by willow trees. It was on the other side of the river and set back a little, but not by much. If the banks gave way, the ground floor would probably be a foot underwater.
But it was so pretty, even with some of its terracotta tiles missing from the roof and its peach-painted rendered exterior crumbling in parts to reveal ordinary gray building blocks beneath. Honeysuckle grew up one of its walls, grapevines ran rampant up another, and the tall grass out front was rife with wildflowers. I noticed a series of rocks protruding from the clear brown water, and it seemed as if they were stepping stones inviting me to take a closer look.
When I was only partway across, the door to the house flew open and a tall boy with dark hair stormed out. He shouted something angry at me in French—and then I saw that he was holding a rifle.
My pulse tripped.
“I’m English! I’m going!” I screeched, throwing my hands up in the air and beginning to back away.
“DON’T MOVE!” he bellowed, raising his gun at me.
I panicked and turned to flee, coming to an abrupt halt as I found myself facing a huge gray wolf standing on the shore, just a few feet away. I froze, staring at it with horror. It stared back at me with amber eyes. And then it snarled.
I full on leaped backward and a gunshot rang out as I crashed into the water, flailing around and jamming my ankle between two rocks as I tried to get back up.
The wolf bolted. And the boy dropped his gun in the long grass and tore toward me, navigating the stepping stones with the sure-footedness of someone who’d been doing it his whole life. As I cried out with shock and pain, he plunged into the water and grabbed me by my waist, soaking his shorts and the bottom half of his T-shirt as he pulled me out of the river. He tried to stand me on a rock, but I couldn’t support my own weight, so he braced me with an arm around my back and his hand on my stomach, just below my rib cage. I remember the press of it as we locked eyes.
