We clink and drink up. Soon, the bottle is nearly empty, and I’m feeling a pleasant fuzziness in my head. Antoine is cradling his glass like he’s deep in thought.
“You’re quiet.” I swirl the last of my wine. “Plotting the next march up the cliffs?”
A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Not this time.”
“Then what? What’s on your mind, dearhusband?”
I deliver the last word in a dramatic, exaggerated way, to show that I’m being tongue in cheek. Even though he is my husband. Legally, anyway.
Is he going to play along and call me his wife?
“The music box,” he says, completely ignoring my probe. “That’s what’s on my mind.”
For a second I am stumped. Why would he think of an old-fashioned toy right now? Then I remember.
“Ah,” I say with a smile. “Pedro’s secret scavenger hunt to nurture our bond.”
We could nurture it right now.He could move closer and pick up where we left off on the terrace.No toys will be necessary—just his bare hands.
Oops, that came out dirtier than I meant.
Antoine almost touches my warmed cheeks with the back of his hand but stops. “Are you OK? Too much wine?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He nods. “I figured we might as well brainstorm. Have you thought about where that box might be?”
“Honestly?” I sit up more fully against the pillows. “I have no idea. You?”
He stares at me. “How do you mean, me?”
“Well, didn’t Pedro say the box could be connected to either of us?”
He slaps his forehead. “But of course! He did say that.”
“So?”
“No, I have no idea. Never owned a music box. Never seen one at my parents’ or grandparents’ place.”
“Me, neither.”
After a moment of silence, he speaks again, “What about your aunt’s place? Or her shop?”
I shake my head. “My family’s not exactly into antiques or heirlooms or stuff like that. Everything we own is modern.”
“Not even something that might’ve been tucked away, forgotten?”
“The only music box I remember seeing in real life was in a gadget shop last year,” I say. “It had a rocket and little astronauts spinning around.”
“A rocket?”
“Yep. It played the song fromSpace Odyssey. I considered buying it, but it was ridiculously overpriced.”
Antoine seems unsatisfied. “Not antique, then.”
“Why are you so hung up on that stupid challenge?” I shrug. “It’s not like it’s a matter of national security.”
His eyes tighten. “No,” he says. “There’s nothing national security-ish about it. Absolutely nothing at all.”
