The buzz of cicadas gives way to birdsong. Morning, again.
After the roof, she swims laps in the pool.
Last night, they’d discussed their autumn plans over dinner: Jamie’s dad needling him about his future, Amina’s hopes for solid representation with a gallery. They asked her about the farm, graduation. Lili had pushed her salad around her plate.Finish my thesis, then defend it,she’d said.That’s my focus.
But it’s clear, with the return home looming: the sense of plans creeping in, decisions she needs to make.
Inside the house now, James pages through a magazine, crunching on toast as coffee brews. Finished with her swim, Lili settles down beside him at the kitchen table, runs a towel through her hair. “—can’t believe your parents get this delivered to their vacation house,” he’s saying to Amina, flipping through the glossy pages, New York society events. “It’s absurd.”
“I’m not the one reading it like Princess Di’s come back from the dead,” Amina retorts.
“Ah, finally, here it is—need to revel in what I missed... you’re lucky we got to skip this disaster, it’s begging for a bonfire of the vanities.”
“I have been to your parents’ parties before without suffering injury,” Amina comments dryly.
James shakes his head with gleeful disbelief. “Jesus, this looks intolerable... aw, Meredith did look nice—but look at William, helooks miserable, I’m going to frame this... the silent auction had some good pieces, though, look at that Frankenthaler—wait, actually, no, wait, never mind—wait, no, Lili, don’t—”
But she’s already tugged the magazine from him, immediately recognizing the familiar face on the page.
For weeks,for weeks, she’s been thinking of him, caught between suppression and recollection, but still, somehow, it’s a shock like ice water, to see Aleksandr.
Staring at him—glossy photograph, dark party, bright flash—her breath collapses; she doesn’t think she fully understood yearning before, its utter muscle-stretch agony, until this moment. Lili looks at him, hungry; hasn’t seen his face since she deleted the Polaroid on her phone, on the way back into Brooklyn, and here he is now.
Tall, broad shouldered, lithe, with thick black hair and patrician features:familiar, familiar—high cheekbones, straight nose, the line of his jaw, close-cropped beard, and his mouth—known to her, the shape of it in a grin, revealing teeth, she knows the brush of his lips against her skin—and intelligent, dark eyes, gaze glancing out of frame, absorbed in some conversation—a gaze that had become intimate to her, like the sound of her own breathing when she wakes, a calm that is necessary and precious.
He looks healthy, and he looks rested. No signs of exhaustion, restless nights—she should want that for him, to look whole and unharmed—instead he looks handsome, so fucking handsome. When did she get used to that? When she was falling asleep beside him, when he was the first thing she saw each morning, did she become used to how handsome, edging into beautiful, he is?
He’s wearing a dark suit, no tie. First few buttons of his shirt open, as always—habits she tries to remember now, every little habit she can, as if that’ll prove that he somehow still belongs to her, because with him—on his arm, with a smile,with him—
A woman; she is tall, and she is beautiful, and she is not Lili.
Almost his height, close to his age. She’s stunning: absurdly attractive and graceful even on a frozen page. Only a few inches shorter than Aleksandr, this woman could almost see eye to eye with him. Lustrous brown hair, high cheekbones, a radiant smile, and kind eyes—sparkling,as she speaks to someone out of frame—but her posture is oriented around Aleksandr—comfortable around him, how her arm rests in the crook of his elbow, palm against his chest. An intimate posture, how good they look together—with her gleaming hair, sleek dress, and his perfectly tailored suit, and his dark eyes—and his hand resting at the small of her back, holding her close against his side.
The sear of Lili’s heart is violent; spilt gasoline, now catching.
She hungrily scans the caption—Aleksandr Petrov, BlackRiver CEO; no, past that, she knows him,she knows him, and on to:Sanaë Huang, renowned British barrister... specializes in international law, human rights; precedent-setting cases, frequently represents victims of mass atrocities and genocide before the International Criminal Court... senior adviser to special envoys, groundbreaking convictions, prodigious philanthropy work—until it’s just a blur of impressive accomplishments, war zones, international bodies.
“Lili—” It’s Amina. “Lili, don’t—”
She stands, pushing her chair back, and runs out of the house. Her bare feet slap against the stone steps, past the pool. She hears her friends calling her name as she stumbles through the orchard.
Breathe, Lili, she repeats, warm bark under her hand.Breathe, come on.
A minute—she just needs a minute.
“Lili!” It’s James. She closes her eyes, resting her forehead against a tree trunk.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I just need a minute—”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insists. “No one brings real dates to those types of parties—not unless they’re actually, like, married or something. Like me and you a few weeks ago, it’s super common—”
“We should get going before it’s too hot.”
James frowns. “What?”
“The headwaters.” They planned to drive to the Luberon hill villages today, the Sorgue’s headwaters. “Before the crowds. It’ll be too busy by the afternoon.”
“You can’t be serious—”
