I paused for a moment, making sense of it. “Is that what Desmond does? Does Desmond check IDs?”
Hayes smiled. “No one on the premises under eighteen. That’s the rule.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No one asked formyID.”
“I vouched for you. Come here.” He took my chin in his free hand and kissed me. “Twelve…” He laughed.
“They look twelve to me.”
“Isabelle is twelve. Isabelle is notthat. Yet.”
I gave him one of my best withering looks.
“I’m kidding. Isabelle willneverbe that. She’s going to go from twelve straight to sixty. No stopping in between.”
I looked back toward the pool then. One of the girls was oiling the other’s back. Was this real life? “Aahhh, France…”
Hayes smiled, wide. “It’s like a gift.”
“I imagine it is. I imagine being in a boy band is like a gift as well.”
“Sometimes.” He sipped from his glass.
“Only sometimes? When is it not a gift?”
“When the woman you’re trying to impress reminds you that you’re in a boy band.”
“Touché,” I said. We were making the trek across the lawn down toward the south corner of the property. “Are you trying to impress me?”
“Was that not apparent?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But you didn’t bring any bags.”
“I’ve gotthis.” I smiled, proffering my purse: the Céline hobo bag in chamois, perfect for everything but holding a change of clothes.
“Does it have a toothbrush in it?”
“You’re bad—”
“If not, I’m not interested.”
“You would fuck me even if I didn’t bring a toothbrush.”
Hayes stopped in his tracks, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. “You just used the f-word.”
“Imagine that…”
“I have been. For two months now,” he admitted. “You realize this changes everything, right? I was trying to be a gentleman, but why bother?”
I smiled, swilling the wine. “I like that you’re a gentleman.”
“You, Solène Marchand, are very complex. Which I find incredibly appealing.”
“Like unfolding a flower?”
It took a moment, and then he remembered, smiling. “Like unfolding a flower.”
