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"Plane is fueled. Call me when you land. And Everett — do not do anything stupid in France."

One short breath through my nose. Might count as a laugh in a different life, and then I board the jet.

As the engines start and Seattle falls away beneath me, I finally let myself think the thing I've been refusing to name since Christian said the word Cannes.

I have no idea what I’m going to say when I get there.

This is the first time in my life I’ve been this underprepared.

Love makes you do stupid shit.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

EVERETT

The villa staff lets me in without question.

That should probably bother me more than it does.

Instead, all I can think about is the fact that she's here. Somewhere in this house. Somewhere in this city. On this side of the world and not in Seattle and not at the estate and not waiting for me, because of course she isn't.

I step inside and stop just past the foyer.

There are signs of her everywhere.

A scarf thrown over the back of a chair. A half-finished cup of tea on the kitchen island. A pair of sandals by the open terrace doors. Paint water clouded in a jar near the sink. A sketchbook lying open on the dining table, turned facedown like she set it there absentmindedly and planned to come back in five minutes.

My chest tightens.

This should feel temporary. Instead it feels intimate. Like she's been living here. Like if I turned the corner fast enough, I'd catch her in one of Gabriel's shirts and lose what little is left of my mind.

Then I hear movement upstairs.

A door opening. Footsteps. The low scrape of a drawer closing.

And then she appears at the top of the stairs.

For one second I forget everything I planned to say.

She's barefoot, hair half-curled and falling over one shoulder, a garment bag draped over one arm and an earring in her hand. She stops dead when she sees me, and the look on her face is so purely disbelieving it would almost be funny if I weren't the reason for it.

"What are you doing here?"

There are a hundred answers.

Only one of them makes it out.

"You didn't sign the papers."

She stares at me.

Then lets out one sharp, incredulous laugh.

"You flew to France because I didn't sign papers?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"You could have called."