Adam laid his cheek against his father’s shoulder and looked at me, really looked at me, and for the most fleeting minute, I thought I detected recognition, but then he smooshed his fists into his eyes and yawned. When he looked at me again, the flicker of recognition was gone. “Bonsoir, Celeste.” My shoulder blades jammed together at hearing him speak French. “Goodnight, Adam.” Gabriel readjusted his hold on the four-year-old. “He loves speaking French.” He seemed amused by this quirk. I doubted he’d have been amused had he known the reason for it. I bet Tobias wasn’t amused. I bet he shook
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