And just like that, Allyson understands it. How jealousy contorts things. She thinks of Céline, how jealous she had been of her, and how wrong about her. She was Ana Lucia’s Céline. There was no French girl. There was an American girl he met in France. “So you didn’t go to Spain?” Allyson asks. “Spain?” Willem says. “No. I went to Mexico.”
