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I studied his face, trying to determine just how crazy he was. The same hazel eyes I saw in my own mirror every morning held mine, but where my eyes frequently looked flat with a matte finish, his positively glowed. He really looked happy.
I paused at a crosswalk, feeling March’s cold fingers pinch my cheeks like a passive-aggressive auntie.
Shouldn’t he have told us together? It seemed a strong enough hook to hang my ire on.
“Ouch.” I dragged the word out for maximum guilt impact. Annabelle blanched, so it was a direct hit.
“Yes,” I said. “In two weeks I’m gone.” Jason stared at me, slack jawed. He looked stunned, as if I’d just told him I was pregnant and the baby was his. “But . . . that’s . . . How . . . Why . . .”
It was so ridiculous, so outrageous an accusation that I barked out a laugh that sounded more maniacal than I would have liked.
I started to text back when the first fat plop of a raindrop splashed the side of my face, and I glanced up, assessing the likelihood of more rain. This was a bad move, as the droplet had been a warning shot, and in the next instant the sky opened up as if someone had ripped through the bottom of a cloud with a knife blade. The deluge hit so fast, it soaked me through before I even had a chance to grab my umbrella from the back seat. With a yelp, I shoved my phone in my bag and ran for the main house at top speed.
I hung up my coat and quickly stripped down to my skin, taking a long hot shower to slough off the grit of every mile I’d traveled. It felt heavenly. The heat from the shower and the fire was so lovely and relaxing that my jet lag reared up and walloped me.
“You haven’t aged a day,” he said. “But you and your crew did make quite an impression.” He jerked his thumb at the wall behind him, and I saw that it was full of photographs. He tapped one with his forefinger, and my eyes went wide. There I was, sitting in this very bar with Colin and our other friends in a snug over in the corner, and Colin had his arm about me. Sarah slid a pint of blonde ale in front of me, and I took a long sip. So many memories were coming back thick and fast.
I motored slowly through the town of Finn’s Hollow,
I really like this way of saying driving.
I was just outside of Limerick and headed into County Clare when the mercurial Irish weather decided to make a mockery of my life choices. I’d gotten a wild hair to go see the famed Cliffs of Moher before heading to Dublin, and I was almost there when a fierce storm blew in, blotting out the colors of the landscape with a blanket of ominous gray.
Elliot arrived a few minutes after me with my bag and a tray that held a gloriously rich piece of wedding cake, which was the traditional Irish fruitcake, soaked in whiskey and stuffed with sultanas, raisins, and cherries, and slathered in a thick buttercream frosting. It was quite possibly the most decadent dinner I’d ever had, and I was completely here for it.
I stared at him for a second and then said, “I’m trying to remember what it felt like to be in love.” To my eternal relief, he didn’t mock. Instead, he tipped his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean, ‘trying to remember’? Has it been that long? And why do you need to be across the ocean to do this?” And then, as if he’d poked a poorly made dam with a stick, what began as a trickle of random words with little meaning suddenly gathered force inside my chest and came out in a deluge of information that I couldn’t have held back if I’d tried. “My father is getting remarried,” I said. “To
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He grinned at me, a slash of white teeth against the darkening sky, but only I knew that what I was saying yes to was so much more than going to a party. I was saying yes to all of it: to him, to Paris, to feeling all the feels again.
thought I was a few slices shy of a ham sandwich. “Do you hear yourself? That’s crazy talk. Why would I do that?” “Because you’re threatened by me,” I said. “You think I’m going to steal your glory, Knightley.” “Oh man, I do not need this shit.” He grunted and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as if he could grind the sleep out of his eyes. “Listen, Martin, since the Severin ask isn’t a done deal, there’s really no glory to be had.”
When I stepped out of the door to the apartments, I could feel the Paris night pulse all around me. A thrum of excitement, like the low purr of an engine, revved in my belly, and I had the feeling that tonight was the first night in a whole new life for me. A wolf whistle brought my attention around to the café. Jason was sitting at one of the tables. He was holding a book—a spy novel—and sipping a glass of wine. His gaze swept over me from head to foot. He mouthed the word wow, and I grinned at him. That was exactly the shot of confidence I needed.
Jason gave me an innocent look. Then he shrugged and said, “You kids have fun. I’ll just be here enjoying my wine all by myself.” He heaved a sigh that was so forlorn, I felt as if I were abandoning a puppy in the middle of the twelve-lane roundabout that circled the Arc de Triomphe. I shook it off. What had gotten into him? “Good night, Jason,” I said firmly. I took the arm Jean Claude offered, noting for the first time how beautiful his suit was. It was immaculately cut and hung on him as if it was bespoke, which it undoubtedly was.
He smelled of an exotic cologne, not overpowering, just hovering over his person. I had to press closer to breathe it in, and I could smell the subtle notes of bergamot and musk.
He wore no tie with his suit, and his shirt collar fell open to reveal the strong column of his throat.
The ceilings were decorated in ornamental plaster quadrants that each featured a ceiling rose and dentils that drew the eye up toward the center, where a row of enormous chandeliers sparkled, casting shimmers of light throughout the long room. Doors on the opposite side of the room were open to let in the cool night air and allow guests to step out onto the wide terrace that overlooked the immaculate gardens. It was like something out of a novel. I wanted to pinch myself. Was this really my life?
“When you say charm François, what do you mean exactly?” I asked. I kept my voice a low purr. I wanted him to think I was on board so that he would detail it for me and there would be no misunderstanding. “He is quite enchanted by you,” he said. “And he would like for the two of you to spend some time alone together.” I was fairly clear about what he meant by alone. Hurt and shock made my throat tight, but I pushed through it. I was going to make him spell it out. “Alone?” Jean Claude gave me a knowing look. Then he hit me with a one-two punch of disrespect and disillusionment. “François just
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His brown eyes went dark, and he grabbed my elbow. “You’re wearing my dress. Did you think there was no price attached to it?”
Instead, an image of Darby O’Shea pole dancing in Finn’s Hollow flitted through my mind, and I thought about how she hadn’t settled for less than she was worth. When her man had done her wrong, she’d cut him loose. Determined to follow her example, I took a step back, stared Jean Claude right in the eye, and with a flick of my wrist, flung the contents of my glass right in his face. Jean Claude sputtered, the champagne dripping down his shocked expression, as the people around us stared in startled amusement. It was gloriously satisfying. “Don’t contact me—ever again,” I hissed. With that, I
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He looked at me closely, and I had the feeling he knew exactly how my evening had gone wrong. With a sympathetic sigh, he said, “Mieux vaut être seul que mal accompagné.”
The waitress brought his drink, and Jason looked up in surprise. I got a kick out of watching him look for who had sent the wine. The waitress placed the glass on the table and helped him out by gesturing to me. Jason turned around, and I gave him a little finger wave, the same one he had sent me from his balcony that afternoon. A smile of genuine delight curved his lips and warmed his eyes. He stood and gestured for me to join him. I rose from my seat and crossed the restaurant to him. I could feel his eyes on me, but I had no idea what he was thinking; the dim lighting made it impossible to
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HIS SUIT MIGHT not have been French, but it fit the man spectacularly. Navy blue, it conformed to his broad shoulders and tapered down to his narrow waist. He wore a white dress shirt beneath it, no tie, matching navy slacks, and dark-brown dress shoes—no Converse sneakers. Shocker! Then again, since he’d rushed here to take my place at the dinner with Severin, it made sense that he’d brought his most professional attire.
There wasn’t much room to move, but that didn’t stop Jason from leading me around in a tight circle and then twirling me within his arms, making my dress flare out. I felt like a 1940s film star, beautiful, glamorous, and oh so sexy. It was a balm to my battered soul.
I felt my heart soar up in my chest as the scent of him, a low note of amber dusted with cardamom and mint, filled my senses. I wanted to curl up in the smell of him, as if he were my favorite cow pajamas. It was a comforting scent that made me feel . . . at home.
Edith hit a sweet high note just as I pulled back to glance up at his face. My heels gave me an extra two inches of height, making my gaze level with his mouth, and I couldn’t help but notice the generous curve of his lips. “Hey, eyes up here, Martin,” he teased. I glanced up, and the laughter in his gaze made me smile, but the heat in his eyes caused my breath to stutter stop in my lungs.
I felt as if taste buds that had been dormant my entire life were suddenly awake and clamoring for more. I glanced at Jason and said, “I think I’m having a religious experience here.” He laughed. He spooned up more of his chocolat chaud and said, “I know. I love it so much I think I might marry it.”
He lowered his forehead to mine, our breath mingled, and he said, “I want to kiss you, just kiss you, for a few hours or possibly a few days.”
Real palm trees in enormous pots, gilded framed mirrors, and a row of glistening chandeliers overhead competed for my attention. When Jason pulled out my chair at a table beside a large window, I slid onto my seat, feeling agog at my surroundings. I tried not to let it show, while for his part, Jason was as at ease as if he ate at restaurants that had three Michelin stars every day. I envied him that.
“Potatoes—fascinating things, potatoes,” Severin said. He glanced between the two of us as if issuing a challenge. “Eleanor, did you know that the average American eats about one hundred and twenty-four pounds of potatoes per year, while Germans eat twice as many?” “I did not,” she said. She turned toward him and pushed her glasses up on her nose, studying him with rapt interest.
Twilight in the vineyard was magical, with a full moon rising over the hills, illuminating the silvery leaves of the olive trees and giving them an ethereal glow.
“Introduce me to the boyfriend,” he said. He wagged his eyebrows at me. “I like the dress, by the way. Sexy.” I glanced down at my deep-blue sundress. It did not help my frame of mind to remember that when I’d bought it at the boutique in the village, I had thought it was a perfect match for Jason’s eyes when they were their bluest blue. I had then promptly chastised myself for having such a ridiculous thought and bought the dress anyway. And now here he was, as if I’d conjured him. Argh!
I WAS ENJOYING breakfast on the second-floor terrace of the castle when I felt someone watching me. I glanced up to find Jason leaning against the doorjamb.
He had clearly just showered, as his hair was damp and his body radiated the scent of the locally made lemon-verbena soap that Marcellino stocked in all the bathrooms on the vineyard.
“That is a spectacular view,” Jason said. I glanced over my shoulder at the vineyard behind me. The hills were cut into patchwork squares in variegated shades of green.
The day was already sun warmed and somnolent with the buzz of insects, the twitter of birds, and the muted voices of tourists walking the grounds below us.
I smiled. “To be labeled a Chianti, the wine has to consist of at least eighty percent Sangiovese grapes.” “Sangiovese?” he asked. “Not exactly the Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay of Napa, is it?” “No. The name comes from the Latin sanguis Jovis, which means ‘the blood of Jupiter.’”
“Yup, that’s me and my twin sister.” His voice was gruff, and he tipped his head back and squinted through the leaves at the bits and pieces of blue sky overhead as if he were trying to fit them back together to make the sky whole. “She died of leukemia.” He cleared his throat. “When we were twelve.”
I felt my throat get tight. Jason’s love for his sister was evident in every word he said, and the sadness that shadowed his eyes made his grief palpable. It was as much a part of who he was as his quick wit or the strong line of his jaw.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. My voice was tight. I cleared my throat, wanting to be strong for him. “That must have been just brutal.” “Yeah, it was,” he said. “But I learned to keep moving forward even when I didn’t want to.” I nodded. We were quiet for a while, enjoying the dappled sunlight, the gentle breeze, the companionable silence. “Okay, Martin, your turn,” he said. “What do you mean?” “Now you know why I work at the ACC, but why do you? What’s your origin story?” I snorted. Leave it to Jason to make a backstory sound more like a superhero’s journey, but then again, maybe it was. I plucked
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He nodded, and I knew he understood how differently you start to view time when the grains of sand start dropping in the hourglass faster and faster and there’s nothing you can do to slow it down.
“My memories of Jess are so bittersweet,” he said. “Bitter because there are no more, but sweet because they keep her alive in my heart and mind and I treasure that, even though it hurts.” That was it, exactly. I had never, not in all my years of working for the ACC, met someone who put into words what I felt so precisely. Never could I ever have imagined that the person most likely to understand me so completely would be Jason Knightley.
A shudder rippled through me as I tried to get it together. He pulled me in close and tight. We huddled like survivors after a storm, trying to assess the damage while getting our bearings. I could feel his heart beat in time with mine, our breath mingling. The amber-resin scent of him wrapped around me like an invisible cord, lashing me to him. I wanted to stay there forever, but I couldn’t. I pulled back, forcing myself to let go of him. He was a coworker. We had a major ask to nail down in the next few days. These were lines that couldn’t be crossed.
“Has it ever occurred to you, Martin, that you were a different person on your year abroad and you loved men then that the person you are now could never love?” “No, it hasn’t,” I said. “Because the whole point of this trip is to remember who I used to be, and that Chelsea was very much in love with Marcellino DeCapio. What’s more, I liked her. She was fun and adventurous and bighearted.” I rubbed my knuckles over my chest. “I miss her.” “Well, I can’t weigh in on that debate, since I didn’t know you then,” he said. He put his hand on the back of his neck as he studied me from beneath his
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“Working together makes this really complicated,” I said. “This whole thing would be easier if I had fallen in love with Marcellino again.” He frowned. “But you couldn’t, because even though Marcellino is the perfect man, he is not the perfect man for you. I am.” “How do you figure that?” I asked, both charmed and affronted by his arrogance. “Because I fell in love with you on the other side of your greatest loss, your deepest grief,” he said. “I fell for the strong, determined, driven woman who you’ll always be, and I love you exactly as you are.” I felt my throat get tight. He cupped my
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“Chelsea, you’re trying so hard to be who you were before your mother died,” he said. “But you can’t be her. That woman died with your mom.” A tear coursed down my cheek, and he tenderly wiped it away with his thumb. “That was the girl Marcellino and Jean Claude and Colin fell in love with, but you’re not her anymore,” he said. “You’re a woman who has suffered tremendous loss and found the courage to keep going. “That’s what makes us perfect together. We understand that pieces of our hearts will always belong to those who are gone. For us, love and loss are forever entwined, making us love
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You said you went on this quest to find yourself, but you didn’t need to go away to find yourself, Chelsea. You needed to go away so that I could find you.” He paused, and his lopsided smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He looked at me from beneath his eyelashes in that way he had that charmed me stupid. I tried to stay strong.
