Part 11
They had been sitting in the dark on the floor of their apartment after another argument. She had told him that he always knew how to leave a room, a city, a conversation, a person. He had asked her what she wanted him to do.
She had said, “Stay long enough to learn the difference between leaving and abandoning someone.”
He had been angry then.
Now he wished he could return to that room with every answer he had been too afraid to give.
Amelie stood abruptly.
“I need to talk to my mother.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows more about our families than either of us does.”
The words were steady, but her face was not.
Poppy looked worried.
“Is she mad?”
Amelie crouched beside the sofa.
“No.”
“Are you mad?”
Amelie looked at Gabriel first.
Then back at Poppy.
“I’m trying not to be.”
The honesty startled him.
Poppy blinked.
“Can you do that?”
Amelie’s mouth pulled into the smallest sad smile.
“I don’t know yet.”
She stood and walked toward the villa doors.
Gabriel watched her go.
For the first time since Poppy had appeared, he felt the full weight of what Amelie had lost. Not only the ceremony. Not only the public humiliation. She had lost the certainty that the man she intended to marry had told her enough truth to make a future with him.
He wanted to follow her.
Poppy’s fingers curled around his sleeve.
“Don’t leave.”
He looked down.
“I won’t.”
Amelie stopped at the doorway and turned back.
Their eyes met across the sitting room.
She understood.
He could see it.
Then she disappeared inside.
The estate manager returned several minutes later. She stood at the edge of the room, glancing from Gabriel to Poppy with quiet concern.
“Mr. Rourke,” she said. “I’ve checked the suite ledger.”
Gabriel looked up.
“And?”
“The door was opened using a family access card.”
“Whose?”
The woman hesitated.
“Mrs. Vale’s.”
Amelie’s mother.
Gabriel felt his body stiffen.
“Are you sure?”
“The card was registered to her.”
Poppy lifted her head.
“The lady had a gold bracelet,” she whispered.
The manager looked at her.
“What kind of bracelet?”
“Like flowers.”
Gabriel remembered Amelie’s mother’s bracelet. A gold cuff shaped like delicate vines and blossoms. She wore it at every event, even in photographs from years ago. It had belonged to Amelie’s grandmother.
The estate manager’s face changed.
“I don’t know whether she was wearing it tonight,” she said carefully.
Gabriel looked toward the villa.
His first instinct was anger.
It came fast and sharp. Someone had locked a child in a room. Someone had positioned Poppy to find him at his wedding. Someone had made the child afraid of Amelie.
And now the access card belonged to Amelie’s mother.
But anger was easy when it had nowhere to go.
He looked down at Poppy.
“Did the lady say her name?”
Poppy shook her head.
“Did she have blonde hair?”
The child thought about it.
“I didn’t see.”
“Did she sound older?”
“She sounded nice.”
The answer made Gabriel’s jaw tighten.
“Nice” had always been one of the most dangerous words in his family. People who did cruel things rarely announced themselves with cruelty. They smiled. They brought gifts. They said they were protecting someone. They made their choices sound reasonable until the person being harmed began to doubt their own fear.
The estate manager lowered her voice.
“Amelie’s mother is in the small library off the dining room.”
Gabriel looked toward the doors.
“I’ll speak to her.”
Poppy’s grip tightened.
“No.”
He looked down.
“You don’t have to come.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
He felt the child’s fear like a physical pull.
The manager said, “I can stay with her.”
Poppy buried her face against Gabriel’s shirt.
“No.”
Gabriel looked at the estate manager.
“Please ask Mrs. Vale to come here.”
The woman nodded and walked away.
A few minutes later, Amelie returned.
Her face looked different.
Not calmer. More resolved.
Behind her walked her mother, a poised woman in a pale gold evening dress, her silver-blonde hair arranged perfectly at the nape of her neck. The gold floral bracelet curved around her wrist.
Poppy saw it.
Her whole body went stiff.
Gabriel felt it before he understood it.
The child clutched him so hard her fingers pressed through his shirt.
“That’s her,” she whispered.
The courtyard seemed to stop breathing.
Amelie’s mother looked at Poppy.
Then at Gabriel.
Then at the manager.
Her expression did not collapse. It held.
That was almost worse.
“Who is this child?” she asked.
Amelie’s voice was low.
“Her name is Poppy Hale.”
Her mother’s face changed.
Just slightly.
But Gabriel saw it.
So did Amelie.
May you like
“You know that name,” Amelie said.
Her mother did not answer immediately.
