“What?” her muffled voice came from somewhere near one of the palatial daybeds that made up Maxime’s pool furniture.
“Where are you?”
She kicked away a pile of cushions, emerging from behind a wall of fabric. “Here.”
Her jaw was so tight I thought her teeth might shatter.
I looked around the pool. Everything looked normal. The only difference was Maxime’s missing net frame. “What was that noise?”
Sophie pointed to a notebook. It lay open on the tiles, its pages flipping idly in the breeze.
I bent down to pick it up. “What happened?”
“It’s too hard,” she said.
I pulled my brows together. “What is?”
She shook her head, running her fingers through her dark hair.
“Hang on,” I said. Putting the book down on the daybed, I dipped back into the kitchen, picking up the two freshly squeezed lemonades I made earlier. There was an enormous tree at the end of the garden weighed down with fruit. It would be rude to let it rot.
She’d put the cushions back together, and I joined her, placing the glasses on the table. “What’s going on?” She’d been busy doing something outside since lunchtime. I hadn’t wanted to interrupt.
She frowned, her face remarkably like her father’s. Before she could answer, the kitten appeared from under the daybed, jumping up onto the cushions between us with a squeak. Sophie ran her hand over his head. We’d both gotten used to his presence.
“I think we should name him,” she said. I shifted, recalling Maxime’s reluctance, but I didn’t see the harm. As far as I could tell, Sophie had little joy in her life. Even if she had to leave, she could enjoy the kitten until then.
“What would you call him?”
She grinned. “Bean. When he’s asleep, he looks like a roasted coffee bean. I think it’s cute.”
I did, too.
“Nice to meet you, Bean,” I said, trailing the back of one finger over his little nose. Was it bad if I didn’t tell Maxime?
Bean gave the tiniest squeak. He and I were becoming fast friends. He’d taken to hovering around Sophie and me at thehouse—even following us down the old stone steps to the beach.
Yesterday, I’d made coffees for Fifi while Sophie read. Yesterday’s coffee art theme was sea creatures. Who knew there were so many ways to draw a jellyfish with milk?
While we were at the club, we’d left our furry friend on the pebbles, chasing tiny crabs that scuttled in and out of the stones. He still slept in the rosemary at night, but we’d snuck a little blanket into the bush for comfort. Maxime didn’t need to know. Our shared secret was the closest thing Sophie, and I got to an actual relationship.
I smiled. “While you were busy throwing books, I was deciding what to make for dinner tonight. It’s a choice between spaghetti and spaghetti.”
She looked at me, wearing her father’s trademark scowl. “Sorry?”
I shrugged. “It’s one of the few things I know how to make. And before you say anything, don’t judge. Cooking is not a skill I’ve learned easily. Ask me to change a tyre, dance a tango or make a dress from a pair of curtains, and I’m your girl. But cooking? No.”
“How about spaghetti?” she asked.
I smiled. I wished we had more moments like this. Sophie could be seriously funny. It was a lovely relief from the intensity of her father.
She turned her attention back to Bean, who was in a picture-perfect loaf against her thigh, and gave him a playful tickle.
I picked up the notebook from the table, flipping my fingers through pages of words. “What’s this? Your master plan for world domination?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “No, it’s the schoolwork my mother wants me to do.”
A vague recollection of Maxime and her talking aboutschoolwork the night I arrived popped into my memory. My stomach twisted. I’d forgotten.
