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A pang went through her.
Xavier—
She would have to tell him.
Tell him why she must leave him.
For a moment she bowed her head, as if under the weight of too much emotion.
Armand, Xavier—
She took a breath. She would have to deal with it—she had no choice. It would be hard, but it must be done. And now at least she knew what Armand’s plans were.
It made her own decisions so much easier.
She settled down at the table and reached for the jug of fresh orange juice. The housekeeper bustled out of the villa, checking that she had what she required. Lissa smiled and thanked her, as usual, for having set the breakfast out. The woman nodded and bustled away again, leaving Lissa to the tumult of her thoughts.
Where was Xavier? It was not fair not to tell him as soon as she could.
She gazed out over the vista in front of her, at the open grassy space bordered by tall pines, leading down to the sea, cobalt at this time of day.
So perfect, so beautiful.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned her head.
Her face stilled.
It was Xavier, as she had known it would be, but he was wearing not the familiar casual clothes he wore on the island but a formal business suit. Dismay filled her.
He had said he wasn’t going back to Paris until the following day. She’d thought she had till then.
‘Are we leaving today?’ The words burst from her, anxious and dismayed.
He did not answer, merely took his place at the other end of the table from her. There was, Lissa realised, a closed look on his face. She watched him reach for the coffee and pour himself a cup. Absently, she noticed, with the familiar quiver that always accompanied her awareness of him, how the leanness of his wrist was accentuated by the sliver of gold watch strap, the pristine white of his cuffs, edged with the dark charcoal of his business jacket. She had always known how devastating he looked in formal attire, but now, seeing him again like this after two weeks of casual gear, he looked not just devastating but—formidable.
Distant.
‘Xavier—what is it?’
She could not stop herself asking. Something had happened, and she could feel her chest tighten.
His eyes flicked up from setting back the coffee jug.
Something speared through her. It was like being impaled.
For a moment longer he said nothing, just let his dark, unreadable gaze rest on her. She felt a chill seep through her.
‘Xavier—what’s wrong?’ Her voice was faint.
Did emotion flash briefly, searingly, in the dark depths of his eyes? She couldn’t tell—his eyes were unreadable.
Abruptly, he spoke. His voice was as she had never heard it before.
‘The launch will take you to Nice, and a flight will have been booked for you for London.’
‘London? Today? But I thought …?’ Lissa’s voice trailed off.
A hollow was beginning to form in her stomach.
