Marcel leaned against the wall in his parents’ small drawing room, gaze locked on the happy reunion. Zelie was on her knees in a shockingly nice black dress that looked like silk, arms around her children, tears streaming down her face. Elise and Blaise both chattered, trying to fill her in on everything she’d missed during her two weeks in Spain.
She’d gotten that much out—that she’d been in Madrid—before she’d given up on trying to speak and had gone to the floor so she could wrap her arms around Blaise and Elise.
When he felt a hand on his arm, he turned. His parents hovered in the hallway behind him, smiles on their faces. And coats in their arms. Père motioned toward the back door. “We’re going to step out for a bit. Give them some privacy. Though if you need us, we’ll be next door.”
He nodded, glad they hadn’t told him to come with them. He would have... probably. But he’d rather stay here. He could lieto himself and say it was to answer the questions Zelie was sure to have once the children had calmed down, but no.
He needed to drink in the sight of her for a few more minutes. Listen to the melody of her voice. Feel her presence.
She hadn’t even looked his way in the five minutes since she knocked on his parents’ front door, and he couldn’t blame her for that. If anything, her complete absorption with her children proved to him that he’d done the absolute best thing he could have.
After a few minutes more, Elise wriggled free, face wreathed in a smile. “Let me show you what Tante Mathilde gave me for Christmas. She’s theprettiestdoll ever!”
Marcel’s lips twitched. His mother had always hoped for a daughter and had put away a few dolls over the years, when she found them for a good price. When it became abundantly clear she was stuck with only the two rambunctious sons—or rather, one quiet boy, one rambunctious son, and two equally rambunctious nephews—she said she would give the dolls to Tante Josephine’s daughter... then, when she kept failing to “remember” when holidays rolled around, that she’d save them for a granddaughter.
On Christmas morning, when he’d seen the gift Elise unwrapped, he’d sent her a questioning gaze, and she’d grinned and shrugged.
“Perhaps it was always Elise I’d gotten it for, long before she was born. Who’s to say how the Lord works?” Then she’d leaned close, sniffling. “I couldn’t let her havenothingfor Christmas.”
They’d had an unopened model airplane kit put away too, having bought it one year for Raoul only to decide he was too old for it. Blaise had it finished now, painted, and ran off to fetch it.
Zelie stood, wincing a bit, hand splaying across her hip in a way that said it was paining her. Marcel took another step into the room—not meaning to get her attention exactly, just to ask if she was injured.
Before he could speak, she looked up, met his gaze. And then in the next moment, she’d surged across the room and wrapped her arms around him.
He knew it was in gratitude, nothing more. Even so, his arms came around her and his eyes slid shut. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair was as silky as it looked, and she fit against him every bit as perfectly as he’d imagined.
“I knew they’d be your first concern,” he whispered. “I didn’t know where you’d want me to take them, so... no one would look for them here.”
“It was exactly the right thing.” She held him tighter, then stepped away.
Dropping his arms had never been so hard in his life. He cleared his throat. “Some of the neighbors mistook them for my cousins. They remembered seeing them all playing together that time you brought them here before and assumed. So they’ve begun calling my parents Tante Mathilde and Oncle Eugène. I hope that’s all right.”
Her smile would fuel his dreams for years to come. “Of course it’s all right. Anything that keeps them safe is more than all right.” She glanced past him, back to the hall. Young voices were raised in some spat, but she must have decided it wasn’t worth interfering. She held her place, met his gaze again. “Have you heard anything about my mother?”
“Last night.” Angling himself so he’d see when Blaise and Elise reemerged, he spoke quickly. “She’s being held apart from the others, since her name wasn’t on Emile’s list. She contacted friends, who pulled what strings they could, and Vichy did agree to release her. If...”
Zelie’s chin came up, eyes glinting. “If? If what? If I turn myself in?”
He didn’t know whether to wince or smile. “Not exactly. It seems the three million francs have yet to surface—I’m not surewho ended up with it. But if you turn it over, they’ll let her go and won’t arrest you.”
Elise skipped from the bedroom, Blaise following behind her. Zelie only nodded at him and then smiled again for her children, exclaiming over everything they’d brought out to show her.
Not for the first time, he wondered how she did it—not how she juggled everything, but how she made decisions like this one.
Shehadto free her mother. But they needed that money more than ever, to rebuild Alliance. Would she make the trade or search for a third option?
Elise bounced over to Marcel’s childhood piano. “Let me show you what I’ve learned, Maman. Marcel has given me lessons every day.”
Objection flittered over Zelie’s face, though he couldn’t think why. Not until she said, “It’s Monsieur—”
“Ah.” He lifted a hand, scrunched his face in apology. “Actually... cousins? I told them they had better drop such things. My little cousins simply call me by my given name.”
“Oh. Of course.” Zelie renewed her smile, but she didn’t quite relax.
His shoulders went tight in turn. She obviously didn’t mind that he’d brought them here, but she obviouslydidmind that they’d grown familiar with him.
Right. Yet another cue that he could be her friend, but only so far. No further. He could give Elise piano lessons, tell Blaise what had happened, but he wasn’t to betheirfriend. Certainly wasn’t to become any sort of family to them—though he knew it wasn’t “cousin” she was objecting to.
