She knew he cared for her. She was too smart not to. But she didn’t want him getting any ideas about stepping into the role of father with her children.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and backed up a step. “Would you like a drink? Food?”
“Water would be lovely. Thank you.”
He nodded and spun, churned up enough inside that he didn’t even smile as Elise began to painstakingly play “Frère Jacques.” He hurried into the kitchen but, once there, braced his hands against the workbench and dragged in a deep breath instead of going for a glass.
From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d known she was the type of woman that men went stupid over. Hadn’t he sworn then and there he wouldn’t be one of them? Or at least wouldn’tactlike one of them? Yet here he was, desperate for a scrap of attention. A hint of affection.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Keeping himself from loving her was impossible—but he’d never make it a burden on her, something she was fettered by. That meant keeping to whatever boundaries she set.
All right. He could do that.Woulddo that. What was the alternative, anyway? Pushing her? Demanding she love him back?
“Marcel?”
He spun at Blaise’s voice, trying to drag up a smile. Giving it up when he saw the serious expression on the boy’s face. “What is it?”
Blaise stepped into the kitchen. Carefully, as if trying to keep his steps silent. “You need to talk to Maman. You need to tell her... you need to tell her to send us away somewhere.”
“What is this?” Marcel motioned Blaise to a chair at the table and sat beside him, so they were more on a level. “Where do you think your mother should send you? Back to Cannes?” That was likely to happen anyway, once Lizette was released. Probably. Unless Zelie deemed it too dangerous now.
Blaise shook his head. “No. As long as we’re so close, she’s going to worry about us.”
Half a smile tilted Marcel’s mouth. “Blaise, she isalwaysgoing to worry about you, no matter where you are. She’s your mother. It’s her job.”
“No.” Blaise smacked a hand to the table. Not loud, not hard, but enough to show his emotions on the matter. “Her job is to save France. She’s the only one who can.”
“Blaise.” Zelie stood in the kitchen doorway, brows knit.
Marcel realized only then the piano had stopped. He didn’t have to ask why when he heard the door to the washroom close.
Spinning on his chair, Blaise said, “It’strue. I heard Marcel and his cousin talking over Christmas when I was supposed to be asleep. Without you, everything falls apart. They said so—and I know it’s true. The Allies need you,Franceneeds you, but you’re always going to be distracted by us.”
“You are not adistraction.” She charged into the room, dropped to a knee in front of his chair, and framed his face with her hands. “You are mypurpose.”
“Send us somewhere safe.” Blaise’s voice came out tight, choked. “Not because I’m afraid. But because you can’t be afraid for us.”
Marcel raked a hand through his hair. If ever he’d needed evidence that Blaise was Zelie’s son, looks aside, this would have proven it. What other ten-year-old boy would make such an argument? Would think of something so much bigger than himself, his family?
Then Blaise turned those burning eyes on Marcel. “Tellher. Tell her she has to.”
As if she’d listen to him? Yet her eyes moved to his face too. And what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know what the right thing was. And yet... “They know who your mother is now, Zelie. It would be safer forherif you could get her out of the country. And if she went, shecouldtake them with her.”
Blaise nodded. “We could go to London. I bet your English friends could help.”
“No.” But the clouds in her eyes said it wasn’t the simple word it sounded like. “Germany bombed London for eight monthsstraight—who’s to say they won’t start again? No, you can’t go to England. I’d worry every day.”
“Switzerland,” Marcel said. One of the few options, really, if they wanted a neutral country, and it wasn’t recovering from a civil war like Spain was. Marcel had played in Geneva once. It wasn’t too bad a trip, and it wouldn’t even require passing into occupied France to get there.
“Grand-maman has a friend in Switzerland, doesn’t she?”
Zelie nodded, the movement slow enough to attest to a parade of thoughts through her mind. Then she blinked, focusing again on Blaise. She brushed his hair off his forehead. “You are the most amazing boy in all the world, and I love you more than life itself.”
“I know.” Blaise gripped his mother’s wrists. “I love you too, Maman.”
She sighed. “I’ll give this thought. Don’t say anything to your sister.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m notdumb.”
