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Bam!

The white noise hit me, loud and unexpected after the peace in the church, and pain radiated out from my broken heart.

“No,” I muttered, suddenly breathless. “I’m here with my uncle and his girlfriend.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn’t question me further, and we walked in silence for a bit. I would have to get used to this question, but what could I say without making everything awkward?

“Where are you staying?” Jack asked after a while.

“Le Manoir Des Noyers.”

“Us too! Which gîte are you in?”

“I’m in the house.”

“Oh.” Both boys turned to look at me.

“It belongs to my uncle.”

“He must be rich,” said Patrick, deciding to join the conversation.

“He’s a doctor,” I said, hoping that would keep their prying questions at bay.

“Cool,” said Patrick.

“How old are you?” Jack asked.

“I’m seventeen. You?”

“Seventeen, and Patrick here is a titch at fifteen.”

“Fuck off, Dickless. I am not a titch.”

They started bickering, but the banter between them was quite sweet, and I knew they were showing off, for me. Gradually, the white noise reduced to a background hum.

We were nearing the driveway for the manoir.

“Do you want to come for a swim?” Jack asked. “There’s a pool by our gîte.”

“Sure. I’d better tell everyone I’m back. I don’t want to worry them. Which gîte are you in?”

“Number two.”

We strolled up the drive in time to see Dylan starting to climb into the car. He stopped when he saw us.

Oh no. He was coming to look for me.

Why didn’t he have any faith in my ability to find my way home? His expression was grim and relieved at the same time. I hadn’t been gone for that long, had I?

He ambled down toward us, appearing nonchalant, but his blue eyes blazed ice-cold.

“Hello, Emily,” he said tightly.

“Dylan, hi—this is Jack and Patrick. They’re staying in one of the gîtes. Guys, this is Dylan, my uncle.”

Jack held out his hand, which Dylan took, surprised.

“Great place you have here, Dylan,” he said with easy confidence.