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Cecile sighs. “You better sit, Zoe.”
The only free space is the seat next to Hadrienne, unless I’m to take one of the chairs standing on the other side of the room. She scoots up when I sit, putting as much distance between us as the couch allows.
“Tea?” Cecile asks in an icy tone.
A drink to warm me up will be welcome, but that’s not why I accept. I agree because I need something to do with my hands. If not, I’ll fidget. “I’ll get it.”
She gives me a startled look. “I’ll remind you this is my house.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude. I only wanted to save you the trouble.”
“I can pour my tea in my home, thank you very much.” She exchanges a look with Hadrienne. “Foreign customs.”
Hadrienne raises a brow.
I let Cecile pour my tea, and thank her as I take the cup, but decline a slice of cake.
An uncomfortable silence falls over the room again.
“Where were we?” Cecile asks after a few beats. “Oh, yes. We were talking about gooseberry tart for dessert on Sunday. It’s so complicated to think and speak in English.”
Fine. I understand her irritation. I’m an uninvited guest, disrupting their tea party, but does she have to be so rude? I’m not Maxime’s girlfriend. I owe them nothing. I don’t have to take this.
“You don’t have to speak English on my behalf.” I wave a hand. “Just carry on in French. Your chatter will most probably bore me, anyway.”
Cecile’s cheeks light up, two red apples on a pale background. “I beg your pardon?”
Leaving the cup on the table, I stand. “I’ll have a walk in the garden, if you don’t mind. It’s stopped raining, and I can do with some exercise.”
Hadrienne laughs. “Oh, do sit down, girl.” To Cecile she says, “You have to admit, she’s got some backbone.”
Cecile clenches her jaw. “Maybe you should have some cake, Zoe. I think eating is a better occupation for your mouth than speaking.”
My lips part. I’m about to tell her to go to hell, but Hadrienne grabs my wrist and pulls me back down. “Enough of that. It’s a long time to lunch. I’m sure we can find something neutral to talk about.”
“What is your problem?” I ask Cecile.
“Me?” She makes big eyes. “You’re imagining problems where there are none.”
Right.
“There now.” Hadrienne smoothes out her skirt. “Why not tell us how you met.”
“In South Africa,” Cecile says. “A speedy romance. Then again, money makes everything go faster, doesn’t it?”
“You think I’m after Maxime’s money?” I ask.
Raising a pinky, Cecile lifts the cup to her lips. “I never said you’re after his money.”
“You implied it.” I move to the edge of my seat. “That’s the same thing.”
Cecile rolls her eyes. “Oh, it’s not. Don’t overreact.”
I don’t care what Maxime’s reaction will be. I can’t just sit here any longer. Pushing to my feet, I say, “Excuse me. If I stay, I’m afraid I’ll say something disrespectful.”
“You know what’s disrespectful?” Cecile puts down her cup. “Coming here and attacking me in my own house.”
“Attacking you?” I ball my hands. “Do you really expect me to keep quiet and accept your insults?”
“Yes,” she says evenly. “I expect you to shut up. That’s the least you can do.”
What’s wrong with these people? Turning on my heel, I walk to the French doors and push them open. Escaping outside, I walk down a path that leads to a gazebo at the end of the garden. At the edge, I stop to breathe in the salty air and let the small freedom fill my lungs.
I hate them. I hate them all. I wish I could run. I wish I could climb down the steps to the street at the back and sneak onto a train and go wherever it takes me. I don’t care that I don’t have a passport or money. I can work. I can always make a plan. What I can’t do is let Damian get hurt.
My fingers curling into fists, I take in the view of this strange and unwelcome place.
Four years. Give or take a few, to quote Maxime’s words.
I feel like screaming. I feel like hurling the bird feeder that hangs from the branch of a pine tree into the street, but that won’t help me one bit. I can’t let Cecile get to me. I don’t care what she thinks. Why should I care about how she treats me?
I settle on the bench in the gazebo, staring out at the sea. Why did Maxime even help me? He didn’t have to. He could’ve just left me to my fate. I don’t understand his motives. I’m not even sure it’s about sex. He said he’s had many lovers. Francine seemed quite willing.
“Well, look who’s here,” a male voice says behind me.
I jump.
Alexis comes around the bench with my coat in his hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Holding out the coat, he says, “You forgot this.”
