“Without you, my immortal existence—as you call it—it’s just survival. That’s what it’s been so far, at least. But with you, Kate, I’m not just surviving. I’m actually living. I’d trade this one second with you”—he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against mine—“for a thousand years without you. And if I can stretch this second out to last a few decades . . . well, having my immortality extinguished seems a very fair trade.”
“I hate the thought of that energy being inside of you. And I can’t even bear the thought of what would happen if some vengeful numa caught you,” I said, determination running hot through my veins. “Finish this crazy experiment if you have to, but I will be looking for another way. If this guérisseur can’t find a solution, I’m just going to keep on searching.”
Vincent cocked his head, studying my face. “If that’s the way you feel, then we’ll both search. And when you return to the healer’s next week, I’m going with you.”
We stood for another minute—half-angry, half-relieved. Nothing had been resolved, but at least we were harboring no more secrets. So why did I feel further away from him than I ever had?
We ran back up the hill and escaped the wildly whipping ocean wind for the calm of the house. “Vincent?” I asked. “Stay with me tonight.”
I fell asleep with my fingers resting on Vincent’s cheek, and woke up twice during the night to see him lying on his back, watching the ceiling as I slept.
In the morning when I woke, he was gone. I walked into the kitchen to see him making coffee, a pan of eggs bubbling on the stove. Charlotte and Geneviève were already at the table, drinking coffee and eating croissants.
“Not even a cuddle?” I whispered as I gave him a good-morning hug in the kitchen.
“I might be supernatural, but I’m not made of steel, Kate,” he said, smiling. “And unless you changed your mind in the last twenty-four hours, I thought it safest to be in another room when you awoke.” He leaned in to give me a slow, warm kiss. “Does that make up for it?”
“For the moment,” I said, eyeing him coquettishly. He raised an eyebrow, grinning, and I took my cup of coffee from him and headed to the table.
The day passed in slow-paced luxury. We drove into Italy, turning off the coastal road to drive through rolling hills dotted with ruins of ancient villages. Stopping in the medieval hill town of Dolceaqua, Geneviève stocked up on olive oil and Charlotte on amaretti cookies before we headed to a simple but decadent lunch in a tiny five-table restaurant. Hearing the beautiful language spill effortlessly off Vincent’s tongue made me long for an extended Italian vacation with him. It was hard not to plan ahead. Hard to remember that we weren’t just a normal couple like the people sitting around us.
The weekend had gone too fast: When we got back to the house, it was already time to leave. We picked up our bags and squeezed into the Mini. “I wish we could stay another week,” I said, hugging Charlotte and Geneviève outside the airport.
“Come back whenever you can. As often as you can!” Charlotte said.
“Don’t worry,” Vincent said. “Kate won’t need much convincing.”
And waving good-bye, we made our way across the tarmac to where our plane waited to take us home. Back to reality.
THIRTY-ONE
I DRIFTED THROUGH THE NEXT DAY ON A CLOUD, my body in Paris, but my mind back in the house in Villefranche-sur-Mer. Memories of the weekend flitted in and out of my thoughts as I tried—and then stopped trying—to focus on my classes, my homework, and everything else that kept me from being where I wanted to be: with Vincent. Preferably wrapped in his arms.
As Ambrose, my Vincent-appointed guardian for the day, drove me home from school, I was so out of it that he had to tap me on the shoulder and tell me that my phone was ringing. It was Papy, and his voice was unusually tense. “Kate, do you think you could come straight to the gallery instead of going home?”
“Sure, Papy. What’s up?”
“I just need some help. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Ambrose parked across the street from the gallery and waited in the car. I walked in to find Papy talking to two men in police uniforms. He introduced me briefly. “Officers, this is my granddaughter Kate.” The men nodded, and Papy took my arm to lead me a few feet away.
“The gallery was robbed last night,” he said.
“What?” I gasped.
“It’s okay, dear. Everything was insured. It’s just very . . . bothersome. The store has never been broken into before.”
“What did they take?”
“A little bit of everything. All pieces that were easy to carry—none of my statues, thankfully.” Papy suddenly looked ten years older. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was hoping you could watch the shop while I went back to the station with the detective. They’re done with the on-site investigation. Now it’s just paperwork.”