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Carrick looks ridiculous in his chef’s hat and Licensed to Grill apron as he stands at the barbecue. Every time I look at him, it makes me smile. In fact, my spirits have lifted considerably. We are all sitting around the table on the terrace of the Grey family home, enjoying the late summer sun. Grace and Mia are setting various salads out on the table, while Elliot and Christian trade friendly insults and discuss plans for the new house, and Ethan and Kate grill me about our honeymoon. Christian keeps hold of my hand, his fingers toying with my wedding and engagement rings.

“So if you can get the plans finalized with Gia, I have a window September through to mid-November and can get the whole crew on it,” Elliot says as he stretches and drops an arm around Kate’s shoulder, making her smile.

“Gia is due to come over to discuss the plans tomorrow evening,” replies Christian. “I hope we can finalize everything then.” He turns and looks expectantly at me.

Oh . . . this is news.

“Sure.” I smile at him, mostly for the benefit of his family, but my spirits take a nosedive again. Why does he make these decisions without telling me? Or is it 95/551

the thought of Gia—all lush hips, full breasts, expensive designer clothes, and perfume—smiling too provocatively at my husband? My subconscious glares at me. He’s given you no reason to be jealous. Shit, I am up and down today. What’s wrong with me?

“Ana,” Kate exclaims, snapping me out of my reverie. “You still in the South of France?”

“Yes,” I reply with a smile.

“You look so well,” she says, though she frowns as she says it.

“You both do.” Grace beams while Elliot refills our glasses.

“To the happy couple.” Carrick grins and raises his glass, and everyone around the table echoes the sentiment.

“And congratulations to Ethan for getting into the psych program at Seattle,” chips in Mia proudly. She gives him an adoring smile, and Ethan smirks at her. I wonder idly if she’s made any headway with him. It’s difficult to tell.

I listen to the banter around the table. Christian is running through our extensive itinerary over the last three weeks, embellishing here and there. He sounds relaxed and in control, the worry of the arsonist forgotten. I, on the other hand, don’t seem to be able to shake my mood. I pick at my food. Christian said I was fat yesterday. He was joking! My subconscious glares at me again. Elliot acci-dentally knocks his glass onto the terrace, startling everyone, and there’s a sudden flurry of activity to get it cleaned up.

“I am going to take you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood,” Christian whispers to me.

I gasp with shock, turn, and gape at him. What? Is he teasing me?

“You wouldn’t dare!” I growl at him and from deep inside I feel a familiar, welcome excitement. He cocks an eyebrow at me. Of course he would. I glance quickly at Kate across the table. She’s watching us with interest. I turn back to Christian, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You’d have to catch me first—and I’m wearing flats,” I hiss.

“I’d have fun trying,” he whispers with a licentious grin, and I think he’s joking.I blush. Confusingly, I feel better.

As we finish our dessert of strawberries and cream, the heavens open and unexpectedly soak us. We all leap up to clear the plates and glasses from the table, depositing them in the kitchen.

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“Good thing the weather held off till we finished,” Grace says pleased, as we drift into the back room den. Christian sits down at the shiny black upright piano, presses the quiet pedal, and starts to play a familiar tune that I can’t immediately place.

Grace asks me for my impressions of Saint Paul de Vence. She and Carrick went years ago during their honeymoon, and it occurs to me that this is a good omen, seeing how happy they are together now. Kate and Elliot are cuddling on one of the large overstuffed couches, while Ethan, Mia, and Carrick are deep in a conversation about psychology, I think.

Suddenly, as one, all the Greys stop talking and gape at Christian.

What?

Christian is singing softly to himself at the piano. Silence descends on us all as we strain to hear his soft, lyrical voice. I’ve heard him sing before, haven’t they? He stops, suddenly conscious of the deathly hush that’s fallen over the room. Kate glances questioningly at me and I shrug. Christian turns on the stool and frowns, embarrassed to realize he’s become the center of attention.

“Go on,” Grace urges softly. “I’ve never heard you sing, Christian. Ever.” She stares at him in wonder. He sits on the piano stool, looking absently at her, and after a beat, he shrugs. His eyes flicker nervously to me, then over to the French windows. The rest of the room suddenly erupts in self-conscious chatter, and I’m left watching my dear husband.

Grace distracts me, grasping my hands then suddenly folding me in her arms.