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“So you have at least an hour and a half before he expects you to finish anything.” When he still says nothing, I snatch a robe from its hook beside the door, lowering my voice while Lou makes a show of admiring my secondhand jewelry box. Coco agrees with her loudly, and Beau crinkles the patisserie bag before tossing it at Reid’s head. “Please... can your business not wait until Mass is over?” Then—unable to stand still for a second longer—I catch his hand again, determined to keep the pleading note from my voice. I will not ruin this night with an argument, and I won’t let him ruin it either. “I miss you, Jean. I know you’re incredibly busy with Father Achille, but I’d... like to spend more time together.”

He stills in surprise. “You would?”

“Of course I would.” I grasp his other hand now too, lifting both to my chest and cradling them there. Right against my heart. “You’re my fiancé. I want to share everything with you, including a chocolate éclair and our first game of tarot. Besides,” I add weakly, “who else will tell me if Lou tries to cheat?”

He casts another disapproving look in our friends’ direction. “We shouldn’t be playing tarot at all.” With a long-suffering sigh, he brushes a chaste kiss against my knuckles before lacing his fingers through mine. “But I can never tell you no.”

The sweet scents of chocolate and cinnamon seem to spoil at the lie, and the honey on my tongue tastes abruptly bitter. I try to ignore both, try to focus on the indecision in Jean Luc’s gaze. It means he wants to spend time with me too. Iknowhe does. “So your business can wait?” I ask him.

“Isupposeit can wait.”

Straining to smile, I kiss his hands once, twice, three times before releasing him to tighten my robe. “Have I told you today what aperfectfiancé you are?”

“No, but feel free to tell me again.” Chuckling, he leads me toward the others, plucking the most decadent of the éclairs from the pile and handing it to me. He doesn’t take a bite, however. He doesn’t claim a canelé either. “You’ll be my partner,” he says, matter-of-fact.

The éclair feels cold in my hand. “You know how to play tarot?”

“Lou and Beaumighthave taught me on the road. You know”—he clears his throat as if embarrassed, shrugging—“when we shared that bottle of rum.”

“Oh.”

Lou claps her hands together, startling us both, and I nearly drop my éclair in her lap. “He was complete and utter shit,” she says, “so never fear, Célie—we’ll have you trouncing him in no time.”

As if on cue, faint music rises from the sanctuary below, and the light flickers with a greatboomof the pipe organ. Jean Luc casts me a quick look when I reach reflexively to steady the nearest candle. A dozen more litter every flat surface of my room. They burn atop my ivory nightstands, my bookshelf, my armoire, competing with the light of the fireplace, where a handful more burn along the mantel. Anyone on the street outside would think they gazed upon a second sun, but not even the sun shines bright enough for me now.

I do not like the dark.

As children, Filippa and I would cling to each other beneaththe blanket, giggling and imagining what monsters lived in the darkness of our room. Now I am no longer a child, and Iknowwhat monster lurks in the darkness—I know the wet feel of it on my skin, the putrid scent of it in my nose. It doesn’t matter how often I scrub, how much perfume I wear. The darkness smells of rot.

I take an enormous bite of éclair to calm the sudden spike of my pulse.

Only an hour and a half remains to eat pastries and play tarot with my friends, and nothing,nothing, will ruin the evening for me—not Jean Luc’s secrets, and certainly not my own. Both will still be waiting for me in the morning.

Our stomachs will be fine, Célie. We’ll all be fine.

We’ll all be fine.

You should show your scars, Célie. They mean you survived.

They mean you survived.

I survived I survived I survived—

Raising my brows at Lou, I say, “You have to promise not to cheat.” Then—on second thought—I turn to Beau as well, pointing the éclair at his nose. “Andyou.”

“Me?” He swats it away in mock affront. “When everyone knowsReidis the cheater in the family?”

Low laughter rumbles through Reid’s chest as he settles on the edge of my bed. “I never cheat. You’re just terrible at cards.”

“Just because no one ever catches you,” Beau says, dragging a chair over from the corner of the room, “doesn’t mean you never cheat. There’s a difference.”

Reid shrugs. “I suppose you’ll just have to catch me, then.”

“Someof us aren’t privy to magic—”

“He doesn’t use magic, Beau,” Lou says without glancing up,carefully cutting the deck. “We tell him your cards when you aren’t looking.”

“Excuse me?” Beau’s eyes threaten to pop from his head. “Youwhat?”