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Lena

L ena asked herself once more what she was doing here tonight. She never joined her father at public events. But then, he’d never asked her to do so before. Until today.

It seemed the least she could do after the trouble she’d caused. Her father hadn’t said anything to her, but a local newspaper had questioned the use of public resources he’d made in the search for his missing daughter, and Lena knew that had to have hurt him. She also knew the backlash could have been much worse if most papers hadn’t decided to focus on the mysterious skeleton discovery, instead.

Lena got out of her car and smoothed down the front of her dress, hoping to get rid of the few wrinkles that had formed in the short drive. The invitation had read tenue de cocktail. Lena could only hope her simple black dress fit the bill.

Taking a deep breath, she walked through the open doorway into the Maison des Artistes, an old jazz club that had recently been converted into an events venue.

Her father, looking serious and handsome in a dark suit, was waiting for her inside, next to a beautiful woman in a shimmering silver knee-length dress and matching heels. Yvette Legrand. She was a PR expert, and the person who’d suggested that Lena should be here today to show support for the PGHM. As much as she didn’t want to be here, attending a fundraising event seemed a low price to pay if it could help her father and the department.

Behind them was the stage where the auction would be held at the end of the night. Lena had donated a large print of her recent wildlife series.

“Thank you for coming, Madeleine. I’m glad you’re here,” Yvette said, giving her a light hug.

“Lena,” she corrected. She couldn’t stop her father from calling her Madeleine, but she could share her preference with everybody else.

“Lena. And thank you for donating that beautiful print.”

An older couple approached her father, blocking his way forward. Yvette took Lena’s arm and expertly sidestepped them, leaning in closer to Lena’s ear. “I know them. Your father’s going to be busy for a while. Come. Let me show you where your print is. I also wanted to ask, would you sign them before the buyer takes them home?”

“Of course,” Lena said, vaguely embarrassed. As proud as she was of her work, she wasn’t Ansel Adams.

Half-way towards the stage, Yvette changed course, dragging Lena with her. “Isla! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

A beautiful woman with blue streaks in her hair turned to look at them. “I know. I can’t believe I’m here either. The things I do for Ry,” she said. Ry. The medic. She must be with him.

“You’ve gone back to blue,” Yvette said. “Your hair, I mean. It looks great.”

“Yeah. The orange really didn’t work for me,” she laughed, her hand going up to her hair. “I guess I like blue.”

“It really suits you,” Lena said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Lena. I’m?—“

“The colonel’s daughter,” Isla said. “I think we all know who we are.” Lena shifted her weight, her cheeks burning. Before she had a chance to speak, Isla powered on. “I’m sorry, that was crass. You did nothing wrong. I just mean, we had no idea you existed, and now we do, and?—“

“Okay. I’m going to stop you right there, Isla, before Lena runs off into the night,” Yvette said.

Isla's mouth twisted into a grimace that was half-apology, half-laugh. “I really didn’t mean it. I speak without thinking, sometimes. Ask anyone.”

Lena smiled. “It’s okay. I always thought I’d become famous for my photographs, but I see now a bigger risk is that I become infamous.”

“If it makes you feel better, the last time the guys were in the news was for bringing an enormous labradoodle off the mountain on a stretcher.”

“Was he okay?” Lena asked.

“The dog was fine. He just didn’t feel like walking down,” Yvette laughed.

“Ry keeps a copy of the article at home,” Isla giggled. “There’s this great picture of Beau, Hugo and Ry, holding on to the stretcher at the bottom of the mountain, just as the dog decided to stand up and walk off towards the car.”

“That can’t be the last time we were in the news,” said a deep voice from behind them.

Lena turned to see Ry approaching, a lopsided grin on his face and a glass of something amber in his hand. His dark jacket was unbuttoned, the collar of his white shirt slightly askew, like he'd already given up on being formal.

“I’m not counting the chicken incident," Isla said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve met Ry, right, Lena?”

“We’ve met,” Ry said, offering his hand. His grip was warm and firm, but not crushing. Lena was grateful when he didn’t stare at her like she was a sideshow. “It’s good to see you again. How’s the ankle?”

“Much better, thank you,” Lena said, looking down at her ballerina shoes. She wasn’t ready for heels yet, but she was feeling steadier on her foot every day.

Despite herself, Lena looked behind him. Because if Ry was there, Tristan might not be far away. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him or not. She still hadn’t answered any of his calls. There wasn’t much he could say to him. Yes, there was something between them. Some crazy attraction that refused to die down. But he worked for her father. Worse than that. He was like her father. And that just wouldn’t work for her. So there was no point in going down that road. Even so, Lena hesitated, scanning the room.

Yvette checked her watch. "I need to go help with the auction setup. Lena, you’re in good hands. Isla and Ry will make sure you’re not cornered by all the well-meaning gossips."

"That's... comforting," Lena said dryly, and Yvette laughed before disappearing into the crowd.

Isla hooked an arm through Lena’s. "Come on. Ry and I were about to grab drinks. You’re coming with us."

“You don’t mind if I step in, right, Isla?” a voice said behind her. A voice she would recognize anywhere.

“Tristan.” Like Ry, he was dressed in a dark suit and a dark tie. Tristan’s suit looked like it’d been made just for him. Which maybe it had. She’d seen the man’s car.

“Lena.” He stepped in closer, a question on his face. And she could ask him to go away. He would, if she did so. She shook her head, making up her mind.“You go ahead, Isla, Ry. I’ll catch up.”

The two of them didn’t need to be told again, and disappeared into the crowd.

“You’re a difficult woman to find.”

She shook her head. “And you’re a stubborn man. If I’d returned your calls, I think you would have lost interest in me long ago.”

“If you think that, you don’t know me very well,” he said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.” She flexed her ankle gently. “Almost back to normal.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

She was already looking down, and that made it easier to speak the next words. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked. “I know you feel … this , between us. Just like I do.”

This . She sure did. And if she were sure it would only last a week or two, she’d be happy to indulge and let this run its course. But for the first time in her life, she worried one or two weeks wouldn’t be enough. And starting a relationship with someone like Tristan would be a big mistake. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused as she realized how crass and selfish her thoughts made her seem.

“Say it, Lena. Whatever you’re thinking,” he encouraged.

“There’s no easy way to say this. You and I … we want different things out of life, Tristan.”

He didn’t look offended. “How do you know what I want?”

Lena smiled. “Fair enough. Maybe it’s more about me, then. I don’t want to date someone who works with my father.”

His eyes softened as he looked down at her. And it was hard to look away from eyes the color of a moonstone. But she didn’t want—or need—his pity.

“I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, Lena. But it’s not my intention to?—“

“It’s not your intention,” she said, knowing she was being bitchy but unable to help herself, “but we’ll end up hurting each other. So it’s better to stop now, and avoid that pain.”

She straightened her spine, waiting. She wasn’t afraid of his anger—she knew he’d never physically hurt her—but she’d been intentionally callous, and she was bound to get a response.

When it came, it wasn’t the one she expected.

“I disagree,” he said defiantly. “I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life, and I don’t want this to be yet another thing I fuck up, just because I didn’t speak up when it mattered. Is there anything I can say to change your mind and make you give us a chance?”

He looked so hopeful, it was hard to say no. But she had to. Because any other word would open her to a world of pain.

“I’m sorry.” She really was. “The answer is still no.”

Tristan’s body didn’t move, but she did felt him take a metaphorical step back. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Lena,” he said. His grin had disappeared. “I’ll stop bothering you. But I would still like to be your friend.”

It was that last sentence that made her wish she could take everything she’d said back. Because even after she’d pushed him away, in all ways possible, he was still offering her his friendship. And she didn’t have many friends in the world.

“Thank you, Tristan,” Lena said. “That means a lot to me.”

She didn’t know what he would have said in response, because Yvette ran towards them. She dipped her head, nodding to Tristan, but grabbed on to Lena’s arm instead. “Come on, Lena, the auction’s about to begin. I’ve saved you a spot.”

“Go,” Tristan said, standing quickly aside.

Tristan

Lena’s prints were striking.

Not that he knew much about photography. He could count the things he knew about on one hand. Helicopters. Watches—much despite himself. But even he could see that Lena’s photographs were special.

He wondered how long she’d stood there, waiting, before finding just the right moment, when the soft shafts of morning light filtered through the tall trees, casting a golden glow on the moss-covered ground. In the center of the frame stood a small family of chamois, delicate and almost ethereal. Several adult females stood alert yet calm, their sleek, tan-and-chocolate coats blending against the forest’s muted tones. The three younger ones were smaller, fluffier, lighter in color. One of them crouched beside a fallen log, while another one peered shyly from behind its mother. It seemed to Tristan as if Lena had captured the lightness—the dreamlike quality—of the moment perfectly. A glimpse into a hidden world .

It didn’t surprise him that several people in the room were fighting over the photograph. And dammit, he wanted that print, too. He could outbid them all. This selfish, unreasonable part of him told him it might be the only thing he’d ever have of Lena. And if so, didn’t he deserve to have it? Except he’d just about promised to stay away. Bidding on her print would be the opposite of that.

Standing at the back of the room, he forced his hands in his pockets to stop himself from raising his hand and making a bid. But nobody could stop him from watching Lena where she sat next to Yvette.

Black suited her. It brought out the copper in her hair and the hazel in her eyes. Hell, any color would suit her. She was … beautiful. But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just her beauty that called to him. There was something about her—a hidden fragility behind that show of strength ... Maybe her innocence, too. Yes. That combination of beauty, strength and innocence. He wanted to get to know her better. He knew she wanted him—physically, at least—could feel how much it was costing both of them to stay away from each other. But she was stubborn. Really, really stubborn. She was worried he would hurt her.

That bothered him—the thought of hurting her. So maybe she’d made the right decision for both of them. He couldn’t promise her forever. He couldn’t promise her anything. And if he ended up hurting her, the way she expected to be hurt …

“Hey. Tristan.”

Tristan almost smiled at how uncomfortable Lorenz looked in his dark suit. “You forgot the tie.”

“I didn’t forget. It’s been so long since I last wore one, I’ve forgotten how to tie the damn thing.”

“What will you do on your wedding day, then?”

Lorenz showed his teeth. “Right. Because worrying about that keeps me up at night. Anyway. You look like you’re having about as much fun as I am, and I know it’s not the monkey suit that’s bothering you. So what’s going on with you?”

Tristan couldn’t help but sneak another look at Lena. She was chatting with Yvette and with the man sitting on her other side. She hadn’t looked back once in his direction.

A knowing smile appeared on Yvette’s face. “Ah. I see.”

“Don’t even think of going there,” Tristan cautioned.

Lorenz raised his hands, palms up. “It’s not for me to ask, if you don’t feel like talking about it. What do you say we get out of here? We could go play darts.”

Trust Lorenz to find a competitive activity in a bar. Lorenz couldn’t help being competitive, whether it was playing darts or powering through an Ironman.

Tristan didn’t want to play darts. But he did want to leave before seeing Lena again—before he started groveling in front of her. Just as he wondered how he was going to extricate himself, a familiar figure walked by. There weren’t too many men Tristan had to look up to, but Sebastian Marchand, from the Megève fire department, was one of them. He had to be at least six five, and the suit he wore did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders. France had recently upped the difficulty level of yearly firefighter physicals, but Tristan couldn’t imagine Bastien would have any difficulty with the new standards.

“Bastien,” Lorenz said, shaking the man’s hand. “Kind of you to join us.”

It made sense that Lorenz and Bastien would be good friends, since they were both adrenaline junkies.

Bastien’s mouth split into a rueful smile, showing his very white teeth. “The Chief sent me to represent the department. I must have done something to piss him off.”

“That’s what comes with being a rookie,” Tristan said. “Don’t worry, eventually somebody younger than you will join the fire department, and you’ll be off the hook.”

“A rookie? I’ve been a firefighter for seven years,” the man replied.

“Not in Megève, you haven’t. And that’s what matters,” Lorenz said.

“Anyway, you guys helped us out last year, so it’s only fair that I should be here.”

Tristan laughed. “If you really wanted to help us, you wouldn’t have just sent a few helmets. You’d be auctioning a night out. I’ve heard those are very popular. Dinner cooked by a fireman, that kind of thing.”

“Two things. One, I don’t see you offering dates with anyone from your team, so you’re not leading by example. Two, Océane will kill you if she hears you talk about us as fire men .”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to piss off the Ice Queen,” Lorenz chuckled. “Come on, let’s get out of here, before anybody notices we’re gone.”