Xandro’s laughter pealed like a bell. He was walking along the top of the cemetery’s stone wall. On one side, he held hands with Johnny MacIntyre. On the other, with Boyd O’Hara. For reasons known only to himself, Xandro addressed Johnny with the Swedish onkel, but used the Portuguese tio for Boyd.

What are uncles for?

“You look rather smug and accomplished,” Astrid said behind Kennet.

“Because I’m both.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled at his wife. “What do you think?”

“I knew you could do it.”

She held their three-month-old son, who was asleep under the sunshine, his thumbs tucked tight beneath his fingers—aux poings fermés. The decision to name him Byron Erik had taken all of five seconds. Another gullgosse, the fine hair on his head was growing dark blond. When open, his eyes were an otherworldly shade of blue, flecked with gold. Like a river filled with sugar, treasure and stories.

He was conceived in a small hotel in New Orleans, Kennet mused, along the mighty Mississippi where his own onkel-tio, Richard Hook, reigns as the river king.

“Kom hit, lite fisk,” Kennet said.

Come here, little fish.

He tucked Byron in the crook of one arm, and drew Astrid close with the other. He pressed his mouth against the crown of her head and stood still, a fisherman and pirate at the crossroads of the past and the future. Not all his wars were won, but he had gold around his neck, a Hook in his pocket, and the world in his grasp. He had everything right now.

And now backward is won.

Won and one.

One language and one perspective and one want that couldn’t be misinterpreted or misunderstood.

One moment to hold in your hand and fold into memory.

“When the steeple bell says,

‘Good night, sleep well,’

We’ll thank the small hotel together.

We’ll creep into our little shell

And we will thank the small hotel together.”

—Rodgers & Hart

Acknowledgments

Typically, during a book’s early drafts, I rely on my twin towers Camille and Rach. Camille requested to be left completely in the dark so she could read this book the way she read The Man I Love—knowing absolutely nothing. So the role of author therapist (and poser of that horrible question, “Why do we care?”) fell to Rach Lawrence, whom I thank with all my heart and soul. Darling golden girl, my treasured friend, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.

I thank Julie and AJ, my oldest, youngest and finest. The best things that happened to me and JP, who I will never tire of looking at.

I thank my design team: Colleen who makes beautiful interiors and Tracy who makes beautiful covers. I also thank Katerina who generously donates her extraordinary jewelry collection for promotional graphics.