“Good.” Dre sounded perfectly relieved. As though something magical would happen if he just got in the same room with Sylvie. As if everything would fall into place. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Rene turned off his SUV and forced himself to get out. He was a man who was always impeccable, but he was walking into a big family gathering wearing yesterday’s rumpled suit. He’d taken a shower, but the suit was dry-clean only, and Dre’s clothes didn’t fit him at all.

How long would it take him to pack up and get out of the home he’d lived in all his life?

He would have to sit down and explain to his mother that he wasn’t fighting anymore. He would apologize, wish her and Louis well, and offer to help them any way he could.

God, he felt so helpless.

It had been one night and he missed Sylvie like it had been a decade. Was this what the rest of his life was going to feel like? Like he was missing a piece of himself?

He forced himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other. The B and B was illuminated by warm lights, the sound of music coming from the patio, where he could see his family was gathered. His mother would be at home with Sylvie, likely cursing his very name. He moved to the front of the house, because if he could avoid a big scene, he was going to.

Get in. Save Sylvie. Get out.

He went in through the open front door. Sera had a table to the side decorated with flowers and pictures of the family. Where she’d gotten them, he had no idea. There were presents for his aunt stacked up, but it was the framed photos that made him stop. He picked up the first one. It had been taken in the backyard of Darois House, the gardens in full summer bloom. The family was gathered in their Sunday best, all staring at the camera with smiles on their faces, but there was no joy there.

Except his mother. She stood off to the side, holding her son’s hand and beaming at the camera. She didn’t belong there. She was a bit of sunshine that had been taken into the gloom. He himself was the only one not staring at the camera. He held his mother’s hand, but his gaze was somewhere off to the left.

A sudden memory pierced through him. He’d been nine years old and suffering through that yearly reunion his father insisted was necessary to keep everyone happy. No one had been happy to be there, least of all him. But Miss Marcelle had come out that day. She and Delphine had offered tarot readings, and Dre and Sylvie had come with her.