“So what? It’s one night. I’m not that weak or desperate. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. How long are you here? Without some help for Dauphine, I could really use you this week. It’s busy for work, and I hate to always leave her on the boat with the crew.”

“I’m here for five days. She can stay for all of them. Then I’m due for a board meeting in Monaco for the Roman Heritage Society. Oh, that reminds me, I must tell Dauphine. They’ve discovered a shipwreck, almost two thousand years old, right here in town down by the old Roman port. They were digging to put in a car park of all things.” Her face twisted in disgust. “Honestly, nothing is sacred with these people. Thank goodness we had the sense to insist on the archeological team being involved in the site preparation. You know they would have just bulldozed right through it, none the wiser. Anyway, I’ve put it on the agenda. We need to raise funds to preserve the thing and then put it on display. I don’t suppose you feel like being a patron again this year?”

“As always simply let me know how big of a check to write and where to send it.”

“You’re a good son to your maman,” she said affectionately.

“Yes, and I’m sure it makes you the favorite board member.”

She lifted a shoulder in tandem with her eyebrow. “It’s not the only reason. But it sure does help. On that note, I’m on the host committee again for the gala. If you could buy a table, I’ll find the other nine people.”

“Sure. Of course. But no matchmaking.”

“Xavier, how am I supposed to invite a spare lady to make up numbers and not hope that you might hit it off? But lucky for you, I have no one in mind right now.”

“Good. Don’t think too hard on it. I’m not ready.”

She gave me a steely look. She’d never gotten on well with Arriette, and I suppose she thought I should be over her faster. “It’s been two years—”

“I’m not ready,” I reiterated. “Besides, I thought you were my date.”

She glanced off toward the ocean, the breeze blowing a strand of her perfect chignon free. “I—I may have met someone,” she said, her voice getting quiet, unsure.

“Really?”

She smoothed the errant strand back behind her ear, her fingertips pressing it back into her do. “I haven’t wanted to say anything. Not until I was sure. Of my feelings. But, yes. I think so.”

“Anyone I know?”

“I hope not. No offense. But he’s … Italian. I met him through some acquaintances in Monaco. He lives in Sanremo.” Sanremo was just a bit farther along the coast across the Italian border. “He’s nice. Uncomplicated. Kind. He hasn’t been here yet.”