“Five hundred years, give or take. Maybe more.”

“Wow. Do they not have termites in this part of the world?”

“Normally, I’d say ‘what are you talking about?’ But I just read a frightening article. They are going to become more prevalent in Europe with the average temperature rising every year. We’ll lose so much history.”

“That’s so sad, I—” My words died on my lips as we reached the top and climbed through a trap door where I’m sure I flashed Xavier my black thong, and then we were on a roof terrace. It was strung with twinkling lights and potted plants. Full grown orange and lemon trees in halved wine barrels created a sanctuary but left the view open down to the harbor and the ocean. There was even a grape vine over our heads. The last of the day’s light had spilled mercury across the blue ocean. On the terrace in front of us was a single linen covered table for two with a candle in a glass jar in the middle. Soft classical music played from somewhere unknown.

Cristo fussed and moved us toward the table. My mouth was open and I closed it. “It’s beautiful,” I told him sincerely.

Apparently he knew what that meant. “Beautiful, beautiful, si, si,” he said, delighted. He turned to Xavier, gesturing to the wall in the corner, explaining some kind of dumb waiter contraption and a bell before turning back to us and filling our wine glasses with the last of the carafe. Apparently, the upstairs table got the fancy cut crystal. It was old and heavy. Beautiful. After seating us, Cristo disappeared back down the stairs.

I looked around, still in awe. “This is … stunning.” The breeze was cooler up here and caressed my bare arms.

“It is. I had no idea.”

“Wait. This isn’t your special romance table?”

“I think I covered how much romance I’ve had recently,” he said tightly.

My gut thumped. “I’m sorry. They seem to have known you a long time. I—didn’t you bring your wife here?”

“I take it back about you being easy to be around. You’re challenging me tonight.” He chuckled and picked up his crystal glass. “Chin chin.”

“Cheers,” I returned carefully.

We both set our glasses down.

“The truth is I did bring her here. Not up here. This was never offered to me before. I didn’t know it existed. Arriette, she didn’t enjoy when I came to visit Corsica. Perhaps Cristo could tell.” His voice was low, and his eyes strayed to the left as if lost in memories.

“What really happened to her?” I whispered. “How did she die?”

His shoulders moved, and he slowly unfolded his arms, setting his palms on the table edge as if steadying himself. He looked down at his fingers. “The sordid stories say she partied too hard and overdosed.” His voice carried shame.