“And you?” I managed. “What do you believe?”

He looked at me with hesitation, with so much pain that my chest cinched tight. “I … I believe she took her own life,” he said. “I believe it was … deliberate.”

Shit. I let his truth hang out in the air between us, fighting the urge to refute it, to reassure him, to crawl across the table and hold him so fucking tight. “Today, when you saw me in the bathroom, you thought of her, didn’t you?” I asked quietly when I could breathe again.

He nodded then lifted his palms from the table with an inhale and reached for his wine. “So. Now you know. And I would like for you not to discuss it with anyone.”

“Of course,” I croaked and cleared my throat. “I would never. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He grimaced. “If Dauphine had to think about the fact her mother didn’t love her daughter enough to stay alive, well, you can understand why we do not talk much about it.”

I picked at the hem of my dress as I quaked inside at his painful truth delivered so bluntly. And I’d bet he felt the same way—that she hadn’t loved him enough to stay alive either. No wonder he had trust issues. This was more than someone lying to you. This was trusting someone with your heart. With your life. With your daughter’s life. And it not being enough. My eyes stung and filled. I shook my head, blinking and looking out at the dark night view. I swiped a quick hand to my eyes before he could see. “Dauphine said you told her that sadness was a disease that people could die from. I think you have handled it well with her. It’s not that people who suffer don’t love their family enough,” I said slowly. “It’s that the disease is stronger.”

He gazed at me for a beat, and an understanding seemed to pass between us. “Are you real?” he asked softly, tossing my words from earlier tonight back at me far more poignantly.

There was a clang at the wall where the dumb waiter was. Cristo materialized out of the small roof door as if summoned, bearing a tray of goodies and breaking the morose atmosphere.

He set the food down on a cart that he wheeled over and began laying some of the dishes out on the table. Heavenly scents rose up, making my mouth water. Herbs, garlic, something lightly fried. By the time he’d also retrieved what was in the dumb waiter, my stomach gave a loud growl. Cristo’s eyes darted to me, startled.

“Excuse me,” I said, my cheeks blazing, sucking my lips between my teeth. I glanced up to see Xavier, head down, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in a laugh.

He caught my eye, and we both cracked up.