It didn’t take long for Sister Maria to give me her most recent financial update on our joint project. She was a wizard with numbers and also the most kind and generous soul I knew. When I’d first had the idea to help process refugee kids who arrived on island with no parents and provide them with food, safe housing, and education, Sister Maria had been a natural choice. She’d already retired from teaching and transferred her orders to a convent in her native Corsica, and we’d kept in touch over the years. Mainly our interactions had been postcards from her asking me to donate to various charities and reminding me God had seen fit to bless me for a reason. There was nothing like Catholic guilt dispensed by a kindly nun. But now that we’d started this joint venture almost five years ago, I’d found myself coming over to visit her and talk in person at least once a year. And since Arriette had died, many times more.

At the conclusion of our business talk, she made no move for us to leave to join Josephine. “I can see now why you wanted to meet me here, rather than in the citadel like we’d previously arranged.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, playing dumb. “Josephine is an architect and loves history. I thought she’d like to see it.”

Sister Maria laughed huskily. “You can’t swing a cat without hitting an ancient structure down there.” She pointed down the hill. “Far more history than up here.”

“But no view.”

She made a noncommittal grunt of affirmation then eyed the stairs leading down. “I’m assuming you know the legend of this place?”

I let out a controlled breath and nodded. “I do,” I admitted.

She took my hand in both of hers. “Does she know?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, Xavier. I do not want to see you hurt again.”

“Do you think I will be?” I asked carefully.

“It’s not for me to say. She seems lovely. Grounded. And in love with you.”

My intake of breath was short and sharp. “Do you think so?” I waited for the stab of panic I was expecting, but it didn’t come. It would later, I was sure.

“You do not need me to tell you.”

“I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t trust my own thoughts.” I tried to swallow. “The guilt I feel about Arriette—”

“Xavier. You know God doesn’t hold you responsible for Arriette.”

My throat closed so tight I could barely breathe. “Doesn’t He? How can you be so sure?”

“I have a close relationship with Him.” She winked, trying to lighten my mood, but it was no use.