Thinking of all that had passed between Xavier and me, and how little time we’d really had to cement who we were to each other before a crisis showed me just how ill-built our connection had been, I steadied my voice. “Sometimes love doesn’t come fast enough. And sometimes it’s not enough.”

“And sometimes love is all it takes.” She winked cheekily, even while her shoulders were still tense with fear. Neither of us let go of each other’s hand.

The car left the highway and a roundabout put us on a two-lane road. We sped up the hills and sharp turns in the failing light. It was almost nine p.m. Somewhere to the west the sun was about to set. Every few minutes Madame would silence her phone, unwilling to take a call and risk missing one from her son. In this instance, no news did not feel like good news.

The car slowed around a bend lined with tall, pointy cypress trees. Then we pulled onto a white gravel driveway in front of two towering wrought iron gates between two stucco pillars. The gates silently swung open, and then we were moving again, purring through them into a manicured estate. There were forests either side of us, but the road was bordered with small hedges and every few yards a topiary tree full of white roses. They gave way to lines of lavender as the trees cleared, and cresting a small hill, there was suddenly a sweeping manor house. Low, maybe two stories with an attic, but swung extravagantly out to both sides. It was aged stucco with neatly edged plum vine and a sturdy slate roof. The car did a slow turn and crunched to a halt outside the large wooden double front door.

Outside, the evening was filled with the scent of lavender and the sound of cicadas. Astrid and Jorge went inside, turning on lights. “Xavier’s housekeeper is away so Astrid will prepare our rooms,” Madame said.

“I’ll help,” I offered. I needed something to do or go crazy. Inside, the entryway soared up two stories with stucco walls, aged wooden beams, and terra-cotta floors. Astrid jogged up the tiled stairs, and I followed. I helped her put sheets on two queen beds in side by side rooms that were prettily decorated in blue and white and yellow and white respectively. Then at the end of a hall was clearly Dauphine’s room. A white canopy bed with fairy lights and covered in stuffed animals. Astrid peeled back the pale lavender coverlet and we made up the bed with fresh sheets. We worked quietly side by side, her English and my French unable to provide much conversation over the mute fear that something might go wrong, and Dauphine might not come home.