Her mind was whirling. “This is . . . my God.” Papa . . . gay? How could that be? He was just Papa. Her father. He couldn’t be—

He could. He was. When she looked at him and Cabret together, she could see it clearly, which was strange, because five minutes before, she couldn’t see it at all. All her life, she hadn’t seen it. But now missing puzzle pieces finally fell into place, seemingly all at once. After the divorce, Papa had never married or even had a serious girlfriend. He’d been social, but always single. Finally she knew why.

Rather than shock or surprise, she felt . . . something else. Tears—not of sadness, but of relief, perhaps. “Why didn’t the thought ever cross my mind?” she wondered aloud.

“I was in denial myself.”

“But why? I would have understood. I do understand.”

“As I knew you would. I never worried about that, Camille. I should have spoken up long ago.”

“You think?” she whispered. “Why did you keep it from me—from everyone—for so long?”

“It’s something I’ve asked myself,” he said. “I grew up a secret keeper. There was this terrible secret I was holding in about Palomar, and I’d trained myself to stay silent on all personal matters. I made a habit of taking on a shame that was not mine to own, and I nearly ruined my own life because of it.” His voice broke, and he pulled in a shuddery breath. “The one relationship I wanted seemed impossible to me. I fell in love with a boy, but I didn’t even let myself recognize what that was. I didn’t even have a name for these feelings, yet I decided they must always be a secret. Finding out Palomar was not my father has liberated me. Letting go of my guilt over Didier’s crimes finally opened my heart to a love I’ve never forgotten.”

Michel dabbed at his eyes. “You were never far from my thoughts, mon vieux.”

Camille was still reeling. “I wish I’d known. Oh, Papa, if only I’d realized what was going on . . .”

“You can be forgiven for not thinking of your parent in that way,” Michel said gently. “Camille, thank you for letting me be part of this conversation. I know it must be difficult for you.”

“I’m—it’s not difficult. Just new. I think I need time to process this.”

“Of course.” He stood up. “And now I am going for a little walk in the garden, so the two of you can have a talk. My grandnephews have nothing but praise for Julie. With your permission, I would like to meet her.”

“Certainly,” Camille said. She held his gaze for a moment, unsure of how to feel. This man had once owned her father’s heart, and it appeared they wanted to continue together. She took a deep breath. “I’m glad to meet you, Michel. Truly.”

He offered a slight bow and left the table. She watched him go, a dapper man in his tailored suit, walking beneath a sunlit vine pergola. Her stomach felt twisted in knots. More tears flowed unchecked. “Papa, you’ve been alone all this time because you were hiding the truth. It must have been so lonely for you. Does Mom know?”