“We never spoke of it.” He must have read Camille’s expression. “I did love your mother as best I knew how, which was hardly adequate, but . . . I married her, because that was what people did—they got married and started a family. Cherisse and I threw ourselves into work—the house, the shop, our jobs. But no matter how busy we kept ourselves, there was no hiding the mistake I’d made. Your mother and I held each other in mutual respect and affection, but that is no substitute for deep, passionate love. I was resigned to the idea that the love I always wanted was forbidden, and happily for Cherisse, she found a love that was meant to be.”

Camille nodded, picturing her mother and Bart together. “And maybe you have, too.”

“We shall see. There is something I want you to understand,” he said, using his handkerchief to dab at her eyes, the way he used to when she was a little girl. “I can have no regrets, because I have you. And you are my greatest achievement in life.”

Her heart ached for him. She was still reeling, but also hopeful. “You should have told me. You’re my father. You’re the best father in the world. You deserve to know what love feels like.” She paused. “The kind of love that made Jace sacrifice himself to save me.”

“This is why Michel and I wanted to tell you. So that ‘never’ would change to ‘now.’”

She looked at his handsome face, his tearstained cheeks, his smiling mouth. She still saw the father she had known all her life, but there was something new about him. Something different. A lightness. A clarity.

“I don’t know what more to say,” she said.

His mouth formed a tremulous smile. “You don’t have to say anything. The way you’re looking at me right this moment tells me everything.”

Cousin Petra was a trip, thought Finn. She talked the whole way from Marseille, but it was all about her lawyer husband, her cranky mother who had lived with them until she passed away at the age of ninety-eight, the heat wave that was sweeping over the region, the unfortunate state of the Church these days, and the shifting political landscape of the EU. By the time he got her to Sauveterre, he was ready for a beer. He left the old lady with Camille and Julie and went to the kitchen to find a cold brew. When he turned around, there stood Camille’s father.

“Is there another?” Henry asked.

“Here you go. Blanc de Belges—my favorite summer beverage.”

“I’d like to have a word with you, and words always go better when paired with a cold beer.”

Great, thought Finn. A word. After you’d been banging a guy’s daughter, the guy usually wanted to have more than a word. Finn opened the bottles and lifted his. “Cheers. What’s on your mind?”

“My daughter, Camille. She—”

“Sir, I know how this must look to you,” Finn said, wishing he’d initiated the conversation sooner. But his feelings for Camille had exploded with such swiftness and intensity that he’d barely had time to draw breath, much less have a serious conversation with her dad. “Henry, I’m sorry I haven’t said anything yet. I should have told you from the start how much I care for Camille. She’s amazing, and I never expected to feel this way. It probably seems sudden to you, and it’s early days, but I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with her. I want to be part of her future. Hell, I want to be the best thing that ever happened to her. That’s my hope, anyway.” After that awkward stream of nervous talk, he downed half the beer in one go.