Camille set aside the camera and reached for his hand. “I wish you’d known her, too, Papa. I wish we all had. It’s so sad.”

“Way to ruin the mood, Mom,” Julie said. “We were all excited about the camera.”

“Right.” Camille picked it up again. “We have a mystery right here. What I know about Exakta cameras is that they were made in Germany, and they’re very fine instruments—the first single-lens reflex. I think this model is from the 1930s. I can tell from this socket—it’s for the first built-in flash synchronization.” She inspected the pristine camera. “Wow. This could be a museum piece. It’s a rare find.”

“Well. I must write to Madame Olivier and thank her for this box of wonders,” said her father.

“Ça alors,” Camille said, touching the film winder with her thumb. She felt the slightest bit of resistance.

“What is it?” Julie leaned forward to see.

“I think there’s film in this camera.”

Six

Finn had attended a good number of ceremonies in his lifetime. After his father had gone missing in Cambodia, his mother had become an activist for the missing, and Finn had many early memories of somber ceremonies to acknowledge those few times when the truth about some poor guy’s demise came out.

Later, as his mom had advanced through the ranks of the Diplomatic Corps, ultimately attaining an ambassadorship when Finn was twelve, there had been ceremonies to commemorate, decorate, and designate, all crammed with pomp and circumstance. As he went through high school, there were more—his appointment to the Model UN, Boys State, honor society. Eagle freaking Scout.

There had been induction ceremonies when he and his two sisters had enrolled in the Naval Academy. And then the appointment ceremonies when they had finished. His change-of-command ceremony as a naval officer.

And then there had been his marriage ceremony. It was supposed to be the start of his happily-ever-after. He had nailed the happy part for a good long time. Unfortunately for him, when it came to ever after, he and Emily had different ideas.

“I’m pregnant,” she had said on the day of their ten-year anniversary. She was sobbing as she told him.

And then, before his heart had a chance to soar with wonder and joy, she’d dropped a hasty bomb: “It’s not yours.”

“Perfect,” said a woman’s voice behind him, drawing Finn back from that painful memory.

He turned to see a gorgeous redhead in a tight navy dress, with a White House press pool badge clipped to her collar. Ever so briefly, she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

“How’s that?” he asked, though he knew exactly how it was. “What part of this is perfect? The part where I get to meet the president because my father went missing?”

“Don’t be nasty,” she said. “I meant you in your dress uniform. You look absolutely perfect. I imagine you haven’t worn it in a while. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He studied her for a moment. “How about you, Emily?”