She knew. As B.C. saw the look in his wife’s eyes he realized she’d always known. For twenty years, she’d known.

“Excellent.” Rather pleased with herself, Monique set her gift on the table. “This is the perfect time then to open a gift celebrating my marriage. This time I intend to put all those things into it.”

She wanted to leave. Summer told herself it was only a matter of turning around and walking to the door. She stood rooted, with her eyes locked on Blake’s.

“Oh, but it’s beautiful.” Reverently, Monique lifted the tiny hand-crafted merry-go-round from the bed of tissue. The horses were ivory, trimmed in gilt—each one perfect, each one unique. At the turn of the base, it played a romantic Chopin Prelude. “But, darling, how perfect. A carousel to celebrate a marriage. The horses should be named romance, love, tenacity and so forth. I shall treasure it.”

“I—” Summer looked at her mother, and suddenly none of the practicalities, none of the mistakes mattered. “Be happy, ma mére.”

Monique touched her cheek with a fingertip, then brushed it with her lips. “And you, mignonne.”

B.C. leaned down to whisper in his wife’s ear. “You know, don’t you?”

Amused, she lifted her glass. “Of course,” she answered in an undertone. “You’ve never been able to keep secrets from me.”

“But—”

“I knew then and hated you for almost a day. Do you remember whose fault it was? I don’t anymore.”

“God, Lily, if you’d known how guilty I was. Tonight, I was nearly suffocating with—”

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, you old fool, let’s get out of here so these children can iron things out. Monique—” She held out her hand, and as hands met, eyes met, things passed between them that would never have to be said. “Thank you for a lovely evening, and my best wishes to you and your husband.”

“And mine to you.” With a smile reminiscent of the past, she held out her arms to B.C. “Au revoir, mon ami.”

He accepted the embrace, feeling like a man who’d just been granted amnesty. He wanted nothing more than to go up to his own suite and show his wife how much he loved her. “Perhaps we’ll have lunch tomorrow,” he said absently to the room at large. “Good night.”

Monique began to giggle as the door shut behind him. “Love, it will always make me laugh. So—” Briskly, she began to rewrap her gift and box it. “My bags are being held for me downstairs and my plane leaves in one hour.”

“An hour?” Summer began. “But—”

“My business is done.” Tucking the box under her arm, she rose on her toes to kiss Blake. “You have the good fortune of possessing excellent parents.” Then she kissed Summer. “And so, my sweet, do you, though they weren’t suited to remain husband and wife. The suite is paid for through the night, the champagne’s still cold.” She glided for the door leaving a trail of Paris in her wake. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back. “Bon appétit, mes enfants.” Monique considered it one of her very finest exits.