Her gaze was drawn to a family photograph on the wall, one she hadn’t seen before. Charlotte’s and Olivia’s swept-back hairstyles were near-identical, as were their pearly smiles, their caramel tans. Gordon stood between them, broad-chested in a cream shirt with gold cuff links and an orange tie. In the background, the resort framed them as if it had been arranged around their shoulders. The picture must’ve been taken from a boat, to get the whole of Il Mandarino in the shot, but the impression was that the three of them were an island, levitating just off their private shore.

Amy was absent from the photo. In fact, as Leah glanced around, she couldn’t see a single picture of her.

Goosebumps broke out on her skin. Her eyes zigzagged, desperate to land on one trace of Amy, one thing she didn’t have to conjure from her memories. There was a framed photo of Olivia holding a glass trophy, and a picture of the family pug who’d died a few years back. But no Amy. For a few panicked seconds, Leah couldn’t even bring her niece’s face to mind. It became blurred and formless, when Amy had always been, to her, the only one with any solidity.

Charlotte burst back into the room holding a bottle of champagne. “To celebrate your arrival, Lee!”

Olivia followed with three crystal flutes, arranging them on the table while Charlotte removed the cork with a pop like a gunshot. Leah’s mouth dried up. Champagne? For a moment she was convinced none of this was real. That she would jerk awake in her London flat to the roar of the traffic and the fade of a bad dream.

“Oh . . .” Charlotte said. “Fetch another glass for Daddy, Olivia.”

Leah startled as she clocked what Charlotte had seemed to sense with her back turned: Gordon’s materialization in the doorway.

“Hello, Leah.”

Leah lifted her chin—the closest thing to a greeting she could muster. Gordon looked much older than the last time she’d seen him, much older than in the touched-up photo on the wall. He was the only one whose aging seemed to have accelerated since his twenty-one-year-old daughter had drowned. He still carried himself with confidence, but his hair was thinner—though raven black, surely dyed—and there were new shadows and grooves in his face.

“None for me,” Gordon said to Charlotte.

“It’s the good stuff,” Charlotte rushed to assure him. “Not the case you were going to send back.”

“I’ve got things to do. I just stopped by to say welcome to Leah.”

Charlotte wavered over the rim of a glass. “Perhaps it is a little . . .” Leah thought she was going to say inappropriate, but instead she said, “early,” and glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Gordon said, striding away.