“I don’t know. I don’t know why she went or why she stopped. She didn’t take my mother with her when she went.”

“And your parents never took you with them on any of their travels either—” Gabriel snapped his mouth shut. He sounded like a judgemental idiot. Again. Just because his family did everything together didn’t mean everyone else’s did.

Lia shrugged, ostensibly still not bothered by his lack of tact. “No.”

“That sounds…lonely.”

“Sometimes, maybe. But you get used to being alone, I suppose. And often I had friends to stay with. And it’s hard to complain or be ungrateful when I know I was given the best education money could buy. It’s taken me far. No pun intended, because I have literally worked all over the globe.”

Gabriel plucked a leaf from the hydrangea bush, thinking that the woman beside him would find the silver lining in anything that was thrown her way. It was an exceedingly admirable trait. And exceedingly attractive.

He held the leaf between his fingers. “Your grandmother must have liked the company during those summers.”

“She did. And the older I got, the more I understood that.” She rubbed her bare arms with her hands. “There was a period in my life, mostly when I was an oblivious teenager, when I resented those summers. When I had to decline invitations from my schoolmates who were going vacationing in Monaco or sailing in Spain or touring in Italy. I think, at that time, I saw it as a prison. A cage from which I could not escape.”

“And now?”

“Now I think differently. There were no hugs and kisses and excited exclamations when I arrived in Marseille. But Grandmère was always there at the train station to meet me, waiting on the platform before my train even pulled in. At home, the sheets in my room had always been freshly laundered, there was always a vase of cut lilies next to the bed, and the ancient bicycle that she kept in her shed out back always had fresh oil on the chain and not a speck of dust on the frame. And there was always a stack of new books, a collection of truly diverse nonfiction titles, with a little note in her handwriting suggesting what I might find intriguing about each one.” Lia smiled in remembrance.

“You are an avid reader?”

“I became a reader. The purpose of the books, she always said, was not to learn what other people thought but to learn to think for myself. And whether she knew it or not, over time, she created a place for me. And I know this sounds a little backwards, but knowing I had that place made it easier for me to leave. Gave me the confidence and the freedom to venture far.”

“What about your grandfather? You’ve never mentioned him.”