1 September, 1984 — 23:00 BST — Eastern France

  When Aric heard the door connecting his cabin to Delphine’s open, he wasn’t surprised.

  He’d been drifting on the edge of sleep, and his barriers were thin—translucent—remnants of what had protected him earlier as he stared in wonder at the opulence of the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express.

  The woman now silently entering his cabin had watched him take it all in, joyous satisfaction radiating from her face. This was exactly what she’d intended—what she’d hoped would happen. His life had never been one of fashion and finery. She knew that. The thought had made her sad, until she remembered that the life he’d lived had made him the man he was. Young, but still a man—his feet firmly pnted on the ground, his head filled with thoughts that didn’t orbit solely around himself. She’d seen what pampered childhoods could produce in men and women, and she thanked whatever god was listening for forming him differently.

  But a little pampering—spoiling—right now wouldn’t kill him. He was made of stronger stuff than that.

  How strong, she intended to find out.

  Aric had been drifting in and out, but Delphine y wide awake in her bed. She’d said goodnight and closed the door between them. Then she simply stood there, counting. When she reached one hundred twenty and still hadn’t heard the lock engage on Aric’s side, equal amounts of hope and fear began to grow inside her.

  Hope that he wouldn’t reject her.

  Fear of the same thing.

  Her thoughts as she y awake had been stroking Aric’s drifting mind, and it was hard for him to tell her conscious musings from his slumbering fantasies. But her bare feet padding across the short distance from the door to his bed brought him back to the nd of the living. When she stopped and stood beside him—cd in a Versace Barocco-print silk nightgown—he folded back the covers and scooted closer to the wall to give her room. She hitched up her nightgown, and as she pced one knee on the bed—and as Aric glimpsed the well-coiffed dark patch between her legs—his thoughts escaped him, and for a moment Delphine saw herself through his eyes.

  Her love for the man who saw her as a tall, statuesque goddess with dark hair and sculpted limbs—and his momentary desire for her—acted on her like a narcotic.

  She folded herself down onto him as her lips found his. She y on him as she moved her right leg and hooked her foot behind his. He took his cue from her, raising his knees until she hitched up her nightgown even further and straddled him.

  But in that moment, sex was the st thing on their minds—possibly the next to st. It was a purer form of love that drove them now. A desire to be close. To give comfort.

  To give, and not to take.

  To give, asking nothing in return.

  It was not the first time she’d shared a bed with him. That had been in Cornwall. But Edith had been there as well. That time—and all the times in between—it had been the three of them, giving to each other. The physical closeness, yes, but the other thing as well. The thing that couldn’t be readily described or expined. The joining of three souls, she’d said afterward. And neither Aric nor Edith had objected.

  Now it was just the two of them, their flesh pressed together as their minds moved closer. She could feel his heat between her legs as her dampness began to coat him, and the intensity of his desire in her mind matched her own in his.

  She y forward and kissed him again. He wrapped his arms around her as her head settled against his chest. They loved each other. But they loved Edith as well. And there were some lines they would not cross.

  She’d taken to speaking only French when it was just the two of them. It was one of the many gifts he gave her—to speak her nguage. Only one gift did they deny themselves. For Edith’s sake.

  But he was nothing if not imaginative. He proved that by moving his knee up until he was perfectly positioned beneath her. Her breath caught in her throat, and her words came out as a mixture of whispers and gasps.

  “Ah—oh. Qu’est-ce que tu fais? Tu—ahhh—Tu es méchant.” Ah—oh. What—what do you think you’re doing? You—ahhh—you’re wicked.

  He began to use his knee to apply pressure. Strategically. Rhythmically.

  “Mon Dieu— Oh mon Dieu—” she said after a few minutes as her hips followed his lead. God— Oh, God—

  She folded back down at the end, using his lips to stifle the cries of ecstasy that escaped her mouth.

  2 September, 1984 — 10:45 CEST, Mino Centrale, Min, Italy

  Delphine moved through the crowd like a ship parting waves in a turbulent sea. Aric walked by her side, his right hand ced into her left one, as the porter pushed the luggage cart behind them. His face had lit up like a Christmas tree when she had stepped off the train, looked at him, and gave him a slight nod to beckon him to her. He’d moved like a man entranced by a siren—his limbs moving without conscious thought. Her four cases—and Aric’s single one—were no sort of challenge for the man who was used to manhandling twice that many by himself. Aric could hear his voice, sotto voce, utter the same word at regur intervals.

  “Bel.”

  The train steward—liveried, with crisp white gloves and polished brass buttons—did not seem the least surprised when Aric’s cabin door opened in response to him knocking gently on Delphine’s.

  “Faites-les entrer tous les deux,” she directed him without any sort of self-consciousness or embarrassment. In truth, he’d expected nothing less from the beautiful couple. The only question in his mind had been which door would actually open. Bring them both in here.

  She had discarded her nightgown eventually, pulling it up and over her head before dropping it on the floor of Aric’s cabin. He’d kept his shorts, which were no impediment to her enjoying his warm body, and she’d drifted off quickly, and slept more soundly than she had in some time, her dreams of Aric finally sated—mostly. It was a fine point to stress that they had not crossed the final line—though they had skated as close to it as possible.

  She’d woken, rested and satisfied, to a world that seemed brighter. The smell of rich, dark-roasted café crème emanating from a small porcein coffee pot was heavenly, and Aric stirred at the aroma and the sounds of the steward setting the twin trays down on a pair of tray stands. Delphine was equally unsurprised that he’d anticipated their breakfast arrangements. He was old enough—experienced enough—and discreet enough—to keep his attention on setting out everything while completely ignoring the beautiful man who was finally showing signs of life.

  Aric had also slept soundly. The warm presence next to him had been familiar, even if the situation had not been. Just the two of them, rather than the usual three. Delphine’s damp skin—not Edith’s—against his as she finally colpsed on him. In other situations—other retionships—their night might have been tinged with guilt. But their retionship—his, hers, Edith’s—was a different animal. A unicorn, really. One of a kind. Did one’s left leg become jealous when the right one was massaged to relieve pain? Was it possible for a body to be jealous of itself, even if that body had three parts?

  Since they felt no guilt at all—nor would they, if they shared the details with Edith—the question was academic.

  They sat on Aric’s bed and enjoyed poached pears in vanil syrup, pain au chocot, and freshly baked croissants. Both of them savored the best coffee they’d had in months. Aric regaled her with stories of army coffee, made in huge tubs by boiling gallons of water before dumping in pounds of ground coffee. She ughed at his descriptions of the crunchy coffee, no matter the cook’s efforts to strain out the used grounds.

  The glow from the morning—and the evening before it—was still upon them as they navigated their way out of the central train station in Min. A rge—by Italian standards—car waited for them outside. The driver recognized Delphine immediately and waved at the porter.

  “Sono così felice di riveder, signorina,” he said as he opened the trunk and helped the porter move the luggage. Delphine reached into her clutch purse and tipped the luggage porter—as she had tipped the train porter—herself. Aric couldn’t see what bills passed hands, but each man left with a prominent smile on his face. So good to see you again, Miss.

  Grand Hotel et de Min, located at the heart of Quadritero del Moda, was a spectacle to behold, which was why Delphine had chosen it—and had, like the travel arrangements before, pressured Giovanni into paying for it. Opulent. Filled with cultural gravitas, Minese history, and 19th-century elegance. Giuseppe Verdi had died there. Delphine wasn’t sure if that st point was quite the recommendation the hotel believed. When she’d mentioned that to Aric, he replied that he’d spent evenings in Germany staring at the castle where Martin Luther had written. It seemed the Italians didn’t have a monopoly on assigning value to a pce simply because someone had visited it.

  Aric had mentioned—shyly—that all he had was British currency, and not much of that. Delphine had looked at his exquisite face and ughed.

  “What?” he’d asked.

  He was so cute sometimes.

  “Why would you need money in Min?”

  He’d shrugged slightly. “You know—in case I want to buy something.”

  Nothing he could afford in Min was worth having. She knew that. But he was a complete stranger to the city.

  “Something?”

  He was becoming more embarrassed by the moment, and she couldn’t understand why.

  “For you,” he finally said.

  She’d loved him so much in that instant that she could barely speak without crying.

  “This trip is for you my love, not for me.”

  His face gained color at her expnation. Most men who looked even half as beautiful as him had more than enough experience with women buying them things that it was second nature. Not him.

  The facchino rolled the cart into the first of the two adjoining rooms as Aric took in his surroundings.

  “This room is bigger than the house I grew up in,” he said as he took in the heavy drapes, marble, and art deco touches.

  Delphine had been smiling at his reactions so often over the past twenty-four hours that her face was beginning to hurt. She would have to stop soon if she wanted to wear her professional look of boredom when walking the runways.

  The porter began to roll his cart—and Aric’s single bag—back out the door before Delphine stopped him.

  “Mettilo qui.” Just put it down here.

  “Certamente, signorina.” He pced the bag on the floor and held up two keys. Certainly, Miss.

  “Chi di voi vorrebbe chiave dell’altra valigetta?” Which of you would like the key to the other suite?

  “è più piccolo di questo?” Aric asked. He was rewarded with a wide, toothy smile. Is it smaller than this one?

  “Romano! Che piacere sentire qualcuno del mia terra parre nostra lingua come dovrebbe essere parta.” A Roman! What a pleasure to hear someone from home speak our nguage as it should be spoken.

  His face turned bright red when he realized what he had said, and who had heard him say it.

  “Mille scuse, signorina!” he said to the tall woman with the prominent Torino accent. A thousand apologies, Miss.

  “Non volevo mancare di rispetto.” I meant no disrespect.

  She flicked her fingers at the embarrassed man. “Sì, sì. Non si preoccupi. Lasci le chiavi lì, per favore.” Yes, yes. Don’t trouble yourself. Leave the keys there, please.

  Aric and Delphine waited for the door to be fully closed before bursting into ughter.

  When she visited Ed Martell’s home a second time, Teresa Moreno made doubly sure she didn’t have horse manure on her shoes. Or cow manure either. Really, no manure of any kind. She wore fts instead of muck boots, and a blouse and scks rather than work clothes and coveralls.

  She recognized Ruth Lawson, both from the July party and the university.

  And she recognized Edith from the roof of Senate House. How could she forget the woman who had drifted up into the air with the angelic figure, both defying the bonds that held mere mortals firmly against the Earth?

  “Hello,” Ed’s daughter had greeted her at the door. “So nice to see you again. How’s your horse?”

  Tess’s face broke into a grin at the mention of her four-legged best friend. “She’s as healthy as a—well—you know.”

  Roz ughed. “Indeed. Do you know where that saying came from?”

  Tess handed her the tray of Portuguese sweet rolls she’d baked that morning. “I’m sorry to say that I don’t.”

  “Well,” Roz said as her smile widened, “something to talk about during dinner.”

  There was, in fact, quite a lot to talk about at dinner. And while Tess was not exactly uninitiated—Ed paused for a moment, mentally reviewing everything she’d already seen: Senate House. Aric healing Evergreen. His flight from her house back to the party. Add in all the things she’d only heard about, and her initiation was well underway.

  “So, how was Gsgow?” he asked Edith once she’d arrived and he’d pced a gss of wine in her hand.

  Edith gnced at Tess, who smiled shyly before speaking.

  “Don’t worry about me—my lips are sealed. Besides, who would believe anything I say?”

  Edith conceded the point with a chuckle. It wasn’t like they were diving into heavy numbers or esoteric data. Ed had already heard all that: gravitational wave magnitude and frequency. Localized gravitational time dition. They’d discussed it at length, along with where their own research should go next.

  “It was nice,” Edith said. “Cool. It was getting quite chilly when we left.”

  They talked about Gsgow. The trio’s trip to Edinburgh. Aric’s concern about being tracked by the Royal Air Force. The explosion.

  “Oh my God!” Roz and Tess said in unison—partly at Aric’s ability to heal such a grievous injury, but mostly out of concern for the man who would certainly have died if Aric’s intervention had come just a few minutes ter.

  “They’re lucky you were there,” Roz said.

  “I don’t think it was luck,” Tess replied. “Something else was at work that day.”

  Edith sipped her wine and smiled. It warmed her to see others appreciate him the way she did.

  “He wondered the same thing,” she said. “Right after it happened. The men were already in ambunces, on their way to the nearest trauma center. Aric wondered if he’d been put there—on that day, in that pce—just to save those two men. He’s wondered that for a while now. Why was he made? Why was he given powers no one else has? Is he using them as—Something—intends him to?”

  “It’s a basic question for all self-aware creatures. Why am I here?" Roz added, gncing at Tess.

  Ed had been noticing the way his daughter and their guest were orbiting each other. It had been her idea to invite Tess to dinner.

  “Aric said she lives alone, except for her animals. She might like two-legged company for an afternoon.”

  It hadn’t occurred to him that she might have had an ulterior motive.

  “Well, I thank God every time I see Evie, Skye, and Rosa pying in the field. She’s fit as a fiddle.”

  “That’s another phrase I can tell you about, if you like,” Roz said with a ugh.

  The two women smiled at each other for approximately four seconds.

  Definitely an ulterior motive, Ed thought.