“No.”

“Anything that would make you willingly abandon him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I suppose our kids don’t love us quite like we love them.”

“I hope that’s not true.”

“I’ve had my fair share of company over to the island. You’re different, Selena.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way.”

Fitch stopped. He turned and faced her and pulled her body into his.

“I mean it in the best way.”

It took her by surprise when he leaned down for a kiss.

Not the kiss itself, but the pang of guilt that ripped through her like a razor-tipped arrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The house was a large gray box set on foundation piers. It had long eaves and wraparound decks on the first and second levels. Extensive latticework enclosed the space under the stairs. Letty spotted rafts and plastic sand-castle molds. Snorkeling gear. Life jackets. Beach toys that she imagined hadn’t been touched in years.

She and Fitch rinsed the sand off their feet at the bottom of the stairs.

Halfway up, Letty could already smell supper cooking.

As they walked through the door, Fitch called out, “Smells wonderful, Angie!”

Letty followed him into an open living space. Hardwood floors. Exposed timber beams high above. The walls covered in art deco. A giant marlin had been mounted over the fireplace. A live jazz album whispered in the background. There were candles everywhere. The bulbs in the track lighting shone down softer than starlight.

“You have a lovely home, Johnny.”

Letty spotted James and another man walking down a corridor. She and Fitch passed a spiral staircase. They arrived at a granite bar that ran the length of the gourmet kitchen. A stocky woman in a chef coat slid something into a double oven. She wiped her brow on her sleeve and came over.

“Selena, meet Angie,” Fitch said.

“Hello,” Letty said.

“Angie is head chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris. I flew her over to prepare something special for tonight. How’s it coming, Angie?”

“I can bring out starters whenever you’re ready.”

Fitch glanced at Letty. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“We’re ready,” he said.

“How about wine?”

“Yes, I think we’d like to have some wine. You decanted everything I showed you?”

“They’re in the cellar, ready to go. What would you like to start with?”

“Bring out the nineteen-ninety Petrus, the ’eighty-two Château Lafite Rothschild and the ’forty-seven Latour a Pomerol.”

“Quite a lineup,” Angie said.

“So much good wine to drink, so little time. We’d like to taste everything side by side, so bring six glasses.”

“You aren’t trying to get me drunk, are you?” Letty teased, bumping her shoulder into Fitch’s arm.

“Now why would I need to do that?”

They sat at an intimate table in a corner, surrounded by windows.

In the candlelight, Fitch looked even younger.

Letty dropped her handbag on the floor between her chair and the wall.

Angie brought the wine in three trips, carrying the empty bottle in one hand and a crystal decanter in the other.

All of the Bordeaux was astonishing. With wine like this in the world, Letty didn’t know how she could ever go back to seven-dollar bottles of Merlot from the supermarket.

They started with a plate of plain white truffles.

Then foie gras.

Then scallops.

Angie kept bringing more courses. Because Letty was drinking out of three glasses, she had difficulty gauging her intake. She tried to pace herself with small sips, but it was simply the best wine she’d ever tasted.

Over the cheese course, Fitch said, “It occurs to me there will be many evenings to come when I long to return to this meal.”

Letty reached across the table and took hold of his hand.

“Let’s try to stay in the moment, huh?”

“Sound advice.”

“So, Johnny. What is your passion?”

“My passion?”

“For a man who has achieved all the material wants.”

“Experience.” His eyes began to tear. “I want to experience everything.”

Angie came over to the table. “How was everything?”

“I’m speechless,” Fitch said.

He rose out of his seat and embraced the chef. Letty heard him whisper, “I can’t thank you enough for this. You’re an artist, and the memory of this meal will sustain me for years to come.”

“It was my pleasure, Johnny. Dessert will be up in fifteen.”

“We’re done here, and we can handle getting dessert for ourselves. Someone will clean up. You’ve been cooking all day. Why don’t you take off?”

“No, let me finish out the service.”

“Angie.” Fitch took hold of her arm. “I insist. Pete’s waiting in the yacht to take you back.”

For a moment, Letty thought Angie might resist. Instead, she embraced Fitch again, said, “You take care of yourself, Johnny.”

Fitch watched her cross to the front door.

As she opened it, she called out, “Dessert dishes and silverware are on the counter beside the oven! Goodnight, Johnny!”

“’Night, Angie!”

The door slammed after her, and for a moment, the house stood absolutely silent.

Fitch sat down.

He said, “How strange to know you’ve just seen a friend for the last time.”

He sipped his wine.

Letty looked out the window.

The moon was rising out of the sea. In its light, she could see the profile of a suited man walking down a path toward the shore.

“It begins to go so fast,” Fitch said.

“What?”

“Time. You cling to every second. Savor everything. Wish you’d lived all your days like this. Excuse me.”

He rose from his seat. Letty watched him shuffle across to the other side of the room and disappear through a door, which he closed after him.

She lifted her purse into her lap and tore it open. Her fingers moved with sufficient clumsiness to convince her she’d gotten herself drunk. She grasped the spray bottle. Fitch still had some wine left in two of his glasses. Reaching across the table, she put five squirts into the one on the left.

The door Fitch had gone through creaked open.

He emerged cradling a bottle in one arm and carrying two glasses in the other.

He was grinning.

From across the room, he held up the bottle, said, “The jewel of our evening. Come on over here, sugar.”

Fitch sat down on a leather sofa.

Letty still hadn’t moved, her mind scrambling.

I missed my chance. I missed my chance.

CHAPTER NINE

Fitch waved her over. “Sit with me!”

Letty glanced at her watch as she stood. Seven-oh-five.

Fifty-five minutes until her rendezvous with Javier at the east end of the island.

She grabbed one of her wineglasses and Fitch’s.

He was already tugging the cork out of the bottle as she walked over.

Letty said, “Here you go and leave, and I was just on the verge of making a beautiful toast.” She tried to hand Fitch his wineglass.

“We’ll toast with this instead,” he said, showing her the bottle—Macallan 1926.

“Oh, I’m not too much of a scotch girl.”

“I understand, but this is really something. You couldn’t not love this.”

“Now I’m losing my nerve.”

She thought she registered a flash of something behind his eyes—rage? But they quickly softened. Fitch put the bottle down and accepted his glass and stood.

Letty had no idea of what to say.

She looked up at Fitch and smiled, her mind blank.

It came to her in an instant—a toast she’d overheard at a wedding she’d crashed two years ago. Back then, she’d spent her Saturdays stealing presents from brides and grooms. She’d developed something akin to an X-ray sense for determining the most expensive gifts based solely on wrapping paper.