“I’ll bet.”

“How beautiful,” she said in awe a while later as they passed the ancient village of Saint-Jeannet set high in the mountains. It sat on a ledge between two looming cliffs overlooking the sea far below. Winding streets passed medieval-looking buildings and stunning vista terraces. “Oh, look,” Emma pointed out, smiling at the red, white, blue, and black flags hanging from lampposts along the street proclaiming the Montand Franco-Américain Grand Prix.

Marco grinned. “The locals are buzzing about the race almost as much as the people pouring in to all the top-notch hotels to watch it. Vanni is considered a local boy, and not just because his father started his car company in Antibes nearby. The Montand family has deep roots in the Côte d’Azur,” Marco explained.

He made his way out of the village, eventually driving onto a thickly wooded road that was so twisting, Emma quickly couldn’t say which direction she was facing anymore. She kept catching a glimpse of the Mediterranean in the far distance and a burnt red slate roof nestled among lush green treetops. Finally, Marco pulled into a secluded drive and there was the villa before them, a white limestone structure with a red roof, sprawling and enormous, yet nestled quite comfortably in the forest and cliffside, almost as if it had been there so long, it had become part of the natural landscape.

“La Mer,” she breathed out, staring wide-eyed at the ancient home. “Vanni loves it here.”

Marco gave her a swift, speculative glance, and she wondered what he’d heard in her voice. He brought the car to a halt. “That he does,” he said. “He’s a little happier, when he’s here. I don’t understand why he doesn’t live here all the time, but . . . that’s not for me to decide.”

Emma glanced at him. She had an uncomfortable suspicion of why Vanni refused to give up the Breakers—the site of so much tragedy.

A minute later, a dark-haired, aproned, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Denis led them into a circular, sunlit entryway that featured a white alabaster grand staircase and windows that went up for three stories. Such a lovely, bright, airy home, Emma thought admiringly as she stared around in awe. Even though the finishes were ornate, there was an openness to the rooms that she spied off the entryway, an approachability. Emma inhaled deeply of fresh sea air and . . .

“Is that bread baking?” she asked Mrs. Denis.

The housekeeper smiled. “I am always baking something.”

“Lucky for us,” Marco said amusedly.

Down a hallway, Emma saw a huge terrace that was open to the interior. Fresh sea air wafted into the elaborate entry hall. Bright flowers in huge clay pots waved in the gentle breeze on the terrace. Mrs. Denis noticed where Emma looked.

“Come,” she said in her French-accented English. “You’ll sit on the terrace and I’ll bring you some refreshment. Vanni has told me you drink tea. Some chamomile, perhaps, so that you can rest after your flight?”

“Thank you, that’d be nice.”

“I’ll just put your bag upstairs and see you later,” Marco said.

“Thank you so much,” Emma replied warmly. “For everything, Marco.”

“Not a problem. You enjoy yourself. I have a feeling you might be able to get Vanni to relax a little, despite the whirlwind of the race,” the pilot said.

“I’ll try,” Emma said, returning his friendly wave before she followed Mrs. Denis outside.

“I’ll just go and get your tea and make sure Marco gets something to eat before he goes. He always has an appetite. I wish I could get him to share some of it with Vanni,” Mrs. Denis said with a grin before she bustled inside.

Emma walked out onto the terrace, her mouth falling open in delighted awe. The stone terrace was huge, running the entire length of the house. It was filled with fruit trees, flowers, and seating areas. In the distance, rocky cliffs sharply dropped off, but she caught sight of a white staircase. It must meander down to the sea. Far below them, the brilliant blue Mediterranean took up the entire horizon. It was the most breathtaking view she’d ever seen. She soaked in the sunshine and the stunning view for several minutes, standing next to a three-foot-tall stone wall covered in vines and blooming roses. She inhaled deeply of the sea air. The smell of gardenias and roses wafted into her nose. She could almost see Adrian and Vanni on the terrace as children . . . Adrian staring at the magnificent landscape dreamily while Vanni excitedly described some new adventure for them to undertake. Adrian would have calmed his fire, and Vanni would have infused Adrian with energy and purpose. How was it that she could picture Vanni so easily as an animated, happy child when she’d only ever known him as sober and controlled?

Resigned to his sadness?

Perhaps it was because of the trace of wistfulness in his tone when he’d talked about Adrian and him at La Mer as boys. Maybe it was because of the glimpses she caught of him when he made love, and she saw beneath the aloof surface to his fierce, savage soul.

Her thoughts weighed on her. Why couldn’t he make La Mer his permanent home? Why couldn’t he completely reclaim the happiness he’d once felt there?

And . . . tell Vanni . . . to forgive himself. I know he thinks it’s his fault.

Some of Cristina’s final words rose to haunt her at that moment, a sad, poignant reminder in such a sunny, beautiful, peaceful place.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Mrs. Denis said from behind her. Emma turned from the stone wall and saw the housekeeper laying a tea service on one of the wrought iron tables. Formerly, “tea” meant a bag and hot water in one of Emma’s mismatched mugs, but since Vanni had entered her life, it was an event.

“I’ve never seen anything to compare to it,” Emma agreed as she walked over to the table. “How long have you worked at La Mer?”

“It’ll be twenty-five years this winter,” Mrs. Denis said, setting the delicate antique teapot on the table along with a tiered plate filled with cakes, slices of aromatic, thick whole-grain bread, and a dish of butter. Emma’s mouth watered. “It’s hard to believe, especially since La Mer hardly ever changes. It’s the same old house I remember from my first weeks here.”

Emma smiled and sat when Mrs. Denis pulled back a chair at the table for her. “Some things should always remain the same. La Mer is definitely one of those places. I can see why Vanni loves it so much.” She started to pour, but Mrs. Denis beat her to the task.

“He does love it here. I only wish he’d be in residence more,” Mrs. Denis said. Her gaze sharpened on Emma as she set down the teapot. “I’ve never heard the tone in his voice before—the one I hear when he speaks of you.”

Emma’s fingers fumbled the silver cake knife she’d picked up. She looked at the housekeeper in surprise. “Really?”

Mrs. Denis shook her head, a sparkle in her black eyes. “If I had to guess, I’d say that Vanni thinks you’re special.”

Emma felt her cheeks heating. “That’s so nice, but it’s not as if . . . that is . . . Will Vanni be away for the entire day?” she fumbled, changing the topic because she didn’t know how to respond to the news. Mrs. Denis’s kind observation warmed her to her very core, but she didn’t know how to tell Mrs. Denis that she’d likely never return to La Mer, given the parameters of her relationship with Vanni.

“Yes, but I just called to tell him you’d arrived,” Mrs. Denis said, stepping back, her hands folded at her waist. “He asked me to tell you to rest up after your trip. He’s going to take you to Cannes this evening for a dinner planned for the drivers, their teams, and the racing committee at the Hôtel et Casino ‘Le Majestueux.’ We just call it Hôtel Le Maj, for short. It will be très glamour. All of the surrounding villages are very excited for the race, too,” she said, her toothy grin making her look years younger. “We’re having our own little celebrations at the café in town tonight, although it will be nowhere near as fancy as the one you’ll be going to with Vanni. Vanni has a special reason to celebrate, too, since Niki won the pole position for the Montand car today. Is everything all right?” Mrs. Denis asked, obviously noticing the shadow that crossed Emma’s face.