Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(18)

At least I am. It’s nice to have a day where I don’t have to worry about anything, where the future is only the horizon: a thin, faded line in the distance.

The horizon right now is a rich blue, wavering ever so slightly from the waves. We’re both leaning against the railing and staring down at the large lap pool perched by the rocky edge of the shore. The loungers are all occupied, some people splashing around in the water, some being served drinks by the waiters. It’s peak season and prime for people-watching.

But my attention is on the girl beside me, the breeze blowing back a few loose strands of hair from her ponytail, a reddish-gold gleam catching in the sun. The few freckles across her face seem even more pronounced, like she’s blossoming right in front of my eyes.

Her gaze is locked on a sailboat cutting smoothly across the water, the white sail stark against the vibrant Mediterranean blue, but then she swoops her eyes over to me. I’d never noticed how the blue of her irises matched the sea so well.

“What are you staring at?” she asks, her voice taking on a shy tone.

Once again, I know I’m probably making her uncomfortable, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Your eyes. They’re marine blue. Same as the sea.”

She smiles, the color of her cheeks deepening as she averts her eyes. “You know, when I was doing research on you, it wasn’t the only thing I was Googling.”

“Oh?”

“I learned what lapin means.”

I should have figured this would happen. To her credit, though, she doesn’t look mad. Just amused.

“I can explain,” I tell her.

She laughs. “You’d better explain why I look like a rabbit.”

“You don’t look like a rabbit,” I tell her, reaching out briefly to touch her arm, her skin seeming to grow hot under my touch. “It’s just—”

Her hands fly to her ears. “Yeah, my ears. I know they stick out. Believe me, when I was a tween I was called ‘Arwen’ by everyone in my class.”

“Arwen was beautiful,” I point out.

“Yeah, when she’s played by Liv Tyler. Trust me, no one thought they were being complimentary when they said I looked like an elf.”

I should have figured this was a sensitive subject. “It will probably sound weird if I explain, but just trust me when I say it’s a compliment.”

She eyes me for a moment, her gaze narrowing before she shrugs. “I guess I have to take your word for it. The French sure have a weird way of phrasing things.”

“Don’t blame the French. Just blame me. I’m not exactly up to the country’s standard when it comes to romanticisms.”

“You’d think you would have had enough practice by now,” she says lightly.

“You’d think,” I tell her. “But perhaps we need to even the playing field, just a little. You seem to know so much about me, but I, well, I know practically nothing about you.”

“There really isn’t much to say,” she says, trying to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes.

I reach out and tuck the strand behind her ear. To my surprise, she doesn’t flinch at my touch this time. “Everyone has a story. I bet yours is far more unique and interesting than you think. Tell me about where you grew up.”

She grimaces, scrunching up her nose. “It’s nowhere you would have heard of.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She lets out a long breath of air. “Okay. Well, I was born in a place called Wenatchee in Washington State. It’s like the interior of the state, so not close to Seattle at all. It’s very dry and desertlike, but there are some nice lakes around, and we’re famous for our apples.”

“Sounds very nice.”

“It’s okay. I’m painting you a nicer picture than it is.”

“And what did your parents do? Grow apples?”

She laughs. “That would have been nice. No, my father was a bank manager; my mother was a waitress. They didn’t make a lot, so we lived in a trailer park. But it was a nice trailer park, at least. I had my own room, so I was happy . . .” She trails off, looking the opposite of happy.

“Any siblings?”

“No.”

“Are your parents still together?”

She shakes her head, looking down at the people by the pool in a rather blank way. “My dad left when I was young. Don’t know where he is now. Don’t care.”

I know better than to ask any more about him.

“So I take it you’re close with your mother?”

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice goes quiet.

“Was she worried about you coming over here? Traveling?”

“A little. I think . . . I think she misses having me around. I live with her in Seattle, near the university. I know she’s extra worried now that I’m alone.”

“You mean you’re no longer with your boyfriend. What was his name again? Dom?”

“Tom,” she says quickly and shivers, as if even saying his name is too much. “She liked him enough, but it gave her peace of mind to know that he was looking after me. Well, you know what I mean.”

“Will you tell her about me?”

She raises her brows. “About you? And what am I supposed to say about you?”