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filled with silence. It has been for years. It’s just . . . depressing.”
    “Was it always that way?” Jezebel’s face pulled tight. Annabelle couldn’t discern if it was genuine concern or something else.
    “No.” She sighed. “No, it wasn’t. For a while I remember them being happy. All of us being happy. When I was little they made their entire lives about us. The house was full, or it felt full. Lively, even.”
    “Ah, so something has changed since then?”
    “Yes,” she said twisting a strand of hair around her index finger.
    “Are you going to share?” Jezebel arched a challenging brow at her.
    “I don’t like talking about it.”
    “We all have chapters we’d rather keep unpublished, tiger. But how can you ever forgive if you don’t put it all out there?”
    Annabelle tensed and looked away. “Forgive?”
    “It’s obvious that you resent them. Hold them accountable for your unhappiness. It’s written on your face, in your body language and bad attitude.”
    “They’d have to admit fault for me to forgive,” she returned.
    “Ah, but you’re wrong, darling. Forgiveness doesn’t make them right, it only sets you free.”
    Annabelle huffed and sat down in the chair adjacent to Jezebel. “I’d like to hear more of your story.”
    “On one condition.” Jezebel held up one perfectly elegant finger. Annabelle looked at her own hands. There was nothing remotely noticeable about them.
    “What?”
    “Tonight, at dinner, you ask your parent’s one question about each of their days and listen to the answers they give.”
    Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Why?”
    “Because, dear, what defines a person is how well they rise after falling down.”
    “You talk in riddles,” she complained.
    “And you don’t listen hard enough,” Jezebel scolded.
    “Fine. I’ll ask them each a question and listen to their answers tonight, okay?” she agreed.
    “Brava, darling! You’ll see . . . things will settle into place. Just trust me.”
    Annabelle stared at the woman. She was stunning, really. She thought she could have been a model when she was young. Her salt and pepper hair was still more pepper than salt, and her olive-tinted skin gave her an exotic look somehow. She was almost always smiling and had an aura about her, like she came from castles and grace and beauty. Annabelle wanted to glom on to all the woman offered. No one had bothered to talk to her, to ask her questions about her life, in so long, and that sudden interest reminded her that she had a life. She felt she was fading away into invisibility like her parents. Didn’t she need someone to notice her and to care? It surprised her that she missed a mother-like connection so much. It surprised her that she was finding a small piece of that in the stranger seated across from her.
    “Could you tell me more now?” she asked.
    “Absolutely. Where were we?”
    “Celeste and Gabriel’s first kiss,” she answered quickly.
    “Ah, yes. The epic first kiss.” Jezebel giggled, then ran a hand through her long hair. She watched as the woman shifted her gaze to the window. The afternoon sun streamed in and you could see all the tiny flecks of dust floating in the light beams. “Paris, nineteen eighty-four.”

 
    Chapter 4
    Celeste
     
    Paris 1984
     
    Celeste found it impossible to calm her racing heart. Gabriel had driven her to her dorm and asked for her number before wrapping her up in his strong arms and kissing her goodnight. She was giddy with anticipation, but also felt a slight hesitation in her joy. Could she truly be so lucky to meet someone so intriguing, so handsome and so intelligent who might also feel so lucky to meet her?
    She dropped onto her bed and thought about the way he had kissed her. Twice. Some of the greatest things in life were moments you collected with your eyes closed, like dreaming or kissing. Celeste had always preferred collecting moments over things, and Gabriel was another moment added to her mental