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the kitchen.
    “Watch the glass,” somebody said.
    “Hale?” Kat asked. Cold air rushed into the kitchen, and Kat reached for one of Eddie’s sweaters that hung on the back of a chair. She pulled it tightly around her small shoulders, shivering in the chilly wind.
    “You broke Eddie’s window? I hope you can pay for that,” she tried to tease, but Hale just ran a hand through his hair.
    “I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I tried to pick the lock. Have you ever tried to pick Eddie’s locks? They’re…unpickable. So I…I’m sorry about the window.”
    “Hale, what’s wrong with you?”
    “I haven’t been to bed. I mean, I tried to go to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I’m hungry.” He opened the refrigerator but barely glanced inside before slamming it quickly shut. “Are you hungry?”
    “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
    Then something seemed to dawn on Hale; a light filled his eyes, and he was moving toward Kat, taking her hands in his and saying, “Not in Rome. You know that little bakery you like so much, I bet it’s open. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
    “Hale, I need to talk to you.”
    “I don’t want to talk. Come on, Kat. Let’s go get croissants in Paris.”
    “I thought you wanted to go to Rome.”
    “We can do both. We can do anything.” He pulled her closer. “You know you love me in a beret.”
    And there he was—Hale. The real Hale. Smiling and dipping her low in the middle of Uncle Eddie’s kitchen, ready to kiss her like she was the heroine in a black-and-white movie. Gone was the coolly indifferent boy on the street, the vacant shell standing in the corner at the funeral. He was back.
    I stole him once, Kat thought. I could do it again. All they had to do was pack a bag and call a cab, jump on a jet and disappear. It could be like it was before Argentina.
    “We can leave right now.” Hale squeezed her hand. “Marcus will meet us at the airport. Just—”
    “Marcus,” Kat whispered.
    “Yeah,” Hale said. “He’ll take us anywhere we want to go. How about Hawaii? We can be on the beach in time to watch the sun come up.”
    And then Kat pulled away. She forced herself to walk to the other side of the table, needing a barrier—something to keep her from grabbing his hand and running out the door.
    “I saw Marcus today, Hale. Did he talk to you?”
    “No. He’s been staying with his sister. She and my grandmother were very close.”
    “I know,” Kat said. “He told me.”
    It felt like she hadn’t seen Hale in days, and she wanted to fill him in on these strange encounters that she’d had with a boy who looked vaguely like him—to tell him about Marcus and Marianne and the search for a lost will that might or might not even exist. Kat wanted to tell him everything, but try as she might, she couldn’t get the words to come, and the longer she stood there, the more Hale’s smile faded until, finally,
he sat down at the table and ran his hand along the old wood.
    “You’re not going to run away with me, are you?”
    Kat shook her head. “Not tonight.”
    “That’s a shame.” He drew a long breath. “This time I think they’d notice.”
    “They noticed last time.”
    “You’re right.” He gave a low, dry laugh. “But this is the first time they’ll care.”
    “Hale—”
    “Hazel disinherited my parents, Kat,” Hale finally said. “My aunts and uncles, too. Sure, she gave away some jewelry and some paintings—the houses. But she didn’t give them a single share of Hale Industries.” He huffed. “Ever since Hazel got sick, that’s all Dad has been able to think about. His mother was dying, and all the man could talk about was how hard it was going to be to buy his brother and sisters out of the company.”
    Hale took a deep breath. “She disinherited everyone,” he said, as if trying to convince himself that it was true. “And she gave it all to me.”
    The moonlight sliced through the broken window and across his face. He