All too soon, summer was over. Between the municipal elections and the exhibit project, Mat had hardly found two weekends to drive to the coast to take a dip in the cool waters of the Channel—once with Cécile and another time with Rob. Vacation plans had been canceled, which suited Cécile just as well, considering all the litigation cases she had to prepare over the summer. So they stayed in Baleville, promising themselves to take a nice long holiday over Christmas and go someplace faraway and exotic.

It would do us good to go someplace faraway.

Mat shut his laptop, turned off the lights, and tiptoed to the bedroom at one in the morning. Lately, he’d gotten into the habit of preparing for bed around eleven, and then working for a couple more hours in the study. That way, he could sneak into bed in the wee hours of the morning without waking Cécile up.

It worked like a charm every time.

Except tonight.

As he lifted the end of the blanket, Cécile stirred and fumbled for the night lamp switch.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said.

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. Must’ve had too much coffee.”

He climbed into bed and lay on his side, facing her.

Touch her, he told himself. But his arm remained motionless by his side.

“Mat, you’ve been working like crazy on this exhibit project over the past three weeks.”

“It’ll be less intense once all the contracts are signed and the conversion works begin.”

“I doubt it. Are you done with politics?”

“No, of course not. I just . . . I need some time to recover from the defeat, to rebuild my self-confidence.”

Cécile sat up and gave him a pointed look. “You should get your priorities straight. While you’re ‘rebuilding your self-confidence,’ opportunities have come and gone. You’ve already missed the European Parliament elections.”

Mat sat up, too. “It would’ve been unrealistic.”

“Maybe. But you can’t afford to wait too long. The regional and the cantonal elections are next year. You need to get back in the ring.”

He sighed. She was right. As always.

Cécile cocked her head. “You’re still hung up on that waitress, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t seen her since our conversation after the election results.”

“I know that. What I don’t know is if you’re over the whole stupid thing.”

He looked down at his hands.

“So sleeping with her didn’t help?” she asked.

He stared at her in surprise. “I haven’t slept with her. We’ve . . . fooled around, but that was it.”

“Then go do it, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you see how this fixation has been distracting you from the important stuff? From your career, your goals?”

Mat’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Wait a second. Slow down. Are you saying you’d be OK if I slept with Jeanne? Are you giving me leave to do it?”

“Absolutely. Not only will I be OK, it’ll be a good thing for both of us. You’ll get what you want and then lose interest in her. And I’ll get . . . a reprieve.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “You know what. Unfortunately, you have needs that . . . overwhelm me.”

His mouth curled. “I don’t have any unusual needs—”

She wasn’t listening. “So, please, do have a bit of fun with your waitress. You’re welcome to see her every time you’re in Paris. Just keep it discreet. I deserve that much.”

He suddenly didn’t know what to say.

Cécile was looking at him, a benign smile on her face, clearly expecting some kind of gratitude for her grand gesture. But he didn’t feel any. What he felt instead was resentment. Yes, he was still mad about Jeanne, and yes, he still craved her. Rejecting her offer a month ago and staying away from her ever since was one of the hardest things he’d done in his life. A real achievement, a feat of self-restraint.

So yeah, he was as desperate for her as ever.

But he didn’t want to use her.

He wasn’t the kind of man Cécile was casting him to be.

He didn’t want to be that man.

* * *

It had been a surreal night. At around two in the morning, Jeanne woke up to yelling, thumping, banging, and other sounds of a fight turned ugly. When Liviu screamed, she ran over without bothering to pull a sweater over her pajamas.

She pounded on Daniela’s door. “Open up! Open up immediately, or I call the cops right now!”

To her surprise, Daniela opened the door, looking shaken but unharmed. Giving Jeanne a funny look, she stepped aside and let her enter the loge. The first thing Jeanne noticed was Liviu, rushing in from the kitchen with a glass of water in his shaky hands. He didn’t take it to Daniela, but ran around the dining table instead. Jeanne followed him and saw Nico prone on the floor.

He was perfectly motionless.

“Shall I pour it over him?” Liviu asked his mom.

Daniela nodded.

Liviu emptied the glass over Nico’s head.

Nothing happened.

“He’s breathing.” Daniela told Jeanne.

“Did he hit his head?” Jeanne asked, kneeling next to Nico to inspect him.

“No,” Daniela said.

Jeanne took his pulse and sighed in relief. He wasn’t dead, just passed out.

Thank God.

Then Daniela’s reply sank in. “Oh my God. Did you—?”

Daniela nodded. “When he raised his hand to hit me, I punched him the way Dominique taught us.” She chortled nervously. “Turned out to be a little too effective.”

“Are you sure he’s alive?” Liviu gave Jeanne a doubtful look.

“Positive. Let’s see if we can make him come to without calling the firemen,” Jeanne said as cheerfully as she could manage and slapped Nico’s cheeks.

Nothing happened. She shook him a little, and then slapped his cheeks again.

She went on like that for a few moments, until she heard a faint groan.

Nico opened one eye halfway.

“You did it!” Daniela shouted in relief, rushing to his side. “Liviu, fetch another glass of water, quickly!”

They pulled Nico into a reclining position and propped him against a pile of cushions. He opened his other eye and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Is he drunk?” Jeanne asked.

“Wasted.”

Liviu arrived with the water and was about to give Nico another cold shower when Daniela snatched the glass from his hand.

“This one goes into the mouth,” she said with a faint smile.

As he drank and looked around, Nico’s expression turned from blank to wild-eyed, and then to bleak. “You hit me?” he half asked, half stated, trying to focus his gaze on Daniela.

“Yes,” she said, her fists clenched.

He turned to Jeanne. “I’m a b-b-battered man now. Why aren’t you calling the cops?” He snorted, mumbled something under his breath, threw his head back, and laughed uncontrollably for a good five minutes.

After he was done, Nico stood up on shaking legs and declared he was leaving.

“Where will you go?” Daniela asked. “The métro is closed, and you can’t walk to your place like this.”

“I’ll take the night bus.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took a few unsteady steps toward the door.

“Nico, wait! Stay here until dawn. You shouldn’t—”

“You’re not telling me what I should or shouldn’t do,” he snapped.

Daniela lifted her chin. “Fine. Go! I don’t care if you get mugged or run over.”

Nico turned to Liviu. “See you around, kid.”

And he was out the door.

When Daniela stopped by the bistro the following afternoon, Jeanne took her aside. “Any news?”

Daniela nodded excitedly. “I called to check on him this morning. He didn’t answer. I called again, every fifteen minutes, until he finally picked up around noon.”

“Did he get home safely?”

Daniela shook her head. “He blacked out about twenty meters from our building and woke up at the hospital. They’re going to keep him under observation for a couple of days.”

“How do you feel about all this?”

“That’s the weirdest thing, Jeanne.” The young woman suddenly beamed. “I feel proud. I landed my boyfriend in the hospital with a small concussion, and I feel proud of myself.”

“I can’t blame you,” Jeanne said with a grin.

Daniela’s face grew serious. “As soon as he’s out of the hospital, I’ll tell him we’re finished.”

“I’m so glad to hear it!”

“I . . . I may still have feelings for him, but I know they’ll pass. I won’t have Liviu witness another fight.”

She paused and added with a mischievous smile, “Regardless of who batters whom.”