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caught up in it, as trapped as her mother had been, as she still was.
    “They fought over your mother?” he asked. His face said he’d guessed as much already.
    “Yes.”
    Stated simply, it held less power somehow.
    “You look like her,” he continued. He had no way of knowing that, yet he’d not asked, but stated it. “And like your grandmother,” he added.
    “ Like both,” she replied. “Not like my mother at all when you place us side-by-side, but separate us and people will say I am her.”
    “I saw the resemblance between your grandmother and you earlier,” he said. “And so this is her game.”
    Cerise tilted her head. “We are a game?”
    He nodded. “Yes. She’ s put us together to excise some … demon … left in this house.”
    It made sense. She hadn’t considered it.
    “So what should we do?” she asked. “Ignore each other? Go our separate ways?” That seemed the bent of his remarks. He hadn’t wanted to be trapped here, and so why would he want to please her grandmother?
    His lips curved upward in a teasing smile. “Hardly. I don’t believe in curses or superstitions. I do believe in using my eyes. They have served me well, and though your grandmother may have had an additional motive, they brought me here.”
    “So what does that mean?”
    He stood to his feet. Lifting the shirt, he hung it back over the bed post. “It means, you owe me a swim so I can use my eyes to stare at you.”
    Her cheeks warmed. “Was your father this bold?”
    He flicked her a glance, the playful smile still on his lips. “I haven’t any idea, but let’s say he was. And let’s say you and I make use of this day to do whatever it was your grandmother expects of us.”
    “What is that? Kiss?”
    He laughed. “You asked, and so I’ll consider it.” He held out his hand, and she took it, rising from the bed. His boldness settled. Curling her fingers in his, his next words emerged soft, almost inaudible. “Not that there’s much to consider.”
     
    ***
     
    “Mrs. Delacroix will not be with us for lunch today.” Mimi, the maid, said. She set a plate in front of him and moved away.
    Andre stared at the dish in amazement. When did a five course meal become the standard for lunch between two people? “Does she usually …” he began.
    “Miss lunch?” Cerise finished his thought.
    He lifted his gaze. “I was going to say, ‘Invite people and avoid seeing them,’ but your version will do.”
    “Sometimes. I frequently eat alone.”
    He stared at her, more questions rising in his head. “Why doesn’t your mother live here?”
    Unfolding a cloth napkin, Cerise laid it in her lap. “She’ll never set foot on this island until the house burns down.”
    “Until? She expects it then?”
    Cerise dipped her chin. “ It’s part of the curse.”
    Back to that. He snorted.
    “You said you don’t believe in curses. Can I ask why?”
    “Do you read the Bible, Cerise?”
    She’d taken a bite and so paused to swallow, wiping her lips. “The Bible? A book of old stories, much like this house.”
    “A book of truth , real events, like this house,” he said. “Jesus came to earth, born of a virgin. He lived a life healing the sick, preaching forgiveness and blessing the poor, then died a cruel death for the very people who hated him.”
    “Sounds like a fable to me,” she said.
    He let her statement sit in the atmosphere and ate several more bites. “A story proven true in the lives of His followers, then and now.”
    She seemed to think about that. “Say I believed, what has that to do with curses?” She didn’t believe, her bearing told him that.
    “The apostle Paul said, ‘ Christ has redeemed us from the curse, being made a curse for us.’ In essence, that He died to lift the curse from us. It holds no power now.”
    She was silent for a minute, then laid her fork down on the edge of her plate. “You don’t believe in the devil, in evil, or karma.”
    “ You get what’s coming to