Chapter One
“You can say I told you so.”
J.X., eyes closed, smiled.
It was midafternoon on Thursday—or was it Friday? Anyway, we were lounging on the terrace of our Tuscan villa.
The air smelled of crushed rosemary, sun-warmed terracotta and baked earth. I studied the grove of olive trees sloping away from the villa in orderly rows, leaves flashing dull silver whenever the dry summer breeze stirred. Beyond the trees, the hills folded into one another, blurring into shades of green and gold that made it hard to judge distance.
A long way from San Francisco, that was for sure.
I listened to the sounds—the odd sizzling of cicadas, the distant toll of a church bell drifting up from the village—and glanced back at J.X.’s profile. His mouth was still curved, but it was a contented smile, not smug.
