She shook her head slowly. “No. It doesn’t. You won’t be there either, and I think Pilar needs a break from me. Not to mention…” Her voice drifted off.
“My mother?” Marc asked. She nodded. “I see. Well then, ma chère, you will be here all alone.”
Dammit, why didn’t he ask her to go with him, to commute between Athens and Paris. For a wild moment Deanna thought of suggesting it to him, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go. He liked to be free when he worked. He would never take her along.
“Can you manage alone?” he said now.
“Do I have a choice? Do you mean I could say no and you wouldn’t go?” She turned her face up to his.
“You know that’s not possible.”
“Yes, I do.” She was silent for a time and then shrugged with a small smile. “I’ll manage.”
“I know you will.”
How do you know dammit? How do you know? What if I can’t? What if I need you?… What if…
“You’re a very good wife, Deanna.”
For a brief second she didn’t know whether to thank him or slap him. “What does that mean? That I don’t complain very much? Maybe I should.” Her smile hid what she felt and allowed him to dodge what he chose not to answer.
“No, you shouldn’t. You are perfect the way you are.”
“Merci, monsieur.” She stood up then and turned away so he would not see her face. “Will you pack yourself, or do you want me to pack for you?”
“I’ll do it myself. You go to bed. I’ll be there in a while.”
Deanna watched him dart around his dressing room, then disappear downstairs, to his study, she assumed. She had turned off the lights in the bedroom and was lying very still on her side of the bed when he returned.
“Tu dors? Are you asleep?”
“No.” Her voice was husky in the dark.
“Bon.”
Good? Why? What did it matter if she were asleep or not? Would he talk to her, tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry he was going? He wasn’t sorry and they both knew it. This was what he loved to do, gad about the world, plying his trade, enjoying his work and his reputation. He adored it. He slid into bed, and they lay there for a time, awake, pensive, silent.