Page 101 of The Spy Keeper of Marseille
An eternity later, laughing and swiping at her cheeks, Zelie ushered them all upstairs. She hugged her mother, and they were soon sitting with their heads together, Lizette quizzing her on the pregnancy and how she was feeling, how she’d managed everything while parrying morning sickness and exhaustion. Marcel lingered for a moment in the doorway between the flat’s living area and kitchen, unable to wipe the smile from his face.
“Marcel!” Elise threw herself toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He chuckled and hugged her back, more than a little shocked at the warm reception. He hadn’t honestly expected her to remember him, given the long separation and the relatively short period he’d been a part of her life. Certainly he wasn’t expecting her to welcome him as part of her family, not just a piano teacher, without some time to adjust. “Bonjour,Elise. Look how big you’ve gotten!”
She beamed up at him, Zelie’s blue eyes bright in her face. “Marguerite said you’re mybeau-père.” At his nod, she squeezedhim tight. “I’m going to call you Pappa. Blaise said I should ask you first, and that I only want to because I don’t evenrememberour real pappa, but he’s wrong. I decided when we were all in Marseille that I wanted you to be my father and Tante Matilde to be my othergrand-maman, not a pretend aunt and...” She paused, brows drawing together. “If that’s all right.”
“Sweet Elise.” He blinked, but it did little to clear his eyes of the tears of gratitude that threatened. “I would be honored if you called me Pappa. Honored to claim you as my daughter.”
Her grin returned. “Wait until you hear what I’ve learned! I can play Mozart’s Sonata in C Major now.”
Chuckling, he tapped a fingertip to her nose and nodded toward the battered upright against the drawing room wall. “Well, what are you waiting for? Serenade us.”
He grinned as she scurried to the instrument. And turned to find Blaise at his side. Gaze so solemn.
Marcel’s shoulders went tight. Elise could have rebuffed him, yes, but he’d long hoped and prayed that if she’d remembered him at all, it would be fondly, for those piano lessons, for the doll his mother had given her. Blaise, though... Blaise was on the brink of manhood. And though they’d parted with respect between them, what wouldhethink about welcoming a stepfather, of having a new baby in the family so soon after their reunion? Thoughts that had plagued him, that he’d given time and again to the Lord.
Blaise stretched out a hand. “Marguerite and Henri told us everything, when they visited,” he said. His voice was a full octave deeper than it had been when last they’d met. But it was the same thoughtful, proud, selfless look in his eyes. “What you did for Maman—claiming to be Alliance’s leader, nearly getting killed for it. How you’ve protected her at every turn.”
Marcel took his stepson’s hand, held it between both of his. “As I promised.”
Blaise shook his head. “When I asked that of you—I didn’tmean you should die in her place. But the fact that you would have, that you’d have sacrificed yourself for her...”
Marcel swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I love her, Blaise. I hope you know that.”
Blaise nodded. “I know. And I’m glad—just as I’m glad that she loves you. I’m glad you’ve been together, that she wasn’t alone.”
“Never. Never alone.” Marcel let their hands fall apart, glancing again toward where Zelie and Lizette laughed together on the sofa, their faces turning toward the piano as Elise launched into Mozart.
Blaise shifted too, to take in the scene. The boy’s lips tilted into a crooked grin. “You know she’s not going to settle down to being a typical housewife after all this is over, right? She might think she will. Might manage it for a month or two. But it won’t last.”
Blaise was right. Perhaps, eventually, life would calm after the Allies routed the last of the Nazi army all the way back to Germany. Eventually, they wouldn’t jump at every knock on the door. But she wouldn’t rest, that brilliant wife of his. She’d just set her gaze on the next challenge.
Rebuilding the France she’d sacrificed everything for, the France whose freedom she’d been critical in reclaiming. And he’d be right there, as always, by her side.
Laughter in his throat, Marcel pulled Blaise in for a one-armed hug. “Of course it won’t. She’s a shooting star—she can’t stay still for long. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
