already troubled you far too much—”
“Then a little more won’t matter.”
“But—”
“Seriously, it’s no trouble.” He went in the back, where dim bluish night-lights illuminated the area. Toby the cat was alert but seemed content in her crate. She had plenty of water. Brutus, the beagle, was sound asleep and snoring loudly. The other cat, Clementine, sat methodically grooming itself.
Noah detached its nearly empty water bottle. “Did you see her, Clem?” he whispered. “Can you believe my luck? I won the girl-stuck-in-the-ditch lottery.”
The cat blinked at him, then lifted a forepaw and started grooming it.
“Yeah, high fives to you, too,” Noah said. Sure, an accident had brought Sophie to him. But maybe fate had a hand in it, too. The most gorgeous woman in the galaxy, a woman who called him “my hero,” was going to be moving in across the road from him.
All right, so he was probably reading too much into a chance encounter. But what the hey. Han Solo wouldn’t hesitate to make the most of the situation. She was beautiful and had made a point of telling him she was single. And she had kids. Noah loved kids. He’d always wanted a houseful. His last girlfriend had left him over the issue of wanting kids. Now here was a woman who already had some.
He washed up at the sink, reminding himself not to get ahead of himself, something he had a habit of doing. Fate had dropped a golden opportunity in his hands. Now it was up to him to see what this might become.
Noah was pretty sure he’d never met anyone like Sophie Bellamy. He wondered who she really was, besides some guy’s ex-wife. He wondered where she had come from and what had driven her here in the dark, in the middle of a snowstorm, and if the desperation he glimpsed in her eyes was something that should worry him.
Part Two
One month earlier
Epiphany
An epiphany is a sudden realization, insight or rebirth, often brought on by a life-altering event.
Originally from the Greek for “appearance” or “manifestation,” Epiphany is a Christian feast, also know as Twelfth Day, as it is the twelfth day after Christmas. Traditionally, this coincides with the visit of the Magi. The day is marked by feasting and celebration.
Gougères
Gougères are airy French cheese puffs that originated in France, and are traditionally served this time of year with champagne dry, not brut.
1 cup water
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup flour
4 large eggs
1 1/2 cups coarsely grated Gruyère cheese
Preheat oven to 375°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place the water, butter and salt in a saucepan and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to moderate. Add flour all at once and beat with a wooden spoon until the mixture pulls away from side of pan.
Transfer mixture—known as pâte à choux—to a bowl and use an electric mixer to beat in the eggs, one at a time. If the batter is too stiff, add another egg.
Stir the Gruyère into the pâte à choux and drop by tablespoons, about one inch apart, on the baking sheet. Bake for about twenty-five minutes, or until golden brown. Serve warm.
Two
The Peace Palace
The Hague, Holland
6 January – Epiphany
The shiny black limousine glided to a stop in front of the carved-stone Gothic building, its blocky silhouette cutting into the false glow of yellow fog lights. A hard rain peppered the roof of the Citroën with the tinny sound of birdshot.
Behind the bulletproof glass windows of the passenger compartment, Sophie Bellamy performed one final check of her hair and makeup and snapped her compact shut. She tucked her evening bag into a cubby in the armrest. With security so tight at the palace these days, it was just simpler to enter the building with nothing but her prescreened credential card and the clothes on her back.
When she’d first started attending functions at the Peace Palace, she used to feel naked without an evening bag. Now she’d grown used to spending a formal evening without lipstick or comb, a set of keys or a mobile phone. Such things were forbidden in the interest of security.
Tonight, cautious measures were warranted. The recent decision rendered by the International Criminal Court on war crimes, a case that had consumed two years of her life, was controversial and apt to incite violence.
The limo took its place in a line behind a few others and waited its turn. Sophie used to be consumed by excitement when she attended ceremonial events, but now they had become routine. It was amazing how accustomed to this she had grown. Drivers and security agents, a couture wardrobe and smiling dignitaries, translations whispered into an earpiece—all were commonplace to her these days.
Guests were being shuttled to the outer guard gate under black umbrellas, their corrugated shadows reflecting silver-black on the cut-stone surface of the Paleisplein. She’d been told to expect media coverage of the event, but she only saw one windowless news van, its bedraggled crew setting up the requisite thirty meters from the building. Despite the historic significance of tonight’s event, despite the fact that Queen Beatrix herself would be in attendance, the occasion would go unnoticed by the world at large. In America, people were too busy watching the latest Internet video to tune in to the fact that the geography of Africa had just changed, thanks, in large part, to Sophie herself.
Her phone vibrated—a photo and text message from her son, Max: white sand beach and turquoise sea with the caption “St Croix awesome. Dad & Nina getting ready 2 tie the knot. Xoxo!”
Sophie stared at the words from her twelve-year-old. She’d known today was the day, though she’d been trying not to think about it. Her ex was on a tropical island, about to marry the woman who had stepped into the shoes Sophie had left vacant. She gently closed the phone and held it against her chest, trying to quiet the feelings churning inside her and gnawing a hole in her heart. Not possible. Not even tonight.
André, her driver, turned on the hazard lights to signal that he was about to exit the vehicle. He adjusted the flat cap of his uniform. His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. A native of Senegal, André had never been a fan of the weather in Northern Europe, particularly in January.
A sudden squeal of tires and a sound like a gunshot erupted. Without
