“I found a few bottles of champagne hidden away at the farmhouse. Let us drink to the liberation of France.”

The cork was held on by a wire cage to keep it from popping out. When she removed the cage, it still didn’t pop. “Let me show you something. It’s a trick my father used to do, back when he . . . in happier times.”

She drew out an odd-looking short saber. Hank didn’t bat an eye. How quickly he had come to trust her, more deeply than he had ever trusted anyone.

She held the bottle in one hand with the cork facing away. “Each bottle has a very subtle seam,” she said. “Can you see it?”

“Not really. It’s getting pretty dark.”

“Give me your hand,” she said.

“Gladly.” He loved the feel of her dainty hand covering his. She guided his finger over the smooth glass surface until he felt a slight ridge.

“The seam must be facing up. Then you take the saber and . . . just watch.” In a quick, decisive movement, she slid the blade up the neck of the bottle. With a loud crack, the cork flew free, and a froth spewed onto the floor. “Et voilà,” she said.

Hank was both startled and delighted. “Well, how about that. Never seen anything like it.”

“I have only one cup.”

“I’ll gladly share with you, Lisette.”

She poured, and lifted the glass. “To France—and to the Allies who will make us free again.” Then she took a drink and handed him the cup.

He was amazed by the taste of the champagne. “Holy moly,” he said. “That is probably the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Like drinking the stars,” said Lisette. “That is how Dom Pérignon described it.”

An impulse took hold of him and he leaned forward, took her face in his cupped hands, and kissed her.

She looked as stunned as he felt when he pulled away.

“I lied,” he whispered, still holding her face between his hands.

“About what?”

“When I said the champagne was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Because it’s not. You are. You are the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.” He kissed her again, more briefly, entranced by the sweetness of her. “Like kissing the stars.”

He was so crazy about this girl. What if he persuaded her to come back to the States with him after the war? What if he brought her home to Vermont as his war bride? What if they settled down and made a life together?

She finished the cup of champagne and poured another. When half of that was gone, he kissed her again. So sweet. He wanted to hold her in his arms forever.

Then she pulled back, regarding him with tears in her eyes. “Hank, this is not possible.”

It was as if she had read his mind. “Don’t say that.” He touched a finger to her soft lips, still damp from champagne. “I love you. I’m completely in love with you.”

She began to cry. “Hank, don’t. You cannot. I . . . There is something I must explain.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I could listen to you talk all day.” Even a small amount of champagne made him giddy, probably because it felt so good to tell her what was in his heart.

“I am married. I have a husband.”

He instantly pulled back. Jesus. His heart sank, weighted by shock and disappointment. A husband? How could this young, beautiful girl already have a husband? “I’m real sorry, Lisette. If I’d known, I would never be so disrespectful. Not in a million years.”

That only made her cry harder. Her tears hurt him a hundred times worse than his bum leg. “What can I do to make it up to you? I wish I could take back the words. I’m so stupid . . .”

She gently placed her hand over his, and even that small gesture made his head spin. The tears shone like silver on her face. “Ah, Hank. Your words are beautiful, and I will cherish them always. Never think that telling me you love me is the wrong thing to say.”

“But . . . you’re married.”

“I did not marry for love, and once it was done, I never dreamed anything would change for me. You brought this change, Hank. A wonderful, terrible thing is happening to us. I love you, too.”

For a moment, he thought he’d heard wrong. “What? Did you just say—”

“Yes. I love you with all my heart. I know I shouldn’t, but my heart doesn’t listen.” She used a corner of her apron to dab at her tears while a bittersweet smile curved her lips. She drank more champagne, then handed him the cup. “It’s so impossible. At the same time, when I’m with you, I can believe anything is possible.”

“But you’re married,” he repeated. He couldn’t picture it. He couldn’t imagine her in some other life, with some other fellow.

She nodded. “It is . . . not like this.” Again, she took his hand, studying their linked fingers. “Not like you and me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he took his hand away from hers. “Tell me. I want to understand.”

Her expression turned grim. “Marrying Didier was not my choice.”

“That’s his name? Didier?” Hank tried to conjure up an image of the sort of man she would marry, even though she didn’t love him.

“Didier Palomar. He is a rich man, older than me, the mayor of Bellerive. His first wife died young, and he wanted another to give him an heir. My family was in great trouble when I first met him. Both of my brothers were dead, and my father had suffered an accident. He will never walk again.”

Hank had never known such a loss. He could only imagine what it felt like for the families here, struggling through the losses and shortages of war. “I’m so sorry, Lisette.”

“Didier was generous and kind at first. He seemed like a decent man. He promised that if I married him, he would keep my parents safe at Sauveterre.” She paused, twisting her hands in her lap. “I never loved him, but I believed marrying Didier was a small sacrifice to make in order to save my parents from having to beg. Marrying him seemed . . . I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought . . . Ah, none of that matters now, does it? It’s done. My mother told me that love would come when the babies came. There have been no babies.” She drank more champagne. “Didier blames me. And that is not even the worst thing about him. The worst is that he is a collaborator, a member of the Milice, doing the Nazis’ dirty work. I feel such horror and shame when he terrorizes my friends and neighbors, ransacking their homes, betraying them to the Germans, having them dragged away in front of their families. And there is nothing I can do to stop it.”

“I wish I could put my arms around you and hold you close,” Hank said.

“Then you should do just that.” Without hesitation, she set down the cup and moved into his embrace, fitting herself into the curve of his shoulder. “Does this hurt your ribs?”

“No,” he whispered. “Not at all.”

She framed his face between her hands. “I cannot stop this. I cannot stop what I’m feeling for you, Hank. It is supposed to be a sin, but all I feel is love, every moment since I met you. And that in itself is a miracle, because I never thought I would know what it feels like to truly love a man with all my heart, and to have a man truly love me.”

And with that, she straddled him so that he could feel the sweet warmth of her, and they kissed again, and this time, the kiss was different—deeper, more lingering. It was the kind of kiss that led to an intimacy that touched him like fire. He groaned in the back of his throat and lifted his mouth from hers, and it felt like the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

“Your leg,” she whispered against his mouth.

“It’s fine. You’re not hurting my leg. Or my ribs, or anything else. But, Lisette—”

“Shh. I want this, Hank. I need this. I need to know that I can feel again, that love is not just an illusion I read about in Toselli’s books.”

“It’s real, Lisette. I love you, and I’m sorry your family’s having such hard times. I wish I could make things better for you. I swear, I’d do anything to help.”

“This is helping,” she said, holding his gaze with hers while she unbuttoned her blouse.