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There was a lull in the music as the DJ took a 15-minute break. Most people congregated in one of two places: the patio for a smoke or the kitchen to fill up on munchies and drinks. I was in the kitchen watching Jude and Slick. They slipped outside from the family room, so I quickly darted out the kitchen door. I greeted a couple of our friends by the firepit, casting frequent glances across the patio.

Jude and Marcel were off to the side in the shadows sitting side by side, crosswise on one of our loungers. After a couple of minutes, Jude stood and turned to face the asshole, leaning over and no doubt giving him a clear view down the front of her dress. She then laughed. I could hear the faint sound of her giggles from where I stood watching. She turned and sauntered, unsteadily back into the house.

Marcel waited about sixty seconds and was on his feet heading to the door. I caught him just before he opened it, with a hand on his arm. He seemed surprised to see me.

“We need to talk, Slick,” I said.

“What’s your problem, man?” he asked harshly, no trace of a French accent in his voice, as he jerked his arm away from my grip.

“Problem?” I asked, “No problem. Not yet, anyway. Let’s have a quick chat.”

He glanced inside then stepped back. I indicated a patio table and pulled out a chair for him. “Sit. This won’t take long; then you can go back to what you were doing.”

Reluctantly, he sat. “It’s your home, and I am your guest,” he said as he emptied what was left of his wine, the French accent reappearing.

“Où en France As-tu grandi?” I suddenly asked him where in France he grew up. He stared at me. I let fly more French than I’d spoken in years. I looked it all up first to make sure I had it close enough. I told him that I’d studied French for several years and could converse pretty well. I said that we could speak French if he wanted. I watched him sweating as I spoke.

“J’ai étudié Français au lycée et au Collège pendant plusieurs années. Je ne dirais pas que je parle couramment, mais je peux converser adéquatement. Allons-nous parler Français, s’il vous plaît?”

“Your accent so bad I cannot understand half of what you are saying,” he said dismissively, then added in French, “Mais, si ça te fait te sentir grand dans le pantalon, on peut parler Français.”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought he said we could speak French if it would make me feel big in the pants. Asshole. Well, so maybe he does speak French. That doesn’t make him French.

“So, I can see you and Jude have developed a special relationship,” I said.

He shrugged. “Jude is a beautiful woman and a good soul. She is an excellent student and will make a fantastic yoga instructor. Did she tell you I have asked her to be my assistant instructor and help manage my studio?”

I admit his words shocked me. Jude hadn’t said shit. I tried not to let my surprise show, but failed.

“Oh, I guess she hadn’t told you,” he said with a smirk. I wanted to punch him and wipe the smirk off his face.

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After their nap, Keith and Maddie stopped in the hotel restaurant and ordered black coffee. He looked around the café as they waited for the coffee to be delivered. A man in a gray suit too small for the width of his shoulders sat at a nearby table and seemed never to take his eyes off of them. Another man slouched near the entrance to the café reading a newspaper. A young man stood in the lobby engaged in texting on his cell phone. Two women sat at a sidewalk table sipping coffee and talking...

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