She supposed that was why, when she had crossed paths with Michel alone in the cellars one evening nearly three months earlier, fueled by loneliness and despair, she had silenced the doubts in her head for a few seconds and reached up to steal a single forbidden kiss. Electricity had shot through her whole body, her lips tingling with the taste of him. She’d known it was wrong, of course, but Michel was as alone as she was, and she had seen the hunger in his eyes when he looked at her lately, the desire. Still, what had she done? “I’m so sorry,” she had begun, mortified as she backed away. “I should never have—”

But Michel had pulled her to him immediately, lacing his fingers through her hair and kissing her deeply. “My God, Céline,” he’d murmured. “I’ve been waiting so long to do that.”

“But Theo and Inès . . .”

“. . . are not the people we thought they were,” he said firmly. “Céline, don’t you feel it? This connection between us? I’ve known for so long that I love you. Don’t you feel the same?”

She’s felt breathless, buoyed with hope for the first time in years. Tears in her eyes, she whispered, “Yes.” A week later, they’d made love for the first time, alone in the cellars, and Céline had known there was no turning back.

Now, her heart full of things she knew she’d regret, she waited until Theo fell asleep before slipping out of bed and out the back door with a lamp.

The coolness of the cellars enveloped her as she quietly descended the winding stone steps and made her way toward one of the caves in the back, down the long hall, right, left and then right again down a narrow passage. In the back of the cave was a room partially obscured by a brick wall, a room no one would notice if they weren’t looking for it. There was a blanket on the floor there, hidden between two enormous rows of racked bottles, and she sat down, pulled it around her, and waited.

She sat there for almost an hour, and had just begun to panic when she heard footfalls on the stone floor leading toward her hiding space. She stood and squinted into the darkness as a shadowy figure appeared at the entrance to the cave, lamplight surrounding him like a halo.

“Michel.” Relief flowed through her. “Thank God. I was worried about you.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” He made his way into the room, kissed her on both cheeks. “Inès wanted to talk, and—”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” In fact, Céline did not want him to. Just thinking of Inès, hearing her name on Michel’s tongue, made her feel terrible. When Inès had tearfully apologized earlier for suspecting Céline of having an affair with Michel, it had been all she could do to stop from throwing herself at Inès’s feet and telling her everything: the fact that they had already begun their affair, the fact that she had been helping Michel with his underground work for two months now. The fact that she was painfully, irreversibly in love with him.

“Céline,” Michel breathed, and this time, he kissed her on the mouth, long and deep. “I must tell you something.”

She realized for the first time that his clothes were rumpled, his expression heavy with guilt. “Michel, has something happened with the network? Please tell me it’s not Madame Gaudin.” Céline had grown fond of the tough middle-aged woman who had become their point of contact in the past few months. By day, she was the stout, hearty housewife of an unsuspecting vigneron. By night, she was a crusader who slipped from hiding place to hiding place with rifles concealed beneath the folds of her dress. Just a few weeks ago, she had been stopped by a German sentry while hiding six long guns, and the man hadn’t suspected a thing, had merely waved her on in disgust when she began babbling about pig manure and fertilization. She had laughed about it for twenty minutes that night as she’d helped hide the guns in a Maison Chauveau barrel bound for the north.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Michel said. He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s Inès. Céline, I’m sorry, but I had . . . I had relations with her tonight. I had to.”

“Oh.” Céline took a step back and her breath caught for a moment. But she had no right to be hurt, did she? He was married to Inès, for goodness’ sake. And perhaps the other woman was turning over a new leaf. Maybe this was a sign that Céline should put a stop to their affair. But she couldn’t.

“Céline—” Michel began.

“No, you don’t have to explain,” Céline said. “You did nothing wrong.”

“But you are the one I love.”

“And she is the one you married.” Céline smiled through her tears. “And that puts you and me on the wrong side of things, doesn’t it?”

They stared at each other for a few moments, and just as Céline had finally summoned the courage to say the words she needed to say, Michel spoke. “It’s time, Céline.”

“Time?”

“For the drop.” Michel studied her face. “Are you sure you want to help with this? I’m still reluctant to put you in danger.”

Céline hesitated for only a second before nodding, her heart racing. Since Michel had finally agreed to let her help him with his underground activities in August, she had worked only in the caves, receiving arms shipments brought in by Madame Gaudin and a man known only as Le Renard, the Fox. Michel said it was safer that way, that if anything went wrong, she could claim she’d merely been working with the wine in the cellars. But she had been begging to do more for the cause, and finally, the night before, Michel had agreed, saying that he might need a hand with something. He hadn’t told her what they’d be involved in, though.