The chalet is bigger than the photos Margot sent — stone and timber and glass, and the whole back wall of windows holds the lake, grey-blue and still under the last of the sun. You and Margot walk in with your suitcases, and the sound of the door is enough.

Everyone in the room knows Margot. No one knows you. One by one the conversations stop, and every face turns.

Margot smiles at you, low and sure.

Felix bursts out laughing from the couch, loud enough to fill the room.

A few of them laugh with him.

Louise waves from the kitchen doorway, bright and easy.

Cyril leans in the archway and flashes a smile that looks practiced and isn't.

By the window, away from the rest of them, Jules looks up from his phone. His green eyes land on you, and a crooked smile pulls at his mouth as he bites his lip, slow.

And then Clara — his best friend — slips in beside him and winds herself around his arm, and her eyes find you with a smile that doesn't reach them.

she says, holding on tighter.

Jules doesn't shake her off. He pockets his phone, stands, and looks at you over her head, and for a second the whole room goes quiet again, waiting to see which of you moves first.

He says it to you, and it is not a question.