I was about to leave when Charles Delacroix came out to the garden. “How do you stand the heat?” he asked me.

“I like it,” I said.

“I would have guessed that about you,” he replied. Mr. Delacroix sat next to me on the bench. “How goes the medicinal-cacao business?”

I told him I’d run the idea by the powers that be at Balanchine Chocolate and that it had been roundly and unceremoniously rejected.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charles Delacroix said. “I thought it was a good concept.” I looked at him. “You did?”

“I did.”

“I would have thought you’d think it was a cheat.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand much about lawyers. We live for the gray areas.” He nodded and stroked his beard. “We live in them actually.”

“You ever gonna shave that thing off? It makes you look like one of those park people.”

Charles Delacroix ignored me. “I imagine the idea was threatening to your cousin Sergei, or ‘Fats’—word on the street is that he’s the one running the semya now? I’m horribly out of touch, but I do try to keep up. And he probably said that the Balanchine business model was based on the idea of illegal supply which, of course, is true.”

“Something like that.” I paused. “You always think you know everything, don’t you?”

“I don’t, Anya. If I did, I’d be giving speeches downtown instead of at a graduation party. As for your cousin? I can predict his response because it’s thoroughly predictable. He’s a guy who was promoted through the ranks, a guy with his own speakeasy. Yes, I know about that. Of course I do. What you said would terrify a guy like that.”

None of it mattered much now.

“Do it anyway,” Charles Delacroix said. “What?” I stood up from the bench.

“It’s a big idea, maybe even visionary, and those don’t come along every day. It’s a chance to really change things, and I believe it could make money, too. You’re young, which is a good thing. And thanks to me, you know a thing or two about chocolate. You’ll have to tell me all about that trip to Mexico someday.”

He knew about Mexico? I tried to keep my face expressionless, but I must not have succeeded. Charles Delacroix smiled at me.

“Anya, please. I practically put you on the boat, didn’t I?” “Mr. Delacroix, I…”

“Make sure you hire a good security team—that wall of a woman is a fine start—and an even better lawyer. Mr. Kipling won’t do. You’ll need someone with an expertise in civil law and contracts and such—”

At that moment, Win came out to the garden. “Is Dad boring you again?” “Anya was telling me about her plans for next year,” Charles Delacroix said. Win looked at me. “What plans exactly?”

“Your dad’s kidding,” I said. “I don’t have any plans.” Charles Delacroix nodded. “Well, that is a shame.”

Win defended me. “Not everyone goes to college right after high school, Dad. Some of the most interesting people don’t go to college at all.”

Charles Delacroix said he was aware of that fact and that there were many ways in life to get an education. “International travel, for instance.”

After Charles Delacroix went back inside, Win commented, “I’m amazed you can even be civil to him after everything he’d done to us last year.”

“He was just doing his job,” I said.

“You really think so? You’re more forgiving than I thought.”

“I do.” I stood on my tiptoes and leaned in to kiss him. “Worst mistake I ever made, falling for the acting DA’s kid.” I pulled away. “But you were wrong to pursue me.”

Win kissed me. “Very.”

“Why did you anyway? Pursue me, I mean. I’m pretty sure I kept telling you to go away.”

Win nodded. “Well, it’s simple really. The first time I saw you, you were dumping that tray of spaghetti—”

“It was lasagna,” I interjected. “Lasagna. Over Gable Arsley’s head.” “Not my finest hour.”

“From where I was sitting, I liked the looks of you. And I liked that you stood up for yourself.” “That simple?”

“Yes, it was. These things usually are, Annie. It had become clear to me that you and your boyfriend had parted ways. I knew you’d be in Headmaster’s office at the end of the day so I contrived a reason to go there myself.”

“Admirably duplicitous of you.” “I am my father’s son,” he said.

“Was it worth it? You did end up shot.” I put my arms around his waist.

“That was nothing. A flesh wound. Was it worth it for you? All the trouble I caused you. I feel almost”—he paused—“guilty sometimes.”

I thought about this. Love.

There were so many kinds of love. And some of them were forever like the kind I had for Natty and for Leo. And other kinds? Well, you’d be a fool if you tried to guess how long they’d last. But even the ones that weren’t necessarily everlasting were not without meaning.

Because, when it came down to it, who and what and that you loved was your whole life. And when it came to love, it could not be denied that I’d received more than my portion: Nana, Daddy, my mother. Leo, Natty, Win, even Theo. Scarlet. Scarlet.

I furrowed my brow.

“You’re making a face,” Win said.

“I just realized that I’m going to have to forgive Scarlet.” I looked at Win, and he looked at me.

“What I mean to say is, I’m going to have to ask her to forgive me.” “I think that’s sensible.”

“I liked your speech today,” I said.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “You really don’t want me to stay in New York?” “Of course I want you to stay … I just don’t want you to end up hating me.”

“I ouldn’t end up hating you. It’s as impossible for me as slamming a revolving door. I’ll walk you and Natty home.” He picked a bloom from the trellis and then he tucked it into my hair. Summer was here.

MY FATHER HATED THE SUMMER because summer was the worst time of year for dealing chocolate. The heat made distribution like running a gauntlet. A train delay or a malfunctioning refrigerated truck could mean that entire shipments were spoiled, i.e., melted. Daddy always said that people lost their taste for chocolate in the summer anyway—that chocolate was a cold-weather food, that people would rather have ice cream or even watermelon in the heat. The cost of shipping, expensive at all times of the year, was even more exorbitant in the summer. According to my father, the one thing that could have significantly eased the summer months was if it had been legal to create chocolate stateside: “Sure, we can’t sell it here, but why do they care if we make it?” I knew that Daddy often fantasized about Balanchine Chocolate going on hiatus from May through September. But as soon as he’d said this, my father would shake his head: “Not to be, Annie. If we force people to go three months without chocolate, they might lose their taste for it altogether. The American buying public is as fickle as a teenager’s heart.” I was not yet a teenager, so I didn’t bother taking offense at this analogy.

Though it was June, I was not thinking of any of this. My most immediate concern was helping Natty pack for her second summer at genius camp. I was in the middle of rolling a T-shirt when the phone rang.

“Did you hear the news?” He didn’t bother to introduce himself but I was more practiced at recognizing Jacks’s voice than I had once been.

“Phone calls are expensive, Jacks. You shouldn’t waste your weeklies on someone who doesn’t want to hear from you.”

Jacks ignored me. “Word on the street is that Balanchine Chocolate isn’t going to supply chocolate in the summer anymore. Fats thinks it’s too costly. He’s saying that he thinks chocolate should be a seasonal business. The dealers are about ready to kill him.”

I told him that Daddy had often said the same thing, and that seasonal or not, it wasn’t my business.

“You can’t be serious. Fats is running the business into the ground, and you don’t think it’s your business. Let me tell you, you backed the wrong guy with Fats. The only thing that guy cares about is his speak—”