When he doesn’t, I squeeze his hands back. “Blaise, please. Who was it? Who is he really working for if it isn’t me?”
He presses his lips together grimly. “He’s working for my father.”
The words don’t sink in. Not at first.
But then they do.
And then I know how fucked I really and truly am.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BLAISE
The look on Seraphine’s face is enough to bring me to my knees, if I weren’t already sitting on her bed beside her, her hands in mine.
I knew it was going to hurt when I told her the truth.
I also knew the moment I saw my father I had no choice but to tell her the truth.
I’m a traitor to my family in this moment.
And yet I don’t see I have a choice.
“Your father?” she whispers. “Jones is reporting to him?”
I nod. “I don’t know how it happened. But it looked like he and Cyril were long-lost pals. Maybe your ex-husband sold you out right away. Maybe he didn’t know and Jones was already on my father’s payroll.”
“No,” she says bitterly, looking at me with war in her eyes. “No, it wasn’t a coincidence. I called Cyril asking for help, and he went immediately to your father. He ratted on me.”
Revenge.
Cyril’s admission rings inside my brain. But there’s no point in sharing that with Seraphine. She knows. Only a pathetic excuse for a human being like Cyril would take revenge against his ex because he was the one who got caught cheating.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and I’m not sure she knows I mean it. “I know this is hard. You trusted someone and he betrayed you.”
Her gaze sharpens. “This is on me. Cyril betrayed me before, I was stupid to think he wouldn’t do it again. I should be used to it by now. He’s not the only one to break my trust.”
From the way she says that, I know she’s taking a shot at me. Maybe it’s a shot I deserve. Maybe this is the time to finally discuss what happened between us.
“Why are you telling me all of this, anyway?” she goes on, squinting at me.
“Because you have to know the danger that you’re in.”
It sounds dramatic but it’s true. It’s one thing to go snooping around, trying to uncover evidence against my father based on a hunch. It’s another thing to get tangled up with a dangerous thug on my father’s payroll.
She rubs her lips together uneasily. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing, if you pay Jones and if you drop this whole thing.”
“But I’m so close to the truth, Blaise,” she says, leaning forward with pleading eyes. “I have to be. There wouldn’t be this pushback if I wasn’t. I’m on the right track.”
I’ve put off thinking about this seriously for too long. I look away, not sure yet what to say or believe, though I know what my gut would say if I dug a little deeper.
“You know I’m right,” she adds. “I can tell. You know in your heart what your father and brother are capable of.”
“I don’t think Pascal killed your father,” I tell her. “I just don’t see it.”
“Brotherly love, huh?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “There is no love lost between Pascal and me, because there never was love between us. You know that, Seraphine. You’ve been there. You’ve seen how I grew up. You know how I was treated.”
“I don’t know what I know,” she says, looking away and giving me a tired sigh. “The boy that I knew . . . that all turned out to be a lie.”
“I never lied to you,” I say adamantly. “All those times I confided in you, I never lied. You were the only one I thought who understood me.”
“Oh, so that’s why you came on to me, told me you wanted me, wanted to be with me, then acted like I didn’t even exist!” she snaps, fire in her eyes. “You broke my heart, Blaise!”
And there it is. Her words about what happened so long ago have the ability to break mine.
It’s a blessing and curse to be reminded how much one can feel.
“I was young and I was stupid, but none of what I said to you was a lie,” I tell her sternly, hoping she can read the sincerity in my voice, see it etched on my face.
“You’re full of shit. It’s fine, Blaise, it is. I’ve gotten over it. I’ve learned my lesson.”
I let go of her hands and put my palm against her cheek. “I fucked up because I panicked. I did the only thing I thought I could do. I had to pretend that nothing was going on, I had to act like a dick to you, because if I didn’t, then they’d know.”
I can tell she wants to move her face away from my hand, but so far she’s letting me touch her. Her skin is so soft, so warm, I’m losing all sense of self.
But let’s be honest. I’m not sure who I am most days to begin with.
“Who would know?” she asks.
“Pascal. My father. They’d know.” I pause. “The night that we . . . the night that we were on the bed, when we got up, I saw Pascal standing at the door, looking at us.”
Her eyes go wide and shining. “What? He saw us! And you didn’t say anything?”
My cheeks burn hot with shame. I was an idiot back then for keeping it to myself. “I thought it would make things worse. And I couldn’t be sure if he saw us or not.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said. I saw him, okay? He might have seen everything, might have heard everything. Or maybe he didn’t. I wasn’t going to risk it by having an affair with you, my cousin, from the side of the family my father hates. And yeah, we were young and we could chalk it up to being stupid, but if my father had ever found out . . .” I brush her hair behind her ears, and she seems to stiffen at the gesture.
“I don’t understand,” she says, eyes closing. “You could have told me. You could have talked to me.”
“I know what I should have done. But I did what I thought was best.”
She opens her eyes, and there’s a world of hurt swimming in them. Disappointment. Regret. I’ve wrestled with those feelings for the last nine years. Just knowing what could have been if I hadn’t acted the way I did.
“You could have reached out to me.” She reaches for my hand and gently places her palm on top. Then she wraps her fingers around my hand and removes it from her face. I bring my hand to my side, feeling the distance grow. “There was so much time.”
“And said what? You didn’t want to see me again.”
“Because you acted like a monster to me.”
“Do you really think if I contacted you and tried to explain, you would have listened to any of it? You’re not exactly a calm, levelheaded person, Seraphine. You’re a fucking firecracker. You would have hung up, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
“You should have tried.”
“Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. Maybe I was afraid that you’d just reject me anyway.”
“You were afraid of me rejecting you?”
“You were just seventeen. I was the one pushing you.”
“You weren’t pushing me,” she says quietly.
“I was. Because I knew that’s the only way I could have you. Wear you down. If I stepped back, you would have stepped back too. I know you. You have too much pride to be the one who puts herself on the line. You want to feel wanted. You need it. You wanted me to chase you until you surrendered.”
Her eyes roam around her bedroom as if I’m boring her, but I know she knows I’m right. I’ve got her pegged.
“Well, you stopped chasing,” she eventually says, her voice so low and light it’s barely more than a whisper.
I lean in close, my face inches from hers. “Did you want me to keep chasing you? All this time?”
She presses her lips together and doesn’t say anything.
“Did you want me to still think about you at night, to wish I could touch you, to get off to thoughts of your lips on my body?”
I�
��m pushing now and pushing hard, needing a reaction, needing this conversation to go somewhere, anywhere, even if I don’t like it.
“I forgot how crude you can be,” she says, her tone sharp, her eyes even more so.
I grin at her. “I don’t think you forgot at all. I think it’s what your mind fixated on all this time. What I had promised to do to you. I think whenever you were having sex with Cyril, it was the only thing that got you wet.”
“You’re a pig,” she says with a sneer.
“You bring it out of me.”
“And I should be flattered, is that it?”
“Yeah. You should be. You’re the only one for me, Seraphine. There has never been anyone else.”
She frowns, scoffing. “That’s a lie.”
I’m staring at her lips now, wondering how long I can hold off, wondering how badly I’ll fuck things up if I kiss her. “It’s not a lie. After you I kept my distance and I bided my time.”
She’s beautiful when she’s confused. “What are you saying? That you . . . no, that’s impossible. You were with plenty of women.”
I give a slight shake of my head. I’m not ashamed of any of this. “I wasn’t. I dated some, discreetly, but . . . I wasn’t physical with them.”
Her eyes nearly fall out of her head. “Oh my God. Blaise, why? I mean . . . have you seen you?”
I’m unable to suppress the smile. I know I’m good looking, and it’s not a matter of modesty. It’s just fact when the media reports on this worthless shit your whole life. But to hear her say it . . .
“I never felt anything for them,” I admit. “No one measured up in that way. No one else was you.”
“Blaise,” she says softly, looking demure. “We didn’t even sleep together.”
“I know. But it doesn’t matter. What I felt for you, what you did to me, body and soul, I was never able to find in anyone else. Not even close.” She swallows, licks her lips, her eyes wavering with something I should expose. “You raised the bar. All the women I had before you were erased, and after you . . . there was just no point.”
“So you just . . . were celibate? All this time?”
I nod. “It was easier that way. Fewer complications. Sure, people thought I was gay, but let them think that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of anyway.”
“And so . . . I mean, I dated. I got married. You knew I did. I invited you to the wedding. You should have known that . . . that . . .”
“That I wouldn’t have a chance again?” I fill in. “No. I didn’t believe it. I decided to be patient. I decided to wait for you.”
“Wait for me? But that’s ridiculous. You’ve given me no sign. Instead, you’ve acted like you hate me, especially at work.”
“Patience is a virtue, as they say. Even though virtues aren’t always my strong suit.”
She looks down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You can just believe me. You can take my word for it. And if my word won’t do . . .”
Impulsively, I lean in to kiss her, something I knew I was going to do tonight, no matter what happened.
But she’s fast.
Her hands are up against my chest, pushing me back, my lips so close to hers.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she says, her voice loud and firm, even if it trembles a little.
“That’s what you always said.” I search her eyes, trying to get a feel for her. I know she’s scared, of many things and not just me. But if she could only see . . .
“And then maybe it was never a good idea. You kiss me and then what? I sleep with you?”
“Yes.”
“And after that?”
“I keep fucking you.”
“Until the end of time?”
“Something like that.”
“We can never be together, Blaise,” she says, like frustration is rolling through her. “I know you understand that.”
“But it doesn’t mean we can’t try.”
“No,” she says and suddenly gets up to her feet, walking out of the room. “No. I can’t do this. I can’t handle this,” I hear her cry out as she heads down the hall.
I get up and run after her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her right up against me, and she opens her mouth to protest and then my mouth is on hers, swallowing her words.
I kiss her with everything I have, every bit of anger and frustration and the years of lust and pining and wanting. I should be more gentle after the night she’s had, but I can’t help myself; in fact, I think I’m seconds from turning into an animal as I hold the back of her head and press my hand at the small of her waist, keeping her pressed as close to me as possible.
She gasps. “Blaise,” she says, trying to pull away, but I won’t relent. Not until she sees that I’m done waiting for her, that she needs to be with me, now more than ever.
I kiss her until she kisses me back.
Her tongue slides across mine, hot and fevered and—
She pulls back, gasping for breath, and slaps me across the face.
Whack.
Fuck me, that hurt.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says. “What are you doing? What am I doing?”
Her face is red with anger, perhaps even shame. I mean, my cheek is stinging from her powerful wallop, but even so, I expected it. She’s always been the type of woman to put you in your place. But I didn’t expect her to slide so easily back into hating me.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been dreaming about that,” I tell her, trying to control myself. “Don’t pretend that you haven’t wanted that, wanted me, all these years.”
“The only thing I’ve been dreaming about, Blaise, is getting justice for my father. That’s it. That’s all that matters. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re no better than the rest of them.”
Anger pokes at me, building up inside. “Hey,” I say, my inflection razor sharp. “I risked my neck tonight for you. I saved you from a bad situation. And more than that, I let you know the truth. I chose you over my family.”
“And I’m choosing not to trust you,” she says. “You’ve given me no sign over the years that I mean anything to you at all. Why should I believe you now? Why do that when it might derail everything I’m working on?” Something comes over her, a flash in her eyes, as she’s realizing something. “This is all a setup, isn’t it? This is just something that Pascal is having you do, just like you followed me. You’re supposed to tell me all this shit, all this nonsense about wanting me and staying celibate like some joke and waiting for me, and it’s all a lie to get my guard down. If you’re telling me I’m in danger, it’s because you’re putting me there.”
I knew she’d go this route at some point, but even so, it stings. “That’s not it at all. Seraphine, please, I’m serious.”
“You just want me to back off because I’m close to the truth,” she says, shaking her head wildly as the idea takes over. “For all I know, every single thing this evening that’s come out of your mouth has been a complete lie, all to throw me off.”
I run my hands down my face, trying to squash my frustration. I knew this was coming, and yet that tiny coal of hope was always burning inside. “That’s not true,” I mutter into my hands, but I know when she gets like this that there’s no changing her mind.
“Get out,” she says.
I look up to see her opening the door and gesturing for me to hurry up.
“You’re making a big mistake by not trusting me,” I tell her.
“And I don’t take threats very well. Get out, and if I see you around me again . . .”
I almost laugh. “You will see me again. At work tomorrow.”
“Right. I almost forgot that you’re taking over my job.” She runs her fingers under her eyes and sighs so defeatedly that leaving her feels like a crime.
“It’s not like that,” I tell her.
“Just go,” she says quietly, holding open the door and looking away, like she can’t be bothered to f
ace me.
“You know where to reach me, if anything happens,” I tell her as I walk past and out into the hall.
“If anything happens, you’ll be the first one I’ll blame,” she says to me.
Before I can say anything in response, she closes the door in my face.
Later that day I wake up feeling like shit. I have a headache from the lack of sleep I got from staying half the night at Seraphine’s, my knuckles are all cut and bruised, and it’s snowing.
It’s not the nice kind of snow, either, not the kind that blankets Paris in white flakes and looks like a postcard. It’s dirty, wet snow that the traffic on the Champs-Élysées churns up and splashes everywhere, the snow that gets your shoes wet and chills you to the bone.
I’m running late to work because of the snow and my headache, and I park around the corner from the office. I’m only a few strides from my car when I run into Pascal, clothed in a thick wool overcoat.
Smoking a cigar.
At nine thirty in the morning.
“What are you doing?” I ask, expecting him to walk alongside me to the office. “Acting like a mob boss already?”
But he doesn’t follow. He calls after me, “You can stop following Seraphine now.”
I stop in my tracks, almost slipping, then turn to face him. My heart has started to pick up the pace in my chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. Stop following her.”
“But why?” I walk back over to him, keeping my coat closed tight against the blowing wet snow. “You haven’t even asked me how it’s been going. What I’ve seen.”
“Okay. Then what have you seen?”
Now this is where it gets tricky. Pascal is uncannily good at picking through lies, so I have no choice but to tell him the truth.
“A lot. She’s been meeting with her ex-husband and someone else.”
“Oh really?” he asks before taking a puff. He blows dark smoke into the air. “Do tell.”
“I don’t know. It looked pretty suspicious.”
So far, not a lie.
“Uh-huh,” he muses. “Well, thank you for that. But we’ve found out some things on our own, and we’ll be handling it from now on.”
I blink at him, my veins running cold. “What things? Who is ‘we’?”
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