by Chloe Liese
I glanced at my watch and swore under my breath. I was late. Maman would have something to complain about after all. Anxiety knotted my stomach as I picked up my pace.
Being with my parents was always difficult, but I had an odd foreboding that today’s meeting would be particularly unpleasant, not that any reunion was ever truly enjoyable. Maman and Papa had divorced when I was thirteen and still managed to bicker as if that was their business, not wealth management for France’s most elite.
As I arrived, they glanced up from their corner of the outdoor café. Maman peered back down at her menu without a further word, which wasn’t unusual. Papa stood and smiled as I approached.
“Sorry I’m late.” I pecked Papa on the cheek. “Maman,” I said. She gave me her cheek and stayed seated.
“At least you’re here,” she said briskly. “I was about to excuse myself for the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in just a minute and then we’ll talk.” She and Papa exchanged a look, before she spun and strolled away in heels as high as mine and a fitted dress that revealed how little Maman allowed herself to eat.
Papa pulled out a chair for me and pushed it in once I sat.
In their own respective ways, they’d greeted me too warmly. Maman had let my tardiness go. Papa was being practically attentive. When I’d asked if we could meet for a mid-morning coffee rather than lunch, they’d been amenable.
There had to be ulterior motives.
“You look well, mon ange.” Papa dropped to his seat, his muscular frame filling the chair. He lifted the menu that was so tall it mostly obscured his face, and signaled the waiter.
“Thank you, Papa.” I shifted in my chair a little and stared at his profile, trying to read him. I’d given up on expecting either of my parents to be actively engaged in my life, but whenever I was in Papa’s presence, I was always reminded I loved and missed him.
“You’re staring at me, doudou.” Papa flicked down the top of the menu and leveled me with a piercing sapphire gaze that mirrored mine. “What is it?”
“It’s just odd, Papa. I haven’t seen you since…” I sighed, wracking my brain. “I don’t even know since when.”
A flash of remorse tightened his features before he averted his eyes quickly and resumed reading the menu. A server approached the table, setting down a pastry and both Maman’s and Papa’s cups as I murmured my request for coffee.
“Your maman and I have been building an empire, Elodie. It is rather time-consuming, you know.”
They’d decided to divorce but still run a company together. How two people could make each other miserable enough to end their marriage yet agree to work together baffled me.
I accepted the excuse and wished the coffee I’d ordered could be wine instead. Alcohol always dulled the sharp edges of their presence. “Papa, I wasn’t criticizing, just saying that this is unusual.”
Papa glanced up at me. “Elodie, have you been…have you been lonely?”
“No, Papa. I’m used to doing things on my own, being alone.”
“But it’s not good for you to be alone as much as you are.” Papa tossed away the menu and sat up. “You’re getting older. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down and find a partner for your life? Someone to share the journey with, the responsibility of the business?”
This was an odd conversation. He’d never cared about my relationships before. “What are you talking about?”
Papa sipped his coffee, then set it down and spun the cup on its saucer. “You’ve grown quite lovely, Elodie. You’re intelligent, beautiful, cultured. You could have any man you want. You’re also close to thirty, and I just wonder why you’re so decidedly isolated.”
“I’m not isolated,” I objected. “I’m frequently alone, but those aren’t the same things. I have friends, people I love and care for.”
“But no man to love and care for you,” Papa countered.
“I don’t need a man in my life,” I said tartly.
Lucas’s voice filled my traitorous head. The lady doth protest too much.
I rubbed my temples, hoping to exorcise him from my mind. If Lucas had made it any clearer he was immune to my charms, I’d have died of mortification. Didn’t mean I didn’t still find him ridiculously attractive. Smart, gorgeous. Witty and perfectly teasing. Chivalrous and kind. So temptingly tall. Completely unaware of how alluring he was. God, he was perfection—well, except for being English, but all of us have our flaws.
And all we’d ever be was friends, unless he suddenly decided he saw me as a sexual creature rather than an irritating little sister.
“I don’t need a man to be happy,” I reiterated. “Besides, finding the person who’ll be my best friend and lifelong love doesn’t happen overnight. I have no plans to settle for just any man with a fat bank account who can navigate the upper echelons of society.”
Papa stared into his coffee and frowned. “Elodie…such romantic notions. There are many reasons to marry. Not all of them are for love or even friendship.”
I stared at Papa in bewilderment. “What reasons are those?”
As if on cue, Maman returned. She sat down elegantly in the seat and picked up her café crème. After a sip of it, she set it down and regarded both of us. “What have you been discussing?”
I glanced at Papa, but he wouldn’t look at me. Something passed between him and Maman as he dropped back in his seat, flushed and irritated.
Maman’s cool brown eyes slid my way, assessing me as she sipped her coffee. “Elodie, your color is high. What is it, chaton?”
Confusion tightened my face. She hadn’t called me that since I was little. “Papa and I were discussing reasons for marriage.”
She smiled slightly, and it seemed genuine. “What about it? Go on.”
“Papa said I should think about trying to settle down, find a man.” I glanced over to Papa again, but he refused to look at me. “That I should marry for reasons beyond love and companionship.”
Maman’s smile remained frozen, but the scrutiny in her eyes was unsettling. “And what did you have to say?”
My noisette was served, and I bought myself some time, sipping the delicious bitterness of espresso cut with a splash of rich milk. Finally, I answered quietly, “I told him that I would only want to marry the love of my life rather than settle for someone convenient but with whom I have no connection.”
Maman’s eyes flicked to her menu as she picked it up. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I said uneasily, glancing between them both. “Why? Is there someone you wanted me to meet? You’re not matchmaking, are you?” I laughed and a snort snuck out.
Papa cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Enough, Simone. Just tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
Maman glared at Papa. “I should have known you wouldn’t be man enough to just come out and say it. You always try to take the soft way, the roundabout way. It never works, Georges, never.”
Papa slammed his hand on the table, causing me to jump. Maman didn’t even blink, as if outbursts like that were a regular occurrence. For all I knew, since I hardly ever saw them together, they could be. And this was the fruit of my mistake. I’d ruined them. Our family. Their marriage. They’d once loved each other, I could swear it. When I was little, they were tender and affectionate; they’d smiled and doted on Adrien and me. But that’s when it changed. After Adrien.
“Elodie,” Maman snapped. “Pay attention.”
I directed my focus back to her. “Y-yes, Maman. What is it?”
“Your father and I have spent the last year courting a lucrative deal—a partnership that would vastly expand all the growth and accomplishments we’ve achieved these past twenty years.”
Maman clasped my hand. “Your papa and I want to begin your career at Bertrand with this deal—teach you to apply everything you’ve studied to our company’s operations. Mentor you and groom you for the role you’ll play overseeing all that we’ve built.”
I glanced down at her pristine h
ands, those glittering rings. “Maman, I…I don’t know what you’re saying. Why are you and Papa talking about settling down? And this deal? It doesn’t make sense.”
Maman smiled slowly. Her nail traced softly over my ring finger as our eyes met. “We need someone to close this deal, and you’re the only one who can, Elodie.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple, really,” she said. “You’re well aware that our biggest competitor has been Leroux for a decade now. We’re at each other’s throats, the only threat to each other with every deal we pursue. Your father and I are tired, Elodie. We’re ready to live our life, enjoy all we’ve worked to give you.”
I frowned, trying to follow her train of thought.
“So,” she said, reaching for her coffee, “we struck a deal with them. The Lerouxs are ready to settle down as well, make it easier for everybody involved.”
“Wait.” I glanced between my parents. “You’re going to merge with them? Surely, you’d be a monopoly. Won’t regulators prevent it?”
Papa’s eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing.
Maman waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not your problem to worry about. We’ll ensure that they have no such issue—”
“Maman, you’re not going to bribe them, are you?”
“I thought you said they gave you an education at university, Elodie.” She sighed and set her coffee down. “This is how it goes. Now, back to the point—none of this is even possible, unless you are willing to step into your role in our company’s future.”
“And what is that?”
“Future leadership of The Betrand-Leroux Group—one of Europe’s largest and most elite private investment firms. At your fingertips would be a portfolio of unprecedented prestige. Elodie, we are giving you the world.”
Dread filled my stomach. “But I have to do something, don’t I?”
“I knew there was a little bit of me in you, Elodie,” Maman said as she gamely pinched my cheek. “Oui, chaton, you do.”
“What is it?”
Maman’s eyes, cold and brown like the Seine in winter, bore into me greedily. “You need to solidify our families’ ties. That is their only stipulation. Their son, Joseph, is two years your senior—he’s handsome, wealthy, but not terribly business savvy. It’s not his interest. He likes the life but not what it takes to have it. Whereas you, you’re a bit of a wreck on the outside, but clearly our child—business is your oxygen. The deal is this: Joseph is the face of the company, you run it. Once you two marry, the deal is complete.”
A deafening roar filled my ears as I fell back in my chair. My heart pounded in my chest as I choked on my shock. “Maman, I…I can’t marry someone I don’t even know, who I don’t love.”
“You absolutely can.”
“No!” I yelled, drawing a few stares. “No,” I repeated, this time quietly.
Maman cupped my cheek, and I flinched. “You know, Elodie, sometimes I think you really are very beautiful, even when you sulk. You remind me of Adrien, when I told him he was too old for his beloved blanket.”
Tears welled in my eyes and spilled over. Her thumb stroked my cheek tentatively.
“It was sweet because he was my baby boy—young and childish.” Her hand stilled as her gaze locked with mine. “That weakness in you, Elodie, is not so becoming. You’re a woman, not a girl.” Her palm lifted, then connected with my cheek with a force that split the difference between a slap and a pat—harsh and unkind, but not so violent as to be damaging. “Start acting like one.”
I leaned out of her touch, indignation boiling inside me. “This is what women do? Let themselves be sold in marriage to close a business deal? This isn’t the Middle Ages, for Christ’s sake!”
“I’m well aware what century we live in, Elodie, and I am telling you, you will do this, because it is the only way.”
I shook my head violently. “Never!”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed. Maman’s expression turned to steel. “How can you be so heartless? Where is your gratitude? What have your papa and I given you except everything you needed every step of the way? I ask one thing—one thing of you—and you dismiss it without even a moment’s consideration.”
I stared at her in disbelief, telling myself I must be dreaming this. Nobody asked this of their child, did they?
“Maman, you’re telling me I must barter myself for a business deal. That I must shackle myself to a loveless marriage so you and Papa can retire early? This isn’t a favor you’re asking of me— it’s my life!”
Tears blinded me, and I blinked them away, knowing that crying was weakness in Maman’s mind. I glanced over to Papa, but he stared resolutely at the ground. “Papa? Why are you so quiet? Say something.”
He glanced up at me and sighed, silent before her fury, as he had been so many times before. A sob crawled up my throat. I held it back, taking a deep steadying breath.
“Elodie,” Maman said. The breeze whipped her brown curls dramatically about. Even as she hurt me, a tiny sliver of my heart held her in awe and wonder. My mother—ma mére—imposing, beautiful, and vicious. How could you love someone when they were ripping out your heart?
“You listen to me. You have two choices. Either you will do what I ask of you—marry Joseph Leroux and become the next partner and future of Bertrand—or you will leave our life, and you will leave it with nothing.”
Papa sucked in a breath and sat up. “Simone. That is not what we agreed.”
“Quiet,” Maman snapped. “I only agreed to that to placate you. You idiot, you actually thought I’d let her get away with this? After everything we’ve done for her, and we ask her this one small thing—”
“It’s not a small thing!” Papa said sharply. “It is a monumental demand to make of her, Simone. I agreed to ask her to consider it as an option, but never to threaten her.”
“Well, thankfully, I hold majority ownership and can make exactly such a decision, Georges. Elodie needs to acknowledge that she is nothing without us, and that the life she has been afforded does not come without a price—”
I stood abruptly, shaking as tears ran down my face. “I have a plane to catch.”
Maman glared up at me. “And where are you going?”
“To London. For Jamie’s baptism.”
My parents both stared at me quizzically.
“Nairne’s son, my godson.” Why I would even expect them to know or care showed how foolishly I still held affection for them in a naive corner of my heart. I yanked the handle up on my suitcase and dabbed my cheeks.
“Well, you’re not going,” Maman said. “You’ll stay, and we’ll sort this out right now, Elodie. Sit down, for goodness’ sake. You’re making a spectacle.”
I shook my head. “I’m going. I have a commitment, a promise to my friend that I will honor, and you cannot—”
“Walk out of this café,” Maman said, voice low and malevolent, “and don’t bother coming back.”
Papa opened his mouth and then shut it, staring at me with so many emotions in his face that I couldn’t read.
“Then, here’s your answer,” I whispered.
The shock of what I was doing reverberated through my body. For the first time in my life, I turned my back on both my parents and walked away.
Three
Elodie
My commercial flight to London was delayed. I’d be cutting it close to the baptism if I waited for the new flight the airline put me on, so I used my parents’ private jet—without their permission and to their significant personal expense—because they could fuck themselves, after what they’d asked of me.
The flight was fast, a little over an hour, and as I rode a taxi to Nairne and Zed’s home in Bloomsbury, the morning’s conversation played on a loop in my brain. I was in shock. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, even knowing they cared for me as little as they did. No one in the twenty-first century asked their daughter to marry for business, did they?
I couldn’
t do it. I wouldn’t do it.
Mercifully, when I got to Nairne and Zed’s house, they were in the throes of readying the house for the event, and I made an excuse of settling into my guest room. After pacing around the room, wishing I had a soccer ball to boot seventy yards down the field, a piano to bang out some angry Mozart, or a really complex math problem to distract my mind, I settled for showering while humming Rondo alla Turca and doing insanely long division in my head. That helped marginally. Math always calmed my mind. Math and music. They were the same thing really, intervals and counts, measures and frequency. There was order and beauty to them both. They made sense of a world that felt indiscriminately painful and disordered too much of the time.
Somewhat settled, I changed into the dress I’d bought for the occasion—dusty rose, with a soft, fluttering, one-shoulder sleeve. It hit right above the knee, and I stepped into sky-high ivory Louboutins, all financed by my parents. Suddenly I wanted to burn everything I was wearing. To scrub my skin clean of their touch.
How had I got here? Nearly twenty-seven, just recently done with graduate studies, no career experience except for internships and years battering my body on a pitch. While a footballer, I’d had to spread my university learning over a much longer time while I played. But despite that, I had graduated top marks and attended a world-class business school, HEC Paris for business management. I wasn’t an absolute failure. Yet I’d been floundering, trying to find the courage to tell my parents I hated wealth management, that I wanted to revolutionize workplaces, teach companies to broaden their searches, diversify their workforce, and build business cultures that were truly inclusive. Instead of finding a backbone, I’d waffled and stupidly relied on my trust fund, until I found the “right time” to be honest with them.
I knew how I looked to the outside world—privileged and spoiled. But receiving my parents’ money was receiving the only kind of love they could give me. If I rejected that, I lost my last tether to their already thin affection. Money was a startlingly accurate approximator for what I meant to them—it was the sum total of our relationship. Instead of conversation and time spent together, I was compensated when I was compliant, docked when I was not. Which had grim implications for my future, given how I’d behaved today. I was an investment, one which would be divested when I proved not to be paying dividends.
