The Palace (Chateau Book 4)

by Penelope Sky

  Gilbert was right behind him. “Sir, what are you doing with that?”

  They walked out the front doors, and I followed them.

  The small paintings were already lowered out of the truck, wrapped in brown paper, and the men were just taking the enormous painting out of the truck. It took twelve men to do it.

  Gilbert halted. “Uh, sir. Where on earth is that going to fit?”

  Fender ignored him. “Leave it here.”

  The men looked confused because Fender had just asked them to drop the painting on the cobblestone driveway.

  Fender held the can and flashed his eyes with irritation. “Now.”

  They gently set it on the ground, and then the truck drove away.

  Fender started to pour gasoline all over the painting.

  Gilbert literally gripped his chest as if he might have a heart attack. “What are you doing?”

  Fender left the empty container on the portrait then lit a match.

  “Sir!”

  He tossed it on top—and it burst into flames.

  Gilbert ran down the steps. “Have you lost your mind? This painting cost you a fortune. It’s going to stain the cobblestone.” A chicken with his head cut off, he ran to the painting and started to give orders to the men to put it out. “Get the hose!”

  “No.” Fender slowly walked away from the flames, like the blazing heat didn’t bother him in the least. He did what he wanted, and now that he was done, the urgency was gone. He moved up the steps, eyes locked on me. “Let it burn.”

  Ten

  Winner

  Fender

  I stepped into her bedroom and found her seated in the living room.

  In the evenings, she worked on her French. Her textbook was open along with her notebook, and she taught herself when Gilbert wasn’t around. She improved with every passing week, able to carry on short conversations in French.

  She turned to look at me over the back of the couch when she heard me, her straight hair shifting like panels of a curtain. In her nightgown, she had her ankles tucked under her ass with her notebook on her lap. The fire burned low in the fireplace, just simmering coals at this point.

  I walked around the couch and took the seat beside her, eyes hypnotized by the way she looked in the gentle firelight. Her cheeks were brightened by the glow, her eyes glimmering like diamonds. In silence, I stared at her, still offended that another woman had ever been declared as the most beautiful. In the present or the past, it didn’t matter. Melanie triumphed over any other contender.

  She broke eye contact and closed her notebook. Her little thumb clicked her pen so the ink wouldn’t run everywhere. Everything was set on the coffee table before she turned her gaze back to me.

  “Alexander is coming to paint your portrait tomorrow.”

  Her eyes shifted back and forth subtly. “Do you think he’ll still do it if he knows you destroyed his painting?”

  “It’s none of his business what I did with it. Transaction is complete.” I turned my chin forward and looked at the dying fire. “Ugliest painting I’ve ever seen.” I watched the red color underneath the destroyed logs, glowing bright with incredible heat.

  Her hand moved to my thigh.

  All it took was a touch, her slender fingers on me, to give me that rush of blood to the head. My anger was usually easy to maintain because I was always mad, and I never forgave. But it was impossible to hold on to now. She pulled me under, took me back to a peaceful existence that was quiet like the falling snow. My heart was incapable of resisting her. My eyes incapable of not feasting on her beauty. Nothing in the world softened me the way she did.

  Fucking nothing.

  I turned back to her, seeing her blue eyes burn a little brighter when my gaze came back to her.

  “Make love to me…” Her pretty eyes pleaded. Her fingers kneaded. Her lips parted for an anxious kiss. Her words wrapped around me like an invisible string, binding her to me forever.

  My stare lasted several seconds, immersed in the moment, the invisible heat between us, the connection between our souls. We were star-crossed lovers—she was my Juliet. If she died, I’d die.

  I lifted her petite body as I rose to my feet and carried her to the bed. She was set at the edge, and I kept one arm around her waist as I lifted her and pulled off her panties. My hand bunched up her dress above her belly button, and I kissed her soft skin, tasting the swell at the bottom of her breasts.

  She instantly started to breathe hard, her fingers digging into my short hair.

  My hands opened her thighs wide with her ass at the edge of the bed before I lowered myself to my knees. My hands supported her slender legs as I pressed my face into her sweet pussy and kissed her.

  Over and over.

  Deeper.

  Harder.

  Making her writhe and grip the sheets.

  I pushed her into panting, pushed her into screams and tears.

  More delectable than chocolate. Smoother than a Barsetti wine in the cellar. Sweeter than rose hips. My mouth was addicted to her soft flesh, the sex that belonged to me and no other man.

  Mine.

  I got to my feet and pushed down my bottoms so my slobbering dick could be free. I positioned her again, seeing a tear-stained face and running makeup, and leaned over, sliding inside in one smooth motion.

  She instantly gasped at my entrance and hooked her arm around my neck, folded underneath me, her other hand planted against my chest on top of my heart. She could feel it beat for her. Feel it race. Feel it ache. Her eyes glistened with old tears and some new as she whispered to me, “Je t’aime…”

  My dick twitched inside her as I thrust, our bodies close together, giving her my length all the way to the base every time even though I could tell it hurt. “Encore.”

  Her voice grew louder. “Je t’aime.”

  There was no fantasy that made me burn hotter than this. Whether she meant it or not, it made me thrust harder, made me moan because I wanted to come every single time I heard it. “Encore.”

  “Je t’aime.” She cupped my face and brought my forehead to hers.

  My hips were working faster, slamming myself into her at a pace I couldn’t control, and I commanded her not to stop. “N’arrête pas.”

  “Je t’aime pour toujours.” I’ll love you forever.

  My hips bucked, and I came inside her with a loud moan. Exquisite pleasure. A good ache between my legs. A load bigger than I’d ever given her. It all happened with an intensity that rivaled the heat of the sun. She was my one and only. I could never be with another woman as long as I lived. I could never go back to the whores like I did before. If she ever wanted to leave, I wouldn’t be able to let her go—not again. She’d give me strong sons. Beautiful daughters. I’d hold her against her will, do whatever was necessary to keep her in my bed every single night. It was beyond reason, insanity, but it hit me so hard in that moment. The obsession deepened. The addiction mocked my love of scotch.

  I slowed down, my dick still rock hard even though I slid through my come and hers. My hand gripped the back of her head harshly, and I kept going, picking up speed as if the delay never happened. “Encore.”

  Melanie sat on the stool in front of the window, her hair in place, her makeup done by an artist from Dior. Her white dress was tight around her waist but flowed elsewhere. One strap was positioned off her shoulder.

  People gathered around her in the garden room with the perfect backdrop and worked until she was perfect.

  Alexander prepared his canvas and supplies, putting everything into position for the ideal lighting to capture the moment. “Yes…yes…very beautiful.” The canvas was much smaller than his previous one, but I didn’t intend to cover an entire wall with this picture.

  It was just for me.

  And it would be much better than that piece of trash portrait I’d burned.

  Melanie looked nervous, unable to stop fidgeting.

  “Don’t move,” Alexander ordered as he prepared h
is paints. “Stay just like that…”

  The hairdresser and makeup artist were escorted out of the house by Gilbert.

  I took a seat in the armchair and didn’t plan to move.

  Alexander continued to mix and prepare his paints, and when he realized I had no intention of leaving, he turned to me. “I work best in solitude.”

  I gave him a cold look.

  “It’s part of my process—”

  “I’m not leaving. Get to work.”

  Alexander stared at me for another moment, unsure what to do, but he eventually faced forward again and gave a loud sigh in defeat.

  Melanie was in a beautiful white gown with flowers in her hair, looking more stunning than the French aristocrats who used to lounge on sofas with their tits hanging out. But she continued to fidget, as if this level of attention were uncomfortable.

  Alexander pressed the wet brush against the canvas and began her cheek line, capturing the exact color of her complexion with such perfection that his title as a master was well deserved. But he hesitated, adding color, stopping, and then adding again, only to stop once more. “Madame, please stop moving.”

  “Sorry…” She looked down at her hands to still them, but by moving her head, she changed the picture.

  “Merde…” Alexander turned to me. “How am I supposed to work like this?”

  “Calm the fuck down.” I rose to my feet and stared him down, making him immediately take a step backward. I maneuvered around the easel and approached Melanie where she sat on the stool.

  Flustered, she wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

  “Relax.” My hand moved to her neck, and I cradled her face, my thumb tracing the left side of her bottom lip.

  “I’m just afraid the painting will come out bad.”

  “If it does, it’s his fault—not yours.”

  Her eyes were still elsewhere. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

  My hand turned her face to mine, so she was forced to look at me, forced to let her worried eyes take comfort in the confidence of mine. I dipped my head and pressed a kiss to her lips, careful not to smear her lipstick. “You could never disappoint me.”

  She closed her eyes, like my words were a breath of fresh air.

  My hand moved back to her neck, and I pressed a kiss to her hairline. “Now, relax.” I moved back to my armchair behind Alexander and got comfortable for the show.

  She straightened her back, adopted her poise, and held her position without moving.

  Wordlessly, Alexander got to work.

  And I just watched.

  Light faded from the windows. The spring gave us longer days, so the fire didn’t start until deeper into the night. Spring was nearly summer now, and the heat was removing the necessity of the fire entirely.

  My eyes watched the final rays of light disappear as the sun officially set and dunked the bedroom into evening. Then I looked at the woman beside me, still in her white gown that was wrinkled and soiled with sweat. With eyes lidded and heavy, she looked worn-out after the way I’d had her for the last hour.

  The painting continued to dry in a safe room so it wouldn’t be knocked or touched, and once that process was complete, I would finally have it for my own. I didn’t take pictures on my phone because a camera couldn’t capture a feeling the way a painting could. Paint was superior to pixels.

  I lay on my side with her on her back beside me, my hand resting on her flat stomach, spanning the entirety of it from her hips to her breasts. Words hadn’t been spoken. Only looks had been exchanged.

  Her hand moved to my face, her fingertips feeling the scruff of my jawline, rubbing against the hair to feel its coarseness. Everything about me was rough—except her. She was the boutonniere to my tux. She was the flowers to my vase. She was the clouds to my sky. The sunshine to my winter.

  Her hand cupped my cheek, and she leaned in to give me a soft kiss. Spontaneous and affectionate, it gave me a warmth even though the sex was finished. It was a kiss for no reason—and those were my favorite from her. She told me she loved me without actually saying it. Actions spoke louder than words, and those were the actions that affected the beat of my heart.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Sir? Sorry to disturb you, but Magnus is here. Shall I let him know you’ll be down in a moment?”

  I kept my eyes on the treasure beside me, the possession worth more than everything I had earned in the last decade. Like a fire-breathing dragon guarding its hoard of treasure, I watched over her, never wanting to leave her, not for a moment. “Yes.”

  I got out of bed and pulled on my sweats.

  She sat up too, her dress a mess around her, her panties on the floor. She watched me go.

  I made it down the flights of steps and through the foyer. His back was to me, a glass of scotch in hand. He looked out the window to the pool in the rear as he took a drink. “You’ve nearly recouped our losses.”

  He kept his gaze out the window. “The women are working longer.”

  “You’ve negotiated more product?” I came to his side and looked out the window alongside him. Gilbert wordlessly placed a glass of scotch in my hand and silently dismissed himself. Magnus had successfully put everything back in order ahead of schedule, so my rage had dulled significantly. I was also less angry in general—because she’d come back to me.

  He was quiet for a long time, as if preparing for a long-winded answer, but this response came out short. “Yes.”

  “What’s the fee?”

  “No fee.”

  I slowly turned my head his way.

  He kept his eyes forward.

  “How did you manage that?” Now that Raven was no longer a distraction, his true potential shone through. He jumped higher than he ever had.

  He shrugged. “Persuasion.”

  I faced forward and drank from my glass again. “I’m impressed.”

  He swirled his glass then looked down into the dark liquid. “With the new production schedule, we’ll make fifty percent more than we were before on a regular basis. I’m trying to figure out a way to secure more, but it’s complicated.”

  I took another drink then wiped my mouth with my forearm. “How are the men treating you?”

  Another pause. “Fine.”

  I knew the men unanimously hated him, as they should, but they would never cross me and slit his throat in his sleep. But their anger would fade, just as mine had. “Negotiating that increase in product will increase their salaries, so they must have granted you some forgiveness.”

  Magnus continued to stare into his glass.

  “You’ve definitely earned some from me.” I ignored the window and stared at him. There was no amount of anger that could overcome the connection between us, the bloodline, the unspeakable bond. He was my little brother, and like a parent, I couldn’t stay angry with him forever.

  He turned to meet my gaze, to look me in the eye, his brown eyes and facial features similar to mine. It wasn’t just a pause, but an eternal silence. His look said it all, that my forgiveness meant the world to him, that we were still family…even after what he’d done.

  I let it linger a little longer before I moved on. “How’s the cunt holding up?”

  His expression immediately tightened at the mention of her, anger floating to the surface of his eyes like flames. His breathing changed. His posture. Everything. “I wouldn’t know.”

  I believed him, not just because I had a source on the inside to confirm it, but I could see the truth written on his face. He looked like he might kill her with his bare hands. “I don’t understand your fascination with her. Melanie is beautiful, petite, quiet…and she’s the ugly one.”

  There was no reaction.

  I took a drink and looked out the window again, not expecting him to justify his strange fascination. He could have any woman he wanted, but he chose to risk his integrity and honor for a woman so unremarkable. It was just a dig on my part.

  The sound of heels was audible behind us.
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br />   I hadn’t asked her to come down, but I didn’t mind her joining us. It was another shot at Magnus, to show him what real beauty looked like. She was the kind of woman worth life and death, worth your integrity and honor, and it was an opportunity to show him what I had and he didn’t.

  That I had picked the winner.

  He’d picked the loser.

  I turned to regard her.

  She was in a deep blue dress, cinched around her waist with a slender black belt. Her makeup had been reapplied, and her hair fixed from the tangled mess it’d been just moments ago. Stunning and perfect, she glided to me, like a butterfly about to land on my arm.

  Magnus turned to look as well.

  She stopped a few feet away, as if asking for permission to be there.

  I lifted my fingers and silently beckoned her to me.

  My arm outstretched as I waited for her to step into me, to come to my side so I could secure my arm around her waist, so I could squeeze her tight. When I felt her dress against my palm, another rush came through me, like I was in the presence of royalty. She was the countess of this palace without a ring. She was the countess of my heart. I brought our lips close together but didn’t kiss her. “Glass of wine?”

  “Please.”

  I squeezed her tight then kissed her before I departed. Gilbert was nowhere in sight, probably with the chef preparing dinner, so I went down to the cellar to get her a bottle of the wine she loved.

  I gave Magnus the opportunity to become acquainted with her—since she would be my wife. I also did it for more selfish reasons, to flaunt what I had and he didn’t. The bottle was uncorked, the wine was poured, and then I returned with the glass.

  The second I rejoined them, I could feel the tension, feel the negative energy. Magnus clenched his hand tightly like he was annoyed before sliding it into his pocket to disguise his anger. “I had to go down to the cellar to get your favorite.”

  Her eyes softened as she looked at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”