by Chloé Duval
I smiled. I had asked the question, after all.
“Anyway, as for the dress, if it fits, please keep it. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“I can’t do that Marine, it’s too much!”
“Then it’s straight into the garbage with it. I don’t want to keep it. I want to be able to move forward without having that holding me back.”
Marine’s words rang true in me. Too true.
If Bea were here she would proclaim it a new sign pointing out my fate, saying I should take heed and act before it was too late.
Except I was afraid. Petrified.
And anyway, I had a ball to go to. I’d think about it later.
* * * *
An hour later I had showered, dressed, done my hair and makeup, and I glittered in all of my winged glory in the full-length mirror in my bedroom.
I’d tied my hair up in a messy bun with blond locks falling free over my neck and face and just a touch of makeup, and I had to admit the result was striking.
I’d never considered myself especially pretty. My face was a little too square, and my freckles were the bane of my existence. And I was short, which hardly helped matters.
Yet in this dress I felt…different. Beautiful. Bold. Confident. Maybe it was the mask, the mysterious allure it lent to my face, but it felt like there was a new gleam to my eye, something I hadn’t seen there in a long time.
“You’re faded, Alex.”
I shook my head to banish Bea from my thoughts.
I hadn’t kept my promise to call her as soon as I had spoken to Éric. I knew I was digging my head in the sand, that at one point I was going to have to face myself and the truth. That I was falling for him.
Images from my dream kept flashing through my mind, mingling with reality until I no longer knew where real life ended and the dream began. The look in his eyes, the softness of his lips, the words he had spoken…
“Alex, look at me.…”
I shivered and closed my eyes.
“I love you, Alex.…”
The verdict was in. I was going crazy.
Voices drifted in through the open window. I recognized Marine’s soft, cheerful accent…and Éric’s deep, velvety tone. Unable to resist, I moved closer to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Pathetic.
Stupid.
Dangerous.
“Are you really sure you love Spencer?”
“You gave me hope.…”
“Alex, look at me.”
“I love you.”
A door slammed shut in the street, jolting me out of my thoughts. An engine purred to life, and the car drew away.
And then there was silence. Outside, at least. The racket inside my skull was deafening.
Shaking my head, I left the window and gave myself a last once-over in the mirror before stepping into a pair of stylish heels. I grabbed the clutch purse and the wand and left the inn for the center of Chandeniers.
* * * *
I saw him the minute I arrived on the church square where the costume ball was. Like I had a sixth sense that had drawn my gaze to the place he stood with a group of friends across the plaza, facing me in his ceremonial kilt.
Wow!
Even from several dozen meters away, I could feel the charisma rolling off him, his animal grace. I froze where I stood, unable to move, unable to look away, unable to control my wild heartbeat while my treacherous brain gleefully flashed all of the erotic imagery from my dream in front of my eyes.
“I love you, Alex.”
For God’s sake! When was it going to end?
He doesn’t love me! It was just a dream!
You, on the other hand…, the little voice purred.
STOP!
I took a deep breath and tried to empty my mind by going backward through the alphabet.
As though he had felt my presence, Éric looked up from his glass and our eyes met. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still. Sound faded away and people vanished. There was only him, and me.
Us.
Just us.
And my brain.
Fortunately, Marine, dressed as a gypsy, turned around and caught sight of me. Beaming, she waved.
“Alex! Over here!”
I elbowed my way through the crowd toward them, trying to avoid putting anybody’s eye out with my wings or wand.
Marine took me by the arm and leaned down to whisper in my ear that the dress looked amazing on me, then introduced me.
“Everyone, this is Alexandra Dawson, one of the last descendants of the Saint-Armand family.”
Oh, right. I’d been so busy not thinking of Éric, avoiding him at all costs, that I had spent very little time with Marine over the last few days, and I hadn’t been able to share my findings with her.
“Uh, that’s not actually—” I tried to say, but Marine didn’t hear me and went on.
“The musketeer is Maxime, a childhood friend. And the best chef around here.”
“M’lady, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted me, extending a hand.
But D’Artagnan didn’t just shake it like anybody else would’ve. He removed his hat with a flourish, and with a bow fit for a Renaissance court, he kissed the back of my hand.
“You are resplendent,” he declaimed, 100 percent in character. “You light up this square with your mere presence.”
“Yes, uh—thank you,” I replied, as flattered as I was embarrassed. “How—gallant!”
He beamed and winked at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Éric roll his eyes, jaw clenched tight.
“I forgot to mention he’s the biggest flirt around here,” Marine laughed. “Beware!”
“Marine, you break my heart. And you ruin my chances!”
“Maxime, there isn’t a woman here that you haven’t flirted with,” Little Red Riding Hood scoffed. She turned to me and added, “We only forgive him on account of his delicious lasagna.”
“And his tasty salmon tartare,” Marine added. “Alexandra, this is Caroline, the Canadian friend I was telling you about earlier.”
“So you’re from Montréal! You still have your accent, that’s wonderful! Thank you for the wings and mask, you saved my life!”
“You’re welcome, they look good on you! And I tried getting rid of the accent, but every time I speak with my family it comes back in full force. Marine told me you’d lived in Montréal; did you stay there long?”
“Two years. It’s a hard place to leave.”
“That is very true.”
Marine then introduced me to Paul, the magician who had pulled Caroline away from her city of birth, and Benjamin, a.k.a. Robin Hood and police captain of Chandeniers.
“And I think you know Bruno, our mayor,” Marine concluded, waving at him.
I eyed the delicate blush spreading across her cheeks and wondered whether he was the “someone” she had mentioned earlier. Which would explain his presence at the inn on the day of my arrival…
“I do. Good evening, dear mayor, how do you do?” I simpered dramatically.
“Very well, how about you, Alex?”
“Wonderfully! I see you stole the pirate costume out from under Marine’s nose.”
“Guilty as charged. But if I have to pick between the pirate and the kilt, I’ll go for the pirate.”
“Tsk. Someone needs to be schooled.” Marine shook her head.
“The Scottish are the new vampires,” Caroline asserted. “Just come by our book club one day.”
“Exactly! That is precisely what I have been trying to tell them!” Marine cried. “And anyway, the kilt looks better on Éric. Right, Alex?”
I turned to Éric, whose gaze I had felt on me all through the introductions, and nodded.
“You look good,” I heard myse
lf say, our eyes locked together as if we were utterly alone.
He smiled.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, and my heart leapt again.
“You know, we could just leave,” Maxime commented. “The electricity here could set water on fire!”
I turned redder than ever before and looked down—then immediately back up at the man who had been the center of my thoughts for so long it felt like forever.
“That’s enough, Max,” Marine said firmly. “Come dance with me instead of making fun of them.”
She tugged him onto the dance floor.
It was only then that I noticed the band on the makeshift stage a few meters away. They struck up a pop-rock tune, and people began to flood the dance floor.
“Would you do me the honor, Mrs. Levasseur?” Paul asked Caroline.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Levasseur.”
Arm in arm, they moved away, followed by Benjamin who made a beeline toward a young woman waving at him.
“Time for me to find a partner,” Bruno chimed in when there were only the three of us left. “Alex—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Éric interrupted without looking away from my face.
The butterflies in my stomach shuddered.
“I just wanted to wish you a pleasant evening.”
“And to you, Bruno,” I answered.
“See you later,” Éric said.
A knowing grin on his face, Bruno slipped away, leaving us alone.
“Hi,” Éric said.
“Hi.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“You already told me.”
“I know. You’re gorgeous.”
I couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
Probably the understatement of the century.
“Do you want to dance?”
“Why not? I make no promises about stepping on your toes, though.”
“I don’t care if you step on my toes. I just want—”
To kiss you forever, eat you up, taste every part of your skin, his eyes seemed to say. Or maybe I was imagining things.
All I knew was that his gaze was so intense that every inch of me was ablaze.
“Just what?”
“Dance. I just want to dance with you,” he concluded, extending a hand.
Reality returned to me all at once.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. My ankle—”
“Give me a second.”
He strode over to the musicians and talked to them. They nodded and he returned to my side.
“What did you tell them?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea.
“You’ll see.” He smiled mysteriously.
A few moments later, the musicians cut their tune short and switched to a gentle, romantic ballad. Éric bowed, his eyes on mine.
“My fair lady, would you grant this humble human a dance?”
“With pleasure.”
In that instant, I could have sworn my wings were real and I could soar.
I slid my hand into his and followed him onto the dance floor. The dancers had started to sway gently to the languid rhythm of the slow melody. Éric turned to me and placed his left hand on my waist, pulling me toward him as his right hand kept hold of mine. Wordlessly, our bodies pressed against each other and began to move as one, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Slowly my head tipped closer to his until my temple rested against his cheek—whoever invented heels deserves an altar. Éric’s hand tightened around mine. My eyes fluttered closed.
I felt so calm. At peace.
We danced for a few moments, legs and fingers entwined; then he whispered into my ear. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal.”
I pulled back, suddenly concerned. “Please don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t.”
“Phew! What were you thinking of, then?”
“If your plan works and your boss accepts…will you be part of the team coming here to oversee the vineyard?”
His question caught me flat-footed. I had thought of it, of course—heck, I’d thought of little else ever since I’d had the idea—but coming from him… I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting it.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“You have to be. That’s my one condition.”
My pulse sped up.
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” I heard myself reply. “Why would you want me here? You’ll have gone back to Africa or somewhere else. It won’t change a thing for you.”
“Because I trust you, Alex. Because you love this castle as much as my father did, and I know that nothing will happen to it as long as you are in charge. Because—”
He broke off and somehow, without discussing it, we stopped dancing. I hung on his every word. Part of me wanted to hear what I shouldn’t have hoped for. It was a dangerous game, I knew it, but I was unable to stop playing.
“Marine is here,” I argued. “She loves the castle too. She would know how to take care of it. No one here needs me,” I added, holding my breath.
I hardly recognized myself. Here I was, practically begging Éric to tell me he needed me.
It was insane. It was crazy.
“How can you say that? Alex, you—I—”
He sighed, shook his head, hesitated. His gaze searched mine. Gently, he tugged off my mask, caressing my face with his thumb. A shiver ran over me. I closed my eyes, surrendering to his touch.
Just a few moments, I promised myself. Just a few moments.
“Alex, look at me.”
I opened my eyes, falling headfirst in the fathomless depths of blue. The bubble had closed around us. The rest of the world had disappeared. Tomorrow no longer existed. Just then, there was only this moment. Just him, and me.
Slowly, his face came closer to mine, and he rested his forehead against mine.
“Alex,” he said with a sigh. “I need you. I think—I think I’m falling in love with you. Please don’t run away from me again.…”
Chapter 30
Gabrielle
Angers
February 1900
“What do you think?” Gabrielle asked timidly as she stepped out from behind the screen.
Sophie examined her with an expert eye, swooping wordlessly around her best friend, pinching the dress here and there, puffing up the skirt, tugging at the sleeves, muttering to herself, until Gabrielle began to wonder whether this had been a good idea after all and if the result would meet her expectations.
After what seemed like forever, Sophie turned to her and beamed, eyes shining.
“Gabrielle, you are magnificent. A vision. If he wasn’t already absolutely enamored, your Prince Charming will fall in love the moment he sees you coming up the aisle. He will want to eat you right up, that’s for sure!”
Relieved, Gabrielle blushed. It was exactly what she had hoped for.
She wanted to dazzle her future husband.
“Do you really think so?” she asked, stepping in front of the full-length mirror in Sophie’s milliner shop.
The white cotton dress was medieval in cut, with flowing sleeves held tight around the elbows by wide copper arm rings and embroidered in gold around the wrists. Similar patterns decorated the neckline and sketched a belt over her hips as the dress flared out. Celtic designs ran along the hem of the skirt, etched out in the same golden thread.
It was a magnificent dress, and Gabrielle felt like a medieval princess in it, Guinevere waiting for Lancelot, Iseult sighing after Tristan, Enide following Erec to the ends of the world. But beyond its beauty, this dress was precious to her for another reason—her mother had worn it for her wedding. Maurice had given it to Gabrielle when they h
ad returned from the castle a fortnight earlier.
“I have little I can give you for your wedding, but I know your mother would have wanted you to wear this,” he had confessed, his voice full of emotion.
Gabrielle hadn’t been able to hold back a few tears at this precious gift. Nothing could have made her happier or prouder than to marry the man of her dreams in her mother’s wedding dress.
“I am certain of it,” Sophie asserted, an answer to the question Gabrielle had already almost forgotten. “The size is almost perfect, we just need to hem it a little so as to avoid you tripping over it. We do not want you falling flat on your face in the middle of the church.”
“Dear God, no! I would just as soon avoid ridicule on my wedding day.…”
“I will make sure of it, I promise. I will also take in the sleeves, they are a little too long, and tighten the bodice so it hugs your figure perfectly, here and here. What do you think?”
As she spoke, she stuck pins into the fabric as markers.
“You are the professional. I trust you entirely,” Gabrielle assured Sophie.
“Exactly what I wanted to hear,” Sophie replied with a smile.
Their gazes met in the mirror, and she froze in midmotion, staring at her best friend, eyes shining.
“I cannot believe you are getting married,” she breathed. “How amazing!”
“I know! I can scarcely believe it myself! Everything happened so fast!”
“So fast you did not even tell me about it beforehand, you sly little minx!”
Gabrielle grimaced an apology, well aware that while she had filled page after page of her diary during her stay at the castle, she had not sent a single letter to her best friend, except to briefly inform her that Maurice was out of the woods and that they would remain at the castle until he had recovered and the inventory was done. As if part of her had wished to keep her relationship with Thomas…to herself. Like a secret to be protected. A flame to be kindled and sheltered before it could be exposed to the world.
It was only when she had hurried into the shop an hour earlier, her mother’s dress in her arms, that Gabrielle had told her everything. Eyes bright, she had asked her to be her bridesmaid—and to adjust the dress for her. Naturally, Sophie had accepted. The entire neighborhood had probably heard her delighted cries when she had hugged Gabrielle right there in the shop in front of the astounded patrons.
