“I can assure you I didn’t. I didn’t agree with my uncle, but I didn’t hate the man either. I would never do such a thing. So messy.”
“I saw you. I saw you leaving the study with him and your father, right before Ludovic died. You could have done it in there. Poisoned him.”
Pascal frowns, seeming to think something over. Then shakes his head. “You believe what you want. I don’t really care at this point. What I do care about is you, leaving now. And by leaving, I mean catching your flight tonight.”
“What flight?”
“The flight you’re going to take in three hours, back to Seattle.”
I balk. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, my dear, you are. You know the consequences if you stay.”
“Why do you want me to leave so badly?”
“Because you have no place here, in this. Maybe I’m just looking out for you. Maybe you’re right, and I do hate Olivier and want him to know that I have all the power, all the cards here. I can make his beloved leave him. I can make him stay here, alone. You know he’d never follow you. Not with Seraphine here, all alone and exposed. Not with his hotels. He’ll mourn you, and it will break his heart, and he will never see you again.”
I swallow hard, barely flinching as cold water drips onto my shoulder from above. Pascal is still so close to me, I feel like he’s this big black hole that’s slowly devouring me, eating away at my resolve.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He closes his eyes briefly and sighs. “I do like you, you know. Very much. I think if you were more open-minded, you might even prefer me to my cousin. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, I don’t want to have to hurt you or Olivier or your family. But if you don’t do exactly as I say tonight, I will.” His eyes focus in on mine with stunning conviction. “And I will make it hurt more than you can imagine,” he whispers.
Then he pulls back, and the damp of the underground cavern rushes over me, making me feel ill. He takes out his phone again and pulls up an airline ticket on the screen.
“Your flight,” he says. “If I were you, I’d rush back home, pack, and go.” He scrolls along until another ticket pops up. “As you can see, I have a ticket too. I’ll see you at the airport. Or maybe, if I trust you, I won’t. Either way, someone will be flying to Seattle to see your mother. Comprenez-vous?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“It sounds better when you speak French,” he says.
I can barely get the word out. “Oui.”
“Ah,” he says, “okay, perhaps you stick to your English then.” He puts his phone away and strides out of the cavern, calling over his shoulder, his words echoing off the walls, “Don’t be late, Sadie. You can’t afford to be late.”
And then I’m alone.
I collapse against the wall, sliding down it, trying to breathe, trying to think.
Trying to figure out the right thing to do.
And if it’s the only thing to do.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
OLIVIER
“Can you drive a little faster?” I ask my driver, Hugo, even though he’s already going twenty over the speed limit as we burn down the Quai d’Orsay toward my apartment in Le Marais.
He raises his brows but still steps on the gas.
I turn around and look back at Blaise and Seraphine. “Well?” I say to Blaise. “You were saying?”
The moment he hinted that Sadie might have been compromised by Pascal in some way, I knew I had no choice but to get to her immediately. The Fiat wouldn’t cut it after all the damage it had taken, so we abandoned it in the park, and I called one of my drivers to get me.
I also made sure I wasn’t going alone. I need Blaise with me. He is the key to this whole thing, the only person who can make things right.
Which is pretty naive of me to think, because Blaise is still one of them, and I’m not sure I can ever trust him. But, currently, he’s all I’ve got.
Then there’s Seraphine, who I can tell is reeling both from nearly getting killed in a car crash and from the truth of what I signed with Gautier.
She’s mad at me, I know. If she’s not, when the shock wears off, she will be. I can’t blame her. Even if she chooses to push me away, cut ties with me, and disown me as her brother, I can’t blame her. I’ve lied to her for a long time, and it’s a lie that might cost her personally, a lie based on my own selfishness and stupidity.
But for now, she’s picking bits of broken glass out of her hands and doing her best to prod Blaise for answers. I insisted we take her straight to the hospital, even though she said it’s not as bad as it looks, so that she can get the ball rolling with the insurance filings and the police reports and everything else, even though I know in my heart that it will be futile. Sure, she’ll get some money for her car—not that she needs it—but it’s all just lip service at this point. The man behind the wheel might as well have never existed, and even if this does have something to do with my uncle—which I’m trying to get to the bottom of—it won’t ever see the light of day.
That’s the thing about being that corrupt. When you have the power of the mafia and various crime organizers at your beck and call, when you have all the fucking money in the world, then you control what the police do or don’t do.
“I wasn’t saying anything,” Blaise snipes, still rubbing his nose and groaning when he presses too hard.
“Yes, you were,” Seraphine says. “You said Pascal had a screw loose, which, frankly, is a surprise to no one here.”
“If he hurts her,” I warn him, the anger rising in my throat like bile, “I hurt you. More than I already have. More than you can imagine.”
Blaise frowns. “What Pascal does is none of my business.”
“So why are you ratting on him then?” Seraphine asks.
He looks at her, his eyes meeting hers and latching on for longer than usual. He swallows, rubbing his lips together for a moment, as if wrestling with some monster inside him. Then he says, “Because I hate him.”
Seraphine looks to me, shocked, then back to Blaise. “What?”
Blaise takes in a deep breath. “I thought you would have figured that out.”
“Why on earth would I have figured that out? You’re always with them.”
“Like the third musketeer,” I say.
Blaise glares at me and then looks back to Seraphine, like I don’t exist. “I’m working with you more than I ever did with them,” he says. Then he shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself.”
“My God, you’re a moody little bastard,” she says.
He grins at her. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” Then he winces, holding his nose. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but we have more pressing issues at hand. Sure, we almost died, and, yeah, it’s shocking that you suddenly hate your brother—but Sadie’s life is at stake here.”
“He’s not going to hurt her,” Blaise says snidely. “Maybe rough her up a little. You know how he is. Scare her. But he won’t hurt her.”
“So now you’re standing up for him?” Seraphine asks.
“I’m not standing up for anyone. I’m just telling the truth. Pascal is going to threaten her, and he’s going to get her to leave.”
“Why?” Seraphine asks. “What did she do to him?”
“Nothing,” Blaise says. “It’s just a game. You should fucking get that by now. It’s a game to those two, and it always has been. They have to be on top. They have to be controlling the ride at all times or . . . things get ugly.”
“Things are already ugly,” I tell him gruffly. “Just fucking look at us.”
“So that’s why it’s happening,” he says, like talking about it all is exhausting him. Or boring him. “Sadie is something new in your life, and she doesn’t really belong in this world. As far as they’re concerned, the more they run you into the ground, the higher they rise. Don’t forget . . . they’re scared of you.”
“Scare
d of me?”
“You don’t send out Polish thugs when you’re secure with yourself. They’re very aware that they’ve been blackmailing you to get to the top. They didn’t want to kill you today, they wanted to scare you, to remind you of your place.”
“So it was them,” Seraphine says. “You admit it.”
“I know nothing,” he says quickly. “But it makes the most sense. Unlike your murder theory, which doesn’t. Sorry, I know you want to blame someone, but I think you should just let it go.”
“Our father is dead,” Seraphine says coldly. “I can’t let that go.”
“Then I think you’re in for a world of pain if you keep pursuing it,” Blaise says, staring at her steadily. “Trust me on this. Please. I don’t think my father or brother had anything to do with Ludovic’s death. But if you start looking around, if you start acting like they did, if you start to twist things . . . they will retaliate. You’re better off forgetting it. Mourn your father and grieve. But don’t go looking for something to make it worse.”
I have to say, I agree with Blaise on this one. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to think about it, maybe because I know it will make things worse, but we’d all be better off if we let it go.
For now.
Besides, that’s not at the forefront of my mind. I’m not sure I trust Blaise when he says that Pascal won’t hurt her, and I hate to think what roughing her up means. All I know is that if Pascal has Sadie, she’s going to be terrified and lost and confused. She’s going to be hurting in some way, and, knowing her, if Pascal makes her choose, if his whole intent is to make her leave, she will leave.
She’ll do it to protect me.
It’s part of the reason why I fell for her.
She’s one of the few people who would go above and beyond for me, just as I would for her.
God, it seems so long ago, those blissful days in that sun-soaked hotel room, where our only problems were what to order for room service.
I miss that life.
I miss her.
I miss us, that us.
Now everything is fucked right up.
“Hey,” Seraphine says gently, touching me on the shoulder. I turn my head to see sympathy in her eyes. “She’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah. And if she’s not?”
“She will be.”
“It doesn’t mean we’ll be okay.”
I can tell she understands exactly what I mean.
This has become too much for any couple to weather, let alone a new one.
Thankfully, it’s not long before the car is screeching to a halt on the wet street outside my building. I run past the concierge, who does a double and then triple take as Blaise and Seraphine sprint through the lobby behind me. I’m actually amazed that Blaise is still here, but perhaps he’s trying to distance himself from Pascal and Gautier.
Or maybe it has something to do with Seraphine.
He does seem protective of her in a strange way. Maybe in a brother-sister way, which would still be quite strange, because they’re from different sides, and they’ve never gotten along. All I know is that if Blaise truly hates Pascal—and it sounds like he’s not too fond of his father either—maybe Seraphine isn’t alone in this game after all.
Once I get inside my apartment, it’s obvious that Sadie is gone.
Her bag is packed for one.
And there’s a note.
The note brings me a bit of relief, just to know that she’s okay.
Dear Olivier,
I am so sorry, but I have to leave. I have no time to explain, but I’ll be catching a flight out of Charles De Gal, or however you spell it, and I’ll be heading home. Please know that I’m okay and I’m fine and I’m not hurt, but I have to go home. Please understand that. It has nothing to do with you.
I’ll call you when I land. I love you.
I really, really love you.
I’d write it in French, but . . .
I love you.
Sadie
“Is she okay?” Seraphine asks, trying to look over my shoulder to read it.
I fold it up and put it in my pocket, away from her prying eyes. “She’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. She’s going home.”
“Home?”
“She caught a flight back to Seattle.”
“Which means Pascal bought it for her,” Blaise muses as he stares at a painting on my wall, hands clasped behind his back. “I figured as much.”
“How do you feel?” Seraphine asks me, rooting through my liquor cabinet for a bottle of something to drink.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Because I don’t. She’s gone.
My love is gone.
And yet I know I won’t let her go so easily.
Seraphine selects a bottle of brandy and pulls the cork out with her teeth. “If you don’t mind, I feel like helping myself to this.”
I watch her absently as she takes several long gulps from the bottle.
“Impressive,” Blaise notes, his attention on her now, watching her swallow in a way that I don’t think is family friendly.
I frown at that, but my mind pushes on. “Why do you hate your brother?”
Blaise smirks. “Why do you hate him?”
“Because . . . he’s fucking dirt. Ruthless, classless dirt.”
“Oh, we’re all a little ruthless, Olivier,” Blaise says. “We all have our ways of climbing to the top. You did. Not with the Dumont brand, but with the hotels. And you did, too, Seraphine, to get to the position you have. If you could, you would be at the top. I see that ambition in you. It runs in our blood. I think my side of the family just fed it more.”
He walks over to Seraphine and takes the bottle from her hands, taking a swig himself, not breaking eye contact with her. When he’s done, he wipes his mouth and says, “Is this our label, or is it actually something good? It all tastes like fire to me.”
“You never answered the question,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “What does it matter why I hate him? Just because someone is your brother—family—doesn’t mean you have to like them. Let’s just say that I have lived a different life from you in a different house. But my aspirations, my goals, they’re all the same.”
To get to the top, I think. If he can get Pascal out of the picture somehow, then he can take his position. But I don’t know if Blaise realizes his father and Pascal are a united front he will never get past. There are favorites in that family.
“So what are you going to do?” Seraphine asks me as Blaise hands me the bottle.
I take it. Why not?
It does taste like fire, but the kind that baptizes you.
The kind that burns away the fog and brings a certain type of clarity to your head.
I know what I have to do as I’m saying it.
“I’m going to Seattle,” I say. “Tonight. And I don’t know if or when I’m ever coming back.”
I expect Seraphine to make a fuss. I expect her to tell me that I’m doing what they want, that they’ll win this way, that father would disapprove.
But the truth is, father only ever wanted me to be happy.
And I know what makes me happy.
It’s Sadie.
It’s Sadie and nothing else.
“Good,” Seraphine says, and even though they aren’t related by blood and don’t look at all the same, I can see my father in her, hear him in her voice. I know he’s speaking through her, or she’s speaking through him. “I think that’s the right thing to do. Maybe it’s the only thing to do.”
“You don’t mind?”
She laughs dryly. “Mind? I’ll miss the hell out of you, but if you’re worried about leaving me on my own, don’t be.”
“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Blaise says.
Seraphine looks at him, eyes wide in surprise. He just holds her gaze, and in that moment I know he’s telling the truth. For what it’s worth, she’ll be okay without me. Maybe she’ll even be better. Maybe we’ll all be
come better versions of ourselves once we’re left alone to figure out who we really are.
And what we really want.
And what I want is about to board a plane and fly thousands of miles away, across an ocean, to another land.
And I know I’m about to follow her there.
“I think I have a flight to catch,” I tell them, heading into my bedroom to grab my passport. When I come back out, Blaise and Seraphine are passing the bottle of brandy back and forth between them. “Can I trust you guys in my apartment?”
“You think we’re going to start fist-fighting?” Seraphine asks.
Not particularly.
“Fine. Can I trust you guys to get yourselves to the hospital at least?”
“I’ll take her,” Blaise says. “You just get the hell out of here.”
For a split second, I’m hit with the feeling that I’m doing exactly what they want, that my leaving Paris would only benefit Gautier and Pascal, as well as Blaise.
But that doesn’t mean I’m turning my back on any of this.
I’m just moving forward.
There’s just one stop I have to make on the way to the airport.
Gautier’s house is located just outside of Paris in a peaceful part of the country where rolling hills meet oak forests, a place I know like the back of my hand. All those summers I spent there as I was growing up, my days at that house and running around their property, rotating with all the days my cousins spent at my house.
On the surface, the memories seem pure. Untainted. Maybe that’s the way it is for so many people. Your childhood is full of sunshine and the smell of fresh grass, the taste of ice cream, the feel of nostalgia. You remember everything good and bury the bad.
Until recently, I believed that my interactions with my uncle and aunt and cousins were as innocent as they could get.
I’m starting to realize that I was wrong.
That even through the rose-tinted glasses of childhood, things were already set in motion. Gautier and Camille used their children and us against each other like chess pieces, all in an effort to undermine the family bond.
And now, as I’m driving down the wooded road toward Gautier’s estate, the memories slam into me. The real memories—the slices of nastiness that cut through all the smiles and the laughter and the games.
Discretion Page 23
