The Successor

by Alina Jacobs

  “Mademoiselle Thurlow and Monsieur Holbrook, I presume,” he said in French.

  “Jones,” Grant replied. “Your hotel is very lovely,” he continued in French. “We just came from Patek. I’ve never been to Geneva, but it is an impeccable city.”

  The manager gave him a pleased smile. “Your French is quite good,” he said. “You didn’t learn it in Europe, though?”

  “From the West African immigrants in the military.”

  “I see. An officer?”

  “I’m just enlisted as a sergeant.”

  “That’s very impressive for the common soldier, and an American, no less. Someone in my line of work is not often surprised; however, you have surprised me today. If I may personally show you to your rooms?”

  “Kate says that this is one of her favorite hotels,” Grant said, continuing their conversation in French as they followed the hotelier to the elevators.

  Kate was very impressed. Grant’s French was much more than conversational.

  “Yes, we see her and your father here often. Here we are.” They were on the eighth floor. Charles Brassard opened a set of double doors revealing a suite with a sitting room, two bedrooms, and a shared bathroom.

  “This particular suite was designed by Karl Lagerfeld when we did our most recent renovation. It is an award-winning design.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Kate said. “I haven’t stayed in this room yet. What a treat!”

  “We had a cancellation. I thought you might prefer it to the two rooms you booked.”

  “Oh yes,” Kate said. She took in the room. The walls were a rich gray Venetian plaster with ornate trim and large floor-to-ceiling windows framed by a silvery brocaded fabric. She crossed over the plush area rugs covering the hardwood floor and into the bathroom. It was covered from floor to ceiling in a white, dark-gray-veined marble. The mirror, the counter, and the tub, it was all out of this striking marble and punctuated by brass accents.

  “Isn’t this amazing?” Kate gushed.

  “It is… impressive,” Grant replied.

  “I will leave you to enjoy the suite,” Brassard told them. “Would you also care to have refreshments sent up?”

  “Yes, please. Something light, though. We’re going to go for a walk in a bit.”

  “Of course. Right away.”

  “Isn’t this perfect?” Kate said, twirling around the room. “It’s like a fairy tale, and this bathroom.” She kicked off her shoes and sprang into the empty tub. “I could live in here.”

  “I need my sunglasses,” Grant said, slipping his aviators out of his pocket. “All the brilliant-white marble and the wavy gray lines are making my eyes hurt.”

  He handed Kate her sunglasses, and she put them on, the large frames obscuring most of her face as she leaned back in the empty tub. Grant sat on the edge of the stone basin. Kate felt like a little kid and beamed when Grant grinned down at her.

  “This is the life.” She sighed. She wiggled her toes for a few moments. Then she sent Grant to open the door when the bellhop brought a tray of food and tea to their suite.

  “Serve me in my tub, Sergeant,” Kate said to Grant playfully. He cut up bits of bread and cheese and meats and fed her. She nibbled his fingertips and kissed his hands.

  “They have the best food here.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “You were remarkable, by the way. I didn’t know you were fluent in French.”

  “I’m not. I know just enough to get in trouble,” he replied.

  “Charles Brassard is making a name for himself in the boutique hotel industry,” Kate told Grant. “He knows absolutely everyone. He will tell everybody how impressed he was with Mr. Holbrook’s son. People will talk—in a good way.”

  “Help me up,” she said to Grant after they had sat there a few moments more. He easily pulled her out of the enormous tub. “We’re going for a walk. The weather’s nice. It’s not too chilly. Aren’t you going to put on your watch?” she asked him as Grant put his shoes back on.

  Grant grimaced. “I can’t.”

  “It’s only a watch,” she told him. “If it breaks, we’ll send it back for service.”

  He did not look convinced.

  “Come on,” she cajoled. “You can’t be in Geneva and not wear your Patek.” She grabbed his wrist and put the watch on him. “Much better,” she told him and grabbed her trench coat and pulled it around her shoulders.

  They headed down to the shore line. Even the medians in the road were well designed, Kate marveled. She was always so impressed with Geneva. She pointed out the giant floral clock.

  “They’re all about timepieces here,” she said to Grant, “and banking.” There were office workers out on the streets, coming back from late lunches. Kate put her arm in the crook of Grant’s, and they strolled down a street lined with large historic homes.

  What are you doing? her thoughts intruded. He’s not your boyfriend, you stupid girl. Stop acting like he is. She ignored the voice. She knew she couldn’t have Grant. She was just playing pretend. Walter had plans for his son, and she was sure that didn’t include him having an affair with his assistant. People would talk. But those people weren’t there in Geneva. Kate sighed and leaned into Grant.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “This is so perfect.” She sighed. “I love this.”

  “What?”

  “Everything.”

  The finished their walk in the midafternoon.

  “Rest up, then dinner,” Kate said to Grant. She was so excited for this restaurant. She hadn’t been since before the terrible thing that she wouldn’t talk about happened. She only wanted to feel normal again. She also wasn’t dining alone or with her boss or grandmother. Instead, she was with an attractive man. One who mostly knew how to conduct himself.

  She lay down and sank into the soft bed next to Grant. They lay on the bed in silence, listening to the murmur of traffic and street noise rising up to their window. She settled in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest, their breathing synced. Kate felt as if she could stay that way forever. But unfortunately, she couldn’t.

  She looked at the clock. They needed to start getting ready. They washed up, and Kate put on a simple short black dress with long sleeves and a minimalist silver necklace. Grant pulled out whatever Stefan had sent with him. Kate inwardly cringed, hoping it would at least somewhat fit.

  “Oh,” she said when Grant came out of the bedroom.

  He was wearing gray slacks, a dark-blue button-down shirt, and a wool sweater.

  “You look nice,” she said. The pants fit him well, she was pleased to see, and the sweater didn’t look too tight. It was slightly casual, but you could tell the items of clothing were well-made and very expensive. The new watch glistened on his wrist.

  “Shall we?” He took her arm and escorted her down to the restaurant.

  Chapter 20

  Grant

  When he came out of the room and saw her, his heart fluttered. Kate looked amazing. She was elegant and chic and looked as if she belonged in that hotel. Having her hand on his arm as people tried not to stare at them walking through the lobby made him feel ten feet tall.

  They were in a plush booth. She sat right next to him at the linen-covered table, not across from him.

  “It’s more fun this way,” she told him, rubbing her leg against his.

  He couldn’t help but laugh. He was so smitten with her.

  “Then we can both watch people.”

  The servers brought out course after course, along with wine pairings. Grant usually tried not to drink because he liked to have his wits about him, but he was so caught up in the moment that he joined in with Kate. Besides, it wasn’t a lot of wine, just a few sips with each course.

  He didn’t even mind that the food was one or maybe two bites and came out in little bits on giant plates. He put on a good face and promised himself he would eat a giant burger as soon as he got back to the States.

  The first
course was some sort of meat and toasted cracker with a dollop of a salty white crème. Kate laughed as he ate it in one bite.

  “You’re supposed to savor it!” she told him.

  The next course was a small salad with a very tasty dressing and seared tuna so rare it was almost purple. Grant marveled at it.

  “This is amazing. Are you sure this is the same stuff from the can?”

  Kate giggled. “Yes, but it’s so much better, right?”

  A bit later, the waiters brought out a single duck egg on a cast-iron spoon for each of them. Grant studied it. Kate picked hers up.

  “You put it on toast,” she said.

  He slid his sizzling duck egg onto the small piece of toast glistening with truffle butter oil, then he ate it in one bite. It was delicious. He wished he had ten more spoons exactly like it.

  While waiting on the next course, Grant had his arm casually behind Kate, resting on the top of the cushion. They were slightly hidden in the high-backed banquette. As they talked, he watched the windows and doors, just in case something attacked them.

  “You’re so vigilant,” Kate said, giggling.

  She was clearly drunk, Grant decided. At least the meal was almost done, or at least, he assumed it was. He had lost count of the courses. Kate rested against him. The curve of her body fit perfectly against his chest.

  “I love being with you,” he murmured to her.

  She smiled up at him and snuggled against his chest and sipped her wine, telling him about the different restaurants she’d been to.

  “I’ve got a friend who has a traveling blog,” she said to him. “She travels to Michelin-star restaurants, one every week. She eats and takes beautiful photographs of each dish and then writes really detailed reviews about what she ate. She used to be fun to go out with, but the last time I went with her, she wouldn’t let me talk. She had to concentrate to make notes.”

  “What’s the point of going to a restaurant if you aren’t going to talk to the person you’re with?” he asked.

  “Exactly!” Kate said. She punctuated the statement with her glass. Grant took it away from her before she could spill it all over him. As the servers cleared away their next course, a man got up from a far table and made his way over to them. Grant immediately had his hackles up. Kate looked slightly alarmed, he thought. He wished he had his gun. He didn’t like the way the man looked at Kate, and he stood up to confront the intruder.

  Chapter 21

  Kate

  Grant had jumped up and looked as if he was either going to start a fight or finish one. Of course this was happening, she thought, annoyed that her perfect evening was about to be ruined.

  Jean Claude walked over to the table she was sharing with Grant. His beard and high-end, disgruntled look was in sharp contrast to Grant’s clean-cut conservative look.

  She had had a whirlwind romance with Jean Claude during her Master of Fine Arts program the summer before her very bad decision, and now here he was. He had a lithe long-distance-biker’s body and a heavy tan. The two of them had jetted around Europe, going to art shows and yacht parties. Kate could never take him seriously, but he was fun to flirt with.

  “I thought you hated Geneva,” she said to him.

  “I heard about the famous watch,” he told her. “Thought you might be here, maybe in need of rescuing. I see you’ve got this big hulking brute following you around.”

  “Ignore him,” Kate told Grant. “He’s a trustifarian.”

  “So you take up with murderers now, do you, Kate?” Jean Claude gave Grant a nasty look and addressed him. “Conquistador.”

  Grant’s face was blanched white. The glass in his hand shattered, but he didn’t seem to notice the blood.

  “Don’t listen to him,” she told Grant, trying to defuse the situation.

  “You should be in prison,” Jean Claude spat at Grant.

  “Go away, Jean Claude,” Kate said too loudly. Goodness, she was drunk.

  “Sleeping with your father’s assistant,” Jean Claude said to Grant, ignoring Kate. “Typical. You’re exactly like your mother—trash.”

  “Why are you being like this?” she hissed at Jean Claude. “You don’t even like me that much.”

  He acted horribly offended. “I love you,” he told her.

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “I only want what’s best for you. I know you have terrible taste in men, myself not included, of course. But this brute is worse than the—”

  “Shut. Up,” Kate hissed at him.

  The waiters had come over to hover around their table. Grant towered over everyone.

  “Sit down, Grant,” she said. They were causing a scene. “We should leave,” she mumbled.

  Grant had a napkin wrapped around his bleeding hand. He silently followed her out, steadying her as she swayed.

  Of course she couldn’t have one nice evening, she fumed as they entered the hotel room.

  “Who was that?”

  “No one,” she said.

  Grant went into the bathroom and ran water over his hand. There was a knock on the door, and she went to open it. One of the hotel staff had brought up bandages and first aid supplies.

  “Do you need a doctor?” the man asked.

  “No,” she said. “Thank you. He should be fine.” She carried the container of first aid supplies into the bathroom.

  “Let me do it, Grant. Maybe I should take you to a clinic,” she said, trying to sober up. “Your father will kill me if you’re maimed.”

  He pushed her away when she tried to help him with his hand. “I’ve had worse than this. It’s nothing.” Grant’s face had a dark expression, and he used his teeth to tie off the medical tape.

  “I’m going to bed,” he told her then stepped out of his clothes and got into the shower. She showered after he was done then went into his room to lie down next to him.

  “I want to sleep alone,” he told her.

  “Oh.” Kate felt stupid. Of course this wasn’t real. She hurried back to the other room, curled up in the bed, and cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 22

  Grant

  The next morning, they didn’t talk. They quickly ate breakfast then headed to the plane. Charles Brassard saw them off.

  “Do come again,” he said with a wan smile. Grant wondered if Brassard would tell everyone about the violent American who had bled all over his hotel.

  Looking out of the window as the plane sped into the clouds, Grant was glad to be out of Geneva. He didn’t belong there. He kept turning over Jean Claude’s words in his head. Murderer. Conquistador. You should be in prison. He should be in prison, he thought. He couldn’t bear lying next to Kate, not that he could sleep. He was afraid he might kill her while she was vulnerable.

  When they were back at the estate, Walter came to greet them.

  “What happened to your hand?” his father practically shouted when he saw him.

  “It’s fine,” Grant said, pushing past his father.

  “Stefan, call a doctor. Kate, how could you let him walk around like this? These bandages are filthy.”

  “I’m fine,” Grant repeated. He was so tired. He hadn’t been able to sleep on the plane; his thoughts had led him down a dark path of all the what ifs that had led to the worst moment of his life.

  “Grant. Grant?”

  He came back to himself.

  His father was looking at him, concerned. Walter felt his forehead. “You seem feverish. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need—” he protested. But his father was already hauling him to the car. Kate hurried after them.

  “Stay here, Kate. You’ve done enough,” Walter said. She looked crushed.

  Grant didn’t like hospitals. He was already starting to panic. He wanted Kate to come with him since his father put him so off balance. He wasn’t sure how to act around him. He always felt as if he wasn’t doing the right thing and his father was silently judging him but was too polite to say anything
. He never felt like that with Kate.

  “You look sick,” his father said. “I bet it’s infected.”

  Grant didn’t think so. He thought it was the fact that the sides of the car were closing in on him and he couldn’t breathe. He started to gasp for breath.

  “I’m dying,” he gasped out. “I’m dying. I’m having a heart attack. I’m dying.” He barely registered it as they pulled into the hospital. The nurses rushed out with a gurney, and Grant collapsed out of the car.

  “I’m dying,” he told them. “I’m having a heart attack.”

  “He cut his hand,” his father said urgently. “I think it’s infected. It could be in his heart.”

  “We’ll see,” the nurse said skeptically as Grant was loaded onto the gurney.

  “Where’s Kate? I need to say goodbye,” Grant pleaded as they cut away his clothes.

  The doctor came over, looked at him critically, and then said, “He doesn’t have an infection. He’s having a panic attack.”

  “I’m dying,” Grant insisted. “My heart.”

  “Your heart is fine. Breathe in this paper bag. You’re hyperventilating.”

  Grant struggled to calm down as his father held the paper bag over his mouth and nose. One of the nurses inspected his hand.

  “There’s nothing wrong,” she said after a moment. “I’d give you a tetanus shot, but I’m sure you’ve probably had several in the past few years. He’s military, right?”

  “Marines,” Walter affirmed.

  “That panic attack should subside in twenty minutes or so. We’ll check back on him.”

  The curtain to the room was drawn back, and Kate rushed in.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Walter, “but I needed to be here.”

  “I’m dying,” Grant said, his voice muffled through the bag.

  “What?” Kate said, alarmed. She rushed over to him and cradled his head in her arms.

  “He’s having a panic attack,” Walter said dryly.