by Mia Caldwell
“We’re right around the bend, actually,” Agent Wilson answered sounding amused and pointing to where the road ahead turned from paved to dirt. I raised my brow.
As we made the hairpin turn to the right, I thought my eyes would pop out of my head. There, about a mile down, was the beginning of the longest driveway I’d ever seen in my life. The driveway was paved with a smooth sand-colored material, and along it on both sides were beautiful small rosebushes and thin yet bushy tall trees of the deepest green. The kinds of trees you only see when a professional landscaper is being paid tons of cash to maintain the grounds.
“Oh my word,” I whispered, catching glimpse of what was at the end of the driveway, and where we were clearly headed.
It was a castle. A real, freaking Disney-princess castle. With blue circular turrets topped with sky-high spires, millions of windows, and immaculate architecture. I could not believe my eyes.
“Most of the French châteaux along the Jura mountain range are named, but for some reason this one isn’t,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Ow,” I said, rubbing the skin on my arm where I tried to pinch myself. This couldn’t be real. There was just no way.
Agent Wilson chuckled at me. “Believe it, Miss Jackson. At least for now. This is your halfway house, where you’ll be staying until you’re on your feet. The feds are putting together a case, and we need you to stay put and stay out of sight until you can testify.”
I was so enthralled at the idea of staying somewhere that looked like this on the outside that I completely forgot to make a comment about him showing a smile for the first time since we met. I couldn’t speak.
When we pulled up to the front entrance, a middle-aged man in a very clean butler’s uniform opened my door, taking my hand to help guide me out.
“Mademoiselle,” he mumbled, tipping his hat to me, before going around to the trunk of the car and grabbing the rest of my things.
I blushed, unsure of what to reply with. I didn’t really know French, so I just gave him a smile and some semblance of a curtsy. That’s what people did here in Europe, right? I hoped I wasn’t expected to give him one of those weird two-cheek kisses.
“Wait here, Bree,” Agent Wilson said, before heading through the sandy brick arches and into the entry way. I fought the urge to frown at the name and distracted myself by looking at the rest of the house. House? No, this ain’t no house. This right here is a castle. Legitimately a castle.
I stood there dying to get a better view of the grounds alone, not to mention whatever else was going on inside the place. There were other buildings that looked slightly newer than the centuries’ old look of the castle. From what I could tell, one of them was actually full of horse stables.
But nothing beat what I saw when I turned my attention back to the front of the castle. Down the small set of wide steps came a man that was so ridiculously attractive that I was sure I had actually died and gone to Heaven. These past two months were a dream—I had really been shot that night in the hotel, and I was finally living it up.
He was tall and lean, with his light brown hair perfectly styled and clean-cut. Even from way over there, I could tell he had a strong jaw line with one of those dimpled chins. He looked like a younger professional who had just stepped out of a board meeting after winning over the billion-dollar client.
The man stood there with his hands casually in his pockets, leaning more to one side. Even though I hated using the word, I had to admit that he definitely had swagger. The kind that the movie stars had during the Golden Age of Hollywood.
Behind him, Agent Wilson followed, holding a thick file in his hand. The man turned toward him and firmly shook his hand, the two of them having a conversation in fluid French.
Agent Wilson nodded his head and came up to me, pulling me into a brief and awkward hug. “All right kiddo, I’m done here for now. I’m going to be coming to check up on you in two weeks’ time, okay?”
My mouth dropped open, and I fought the panic that was rising in my throat. As beautiful as this place was, I couldn’t imagine being dropped off and told ‘good luck.’
“That’s it? That’s all? Aren’t there more security measures than a simple ‘hey, howya doin’?” I demanded.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I checked in with my superiors, and everything is good to go here. Mr. Malveaux here does lots of work with the U.S. government. He’s had his home open for witness-protected people for five years now. You can trust him. I do.”
I glanced over his shoulder, looking at the handsome man who was now smiling at me. I bit my lip, wishing I wasn’t so paranoid about everyone’s intentions now. My life was one big ‘what if’ now, and I hated it.
“Okay.” I nodded, sighing to myself. “I get it. But . . . for cautionary purposes, is there a way I can contact you, or hell, anyone else? Y’know, just in case? I think it would make me feel a lot better.”
“Sure thing. There’s a cell phone in the bag I provided you. I expect you to set up the fingerprint scanner so no one else can use it. I have my personal number and a couple other important ones in the contact list. Just make sure to keep a good eye on it. And you can always call if you need to, for whatever reason.”
Well, that wasn’t too bad. “That makes me feel a little better. I guess I will see you in two weeks, then?”
“Two weeks. Until then, get some rest. Mr. Malveaux will be a big help to you as well, so make sure to use his knowledge. He’ll be the one helping you to secure employment and blend in with the locals.”
I looked at Agent Wilson and Mr. Malveaux, then looked down at myself pointedly. “Blend in?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No offense Agent, but I hardly think a young black woman is going to blend in with the locals. Isn’t the French countryside where all the rich white people buy a second vacation home or something?”
He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You’ll do just fine, Miss Jackson. France is a country full of diversity.”
And with that, he gave me another quick nod and hopped back into the small rental car and drove off. I stood there watching as he left, suddenly feeling even more alone.
Behind me, Mr. Malveaux loudly cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Jackson? Are you hungry?”
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Chapter 4
I blinked my eyes, trying to see if Mr. Malveaux was really just that handsome, or maybe I was just imagining things at this point. Who knew?
He looked at me expectantly, a polite smile crossing his face as I took way too long to finally answer him.
“Um, yes. Sorry . . . yes, I’m actually pretty famished. It was a long drive. Actually, it’s been a long couple of months.”
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as I realized I was saying way too much. Great, I’m such a genius when it comes to first impressions.
“Please, follow me. We have a full kitchen, and my head chef is still on staff for the rest of the day. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind preparing something for you,” Mr. Malveaux said.
Geez, even his accent was enough to make me drool. When he turned to walk away, I followed, discreetly checking to make sure that I wasn’t doing just that.
Being impressed by the natural surroundings of the castle was one thing. But once I set foot inside the place… it was like I was Cinderella.
The entryway was expansive on its own. It wasn’t too wide but had a domed ceiling, with many doors leading off both the left and right sides. Where the architectural beams met in the point in the middle the dome, there was an enormous chandelier dripping with thousands of crystals. I looked down at my feet and realized that I was walking across a complex design of white and gray tile that expanded out in a circle, surrounded by darkly veined marble floors.
In front of us was the largest staircase I had ever seen, complete with the red carpet in the middle of the steps, centered and going all the way up. There was lovely dark wooden furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum scattered throughout th
e room, complementing all of the matching wooden doors.
I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. “And this is your home?”
Mr. Malveaux chuckled to himself and tilted his head to the side slightly, looking as though he was trying to figure me out. Good luck with that, honey.
“It is. It’s also the home to my staff on hand, or at least a few of them. If you’d like, I can give you a little tour and a brief history of the château on our way into the kitchen,” he offered.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
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Chapter 5
Man, he wasn’t kidding. With the kitchen being all the way to the one side of the castle, we nearly toured the entire house.
“… and this is actually one of my favorite rooms. It’s known as le chambre de musique. The music room. Every now and then when I get the chance I like to come in here and play a few scales on the épinette,” he said, pointing to the mini piano in one corner of the large room.
I walked over to it, testing out the keys on my own. I had always wanted to learn how to play the piano, but growing up in my neighborhood… it just never happened. My daddy and mama were too busy working their jobs or fighting with one another, and the money was never really there. As I trilled my fingers down the line of keys I felt a certain sadness.
I wasn’t bitter, in fact I was pretty lucky to have a relatively stable family. Plenty of my friends couldn’t say the same. Sometimes though, if I was being honest with myself, I did feel a twinge of jealousy for those who had more than we did. Of course… I would’ve given all of that up if I could just have my family back…
I cleared my throat, trying not to dwell on the past. It never did me any good—that was for sure.
“Do you play, Mademoiselle. Jackson?”
Mr. Malveaux was standing pretty close behind me, catching me off guard. I quickly pulled my hand away, both blushing and cringing at the same time. All I could think about was how I wished I could just chuck the name away. I had always liked my own, and for some reason I felt the need to tell him. He was on the government’s payroll, so it wouldn’t hurt, right?
“No, but I’ve always wanted to. And you can call me Amira. If you don’t mind. It’s my real name. Amira Kyle.”
I glanced over at him from the corner of my eye, watching as the corner of his mouth turned up.
“All right, Amira. Then you must also call me Julien,” he answered. “The kitchen is not too much further away now.”
He turned and headed back out the door, not bothering to see if I was following along. I raised my brow but said nothing.
We reached the end of the hallway and went through a pair of heavy wooden doors that gave way to the surprisingly modernized French kitchen beyond. I wasn’t exactly sure of what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. The rest of the castle had a far-off feeling to it, as if I was entering a storybook or something. I kept getting the feeling of being underdressed as we went through from room to room. But the kitchen was cozier, not small, but not as nearly as large as I thought it would be. It had modern top-grade appliances and a large hearth along one of the walls. There was enough seating for ten people easily, but no one was there except for a man who was hunched over one of the industrial-sized stoves, muttering to himself.
After having to deal with being pushed through angry crowds, being covered up with an honest-to-God blanket in front of the media, and having even been shoved into closets and other confined placed, it was nice to be in a large open space with barely anyone else around me. Somehow I felt… safer. If that were even possible for me now.
Julien walked over to the man, clapping him on the back before they began talking.
All this foreign language stuff was already driving me nuts. I stood there, wondering how hard it would be to teach myself French in a couple of weeks.
Julien waved me on over. “Gervaise says that he would be willing to make whatever your heart desires. What are you hungry for?”
I looked around the kitchen as if it would give me some kind of clue. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a proper meal, sitting down at a table. But still, my stomach was just settling in and I found myself not wanting to eat too heavily.
I hated being put on the spot like that, and shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not really sure. I don’t really know French cuisine all that well. Would he be able to make something simple? Like a sandwich or something? I mean I could even go in there and do it myself. He doesn’t need to trouble himself with making me something to eat.”
At this, Gervaise turned on his heel to face me, his forehead wrinkling as he glared at me. Julien chuckled, shaking his head.
“I don’t think you understand the way it works here. Gervaise fulfills himself by preparing you food. It’s his job, and therefore if you don’t let him do his job, well, it upsets him. Please have him make something for you. I promise whatever it is will be delicious,” Julien said.
I bit my lip. Outside of being at a restaurant, I didn’t really have people around to cook for me. Well, besides Rosita when I would go visit her sometimes. So this whole being catered to thing was completely new to me. I nodded though, not wanting to offend the poor guy again.
“I apologize, Gervaise. I was only just trying to make it easier on you. I’m pretty indecisive when it comes to food. How about something like a BLT?”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça? What is BLT?” Gervaise asked, looking genuinely confused.
“Bacon, lettuce, tomato? That’s all that’s on the sandwich,” I explained.
“Ah, yes. Ce n’est pas un problème. Have seat.”
He got to work on the sandwich, and Julien and I took a seat at the long kitchen table. Even though I desperately wanted to, I kept my eyes low, and tried my best not to stare at him. I didn’t want to seem pathetic.
But he didn’t seem to be having that, and kept trying to catch my gaze. “So Amira, I had a chance to look through your file. I just want to be clear upfront—you are absolutely safe here. I know that sounds a little too good to be true, especially after what happened to you, but I can assure you that it is. There are many measures in place to ensure your safety, and if you ever need anything all you have to do is ask. I’m never too far away.”
His soft accent soothed me, almost like silk across my ebony skin. I didn’t want to enjoy it as much as I did, but he did actually make me feel better.
“Okay, you’ve read my file. At least I don’t have to go through all the details with yet another person, so thank you for that. What about you? Do I get some sort of secret file with all this impressive information about you in it? It would only be fair.”
The lightheartedness of my words surprised me. It had been so long since I had been able to relax, much less really smile. Yet it was so easy to just sit here and tease Julien, as if I had been doing it forever. Looking at him, you wouldn’t think he was approachable, but he seemed very down to Earth… and matched with his ability to charm the pants off of you… I was feeling better about the situation the more I spoke with him.
Julien gave me the sexiest crooked smile, folding his hands out in front of him on the table. “You want a file on me? And what do you hope to find out?”
Hmm, I thought. That’s a pretty good question.
I gave it some thought, as I looked up at the high-pitched ceiling above our heads. He sat there patiently waiting for my answer.
“A little background on you, for starters. You’re supposed to be entrusted with my safety? I don’t know anything about you. Also… how did you end up with a place like this? It’s just so, I don’t know, unreal. I still can’t believe I’m sitting here inside of it.”
He searched my eyes. I almost felt like he was digging through my thoughts, the way his own honey-colored eyes pierced mine.
“You don’t need a file to learn any of that. All you have to do is ask. I might just surprise you,” he replied, using that same silky tone as before.
&nb
sp; I felt the chills as they ran up my arms and raced down my back.
“Okay. Julien,” I began, taking in a deep breath after his name rolled off my tongue for the first time, sending even more shivers over my skin. “Tell me about yourself.”
(Back to Table of Contents)
Chapter 6
By the time Gervaise had brought me my BLT, I knew a few more things about Julien. He was the heir to the famous Veritas shoe company, the world’s number one manufacturer of leather goods. It was his grandfather’s business to start off with, but his mother, Sabine, was currently the head of it.
I realized much to my discomfort that I was talking to someone who lived a life that was totally incomprehensible. Julien was a billionaire…