“Olivier,” she cries out softly, and then she’s at my side, arms around me as the tears fall. The shock has worn off, or maybe it’s come on stronger, but I can’t keep it together anymore. I can’t even stand.
I cry into her arms and tell her I’m sorry for leaving her like I did at the party, and I’m sorry she had to see everything, and I’m sorry I’ve been hiding her, because it turns out I need her most of all.
She’s everything to me, and without her, I don’t think I could get to my feet again.
She just holds me and tells me she’s here for me and tells me that she’s not leaving and tells me that I’m hers. She doesn’t try to make me feel better, doesn’t try to stop my tears, doesn’t try to get me to my feet.
She just lets me feel it all, feel everything, and keeps holding me together in her arms, holding me in such a way that I know I can keep cracking, but I’ll never truly fall apart.
I don’t know how I survived the next few days. All I do know is I couldn’t have done it without Sadie by my side, supporting me in every way she knows how. Even just looking at her face gives me a wave of strength, knowing she’s there for me.
Unfortunately, she can’t be with me every step of the way. There is so much paperwork and so many phone calls and affairs to sort out that have me pulled in every direction. I’m not the oldest or next of kin—that would be Renaud—but even though he’s now in Paris with us, he’s in over his head. Renaud has been living in California and running the wineries for the last eight years, and I don’t think he’s stepped foot in Europe more than a couple of times since then. He has no idea what’s happening or what to do, but neither do any of us.
It’s now the morning of the funeral. Sadie and I arrived separately. I know she’s out there in the crowd of mourners who showed up early, and, like usual, I’ll have to pretend to not know her, especially on a day like today. I don’t want anything taking away from my father.
I’m in the funeral home waiting for Seraphine and Renaud to arrive. The priest should be here soon too. I hate the smell in here. I hate the weight to the air. I hate knowing the sorrow and grief that has lived in this place, some of it so sharp it can never leave, like cigarette smoke that lingers long after the flame is out.
I’m sitting on a chair in one of the Dumont label’s finest suits, and I can’t help but stare at the buttons on the cuffs—black obsidian—my heart crying because I remember my father talking about these very buttons once. About how he wanted something understated and classy, that the gray swirls in the obsidian would give the wearer a sense of elegance every time he looked at them.
But I don’t feel elegance, I just feel loss. The loss of such a thoughtful, smart man. A good man, one of the few good men left.
“Olivier.” Gautier’s voice comes from the doorway behind me, and it’s like someone pulling shades across the sun, the grief inside me turning into something insidious.
I turn my head and see Gautier, his wife, Camille, Pascal, and Blaise, like a troop of nightmares waiting at the door.
“I didn’t know if you needed some more time alone,” Gautier says carefully. It sounds like he’s being concerned, but I swear there’s something mocking in his voice. Or perhaps I’m hearing what I want to hear. You couldn’t blame me at this point.
“It’s fine,” I tell them, my voice gruff, and go back to leaning forward in my seat, elbows on my thighs. I’m not getting up.
“We’re so sorry, Olivier,” Camille says, coming over. She drops to her knees beside me, hand on my arm, and peers up at me. I try not to shudder. Camille is a beautiful woman, a good twenty years younger than Gautier, and always plays each part perfectly. Right now, she’s being the sympathetic aunt, even though I know she doesn’t have a sympathetic bone in her lithe body.
But I play along. I don’t have the strength to do otherwise.
Besides, I know why they’re all here. It’s not because of my father. It’s not because they all wanted to be early to his funeral.
It’s because of business.
I raise my head and take the rest of them in. My uncle with his arched brows and sour smile, Pascal and his blank expression, except for his eyes, which have a strange gleam to them. Blaise at least has the respect to appear subdued. And Camille, of course, is just an act.
Seeing them all here like this, my family by blood, them against me, has me mourning again in a different way. What went wrong with us? What family secrets originally drove our parents apart? I know that it couldn’t have just been old-fashioned sibling rivalry or a difference in egos and temperaments. There had to be something else that caused the rift between them, which then created a rift between all of us.
But I won’t get any answers today.
“Will you give Olivier and me a minute alone?” Gautier asks them, and they all file out the door, more than willing to leave.
I should be nervous. I can’t remember the last time I was alone with my uncle. I’ve done all I can to avoid exactly that, in case he wanted to add something else to our bargain. But I don’t fear anymore. There’s nothing left to lose.
Gautier pulls up a chair across from me, comfortable and elegant, and I’m reminded of that fateful day ten years ago.
“We need to have a talk, Olivier,” he says smoothly, putting on a wince that I guess is supposed to be shame. “I know this isn’t the right time, but it’s never the right time, is it? And you’re a hard man to get ahold of.”
“I’ve been busy,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes, not wanting him to glean any information from me, information he can use to his advantage.
“I understand,” he says, folding his hands. “But the truth of the matter is that we had an agreement. You signed a contract. In one week, you have to make a choice.”
“Have?” Now he has my attention.
“Yes. Because, well, my brother is dead, and you currently hold his shares, shares that were willed to you, along with your own. You do realize you have complete control of the company, don’t you?”
I do realize. I’ve met with the lawyers. I know that with my shares combined with my father’s, I hold all the cards.
Except that I don’t.
My uncle does.
Just that one card, signed in blood, but it’s enough to steal the entire deck.
“I know you don’t want control of the company, Olivier,” Gautier says. “I know that you’d rather concentrate on your hotels. That’s something that’s all you. That’s something you built from the ground up, and in just ten years. You should be proud of yourself. I know your father never acted like he was, because all he wanted was for you to do exactly as he did, but I’m proud of you, Olivier.”
My gaze fixes on him, hard and cold. “My father was proud of me.”
Gautier smiles and shrugs. “Of course, he was. Of course. But he also knew you didn’t want the Dumont brand. Never did figure out why. But we all hope to keep it that way, even after his death.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the contract has been modified. I need you to give up your shares—and your father’s shares—now. Not next week. Now.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You know what will happen.”
“My father is dead,” I grind out, my jaw so tense it feels like my teeth may shatter.
He nods. “He is. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to the idea. We were closer than you think, you know. And I loved him dearly. There wasn’t a better man out there, that much I know is true. We all know it.”
He pauses, taking a deep breath in through his nose, his eyes pinched shut. In this moment I can only sense the conflict inside of him. He might even be sincere.
When he opens his eyes, they’re wet and full of anguish. “He is dead. He is gone. But his legacy remains. Your legacy remains. Do you want to throw that all away? Do you want to tarnish his memory?”
“It was my mistake, not his,” I growl.
“You’re wrong. The sins of
the father pass on to the son, and the sins of the son pass up to the father. If it were to come out what you did, that you had an affair with your cousin’s wife, it would ruin the Dumont name. Not just for your father’s sake, but for all of us. You would bring all of us down, including your brother and sister. Including me.”
“So then don’t tell the world.”
He sighs and runs his hand over his hair. “Sometimes I think you don’t understand business at all, my nephew.” He gets up and stares down at me.
I look away, trying to think, but the grief has muddled my brain, making it harder to see the clear picture. I was always so afraid of upsetting my father, and I let that fuel me in keeping secrets. But the truth is, it’s more than that. It’s my own pride. It’s my family’s pride. If it were something I could admit to Seraphine or Renaud and keep it between ourselves, I would. I would own up to it, and I know they wouldn’t shun me.
But that’s not how my uncle works. If this truth comes out, it’s going to be bigger and worse than I could have ever imagined. He would make sure of it.
That’s what he does.
“Come on,” he says to me, holding out his hand to help me up, and it takes everything in me not to break his arm instead. I would if I didn’t know he’d have someone doing the exact same thing to me after. “Let’s go tell your family what’s happening. That you’re forfeiting your shares and your father’s shares to me.”
“What about Seraphine?”
“She’ll have her job. Don’t worry. You can have a job with us, too, you know, if you ever get bored.”
I ignore his hand and get up on my own.
I feel like I’m betraying my family all over again.
“You’re doing the right thing, Olivier,” my uncle says, his voice silky smooth. “I assure you, by doing this you’ll be happier in the long run. Distance yourself from us, that’s what you’ve always wanted anyway. Concentrate on your own legacy. Build a family. Fall in love.” At that, I look at him sharply. He smiles. It’s all cold. “But I promise you, if you don’t do this, you won’t ever find love again.”
I know from the way he’s looking at me, like a dog that’s caught a scent, that he knows about Sadie. That whatever I’ve tried to do to protect her, to hide her, has been a waste of my time. He knows about her and will use her as leverage if he has to.
Another reason why I have to do this.
I’ll give all power to the devil if it saves Sadie from his grasp.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SADIE
You’d think that going to the funeral of someone you didn’t know would be a somewhat easy thing to do, but in some ways I think it’s harder. You’re not quite sure how to act, what to say. You feel so removed from the person and the situation and all the people mourning around you that you want to apologize for it.
That’s how I felt at Ludovic’s funeral.
Granted, it wasn’t a small affair at all, and not a single soul there was looking at me wondering what I was doing there or caring if I was crying or seemed distraught or not.
Everyone was focused on Ludovic Dumont and his legacy.
There were celebrities, models, actors, chefs, fashion designers, socialites, and billionaires. So many rich and influential people that you couldn’t swing a cat without hitting one of them.
The flowers were beautiful, the procession was beautiful.
The speeches were endless and heartfelt and heartbreaking.
Especially Olivier’s.
His speech is the one that made the tears spring to my eyes and fall freely down my cheeks. It looked like I was mourning Ludovic, but instead I was mourning Olivier.
I was mourning the fact that now he, along with Seraphine and Renaud, were orphans. That he lost a man who meant so much to him so soon after losing his mother. I knew family meant absolutely everything to Olivier and that he talked about his father often and with a great sense of pride. He was so proud to be his son.
And that was especially apparent in his eulogy, one that he had to stop a few times to compose himself because the heartache was too much.
But even after all that, I still feel like I shouldn’t be here. I mean, I’m not even with him. He didn’t talk about “hiding” us anymore, but he said he didn’t want the tabloids to focus on the mystery woman he brought to the funeral, so it would be best that I sit with the general public.
So that’s where I am now, watching as the casket is lowered into the ground, feeling like I got off the hook when everyone else is so affected.
Watching Olivier as he grapples with saying goodbye, his sister leaning on him on one side, his older brother, Renaud, leaning on the other.
So much is going to change now. The company and wills. I can already tell that things are going to get really ugly with his uncle and everyone else. They were at each other’s throats before this happened, and now . . .
It’s really the perfect excuse to leave.
If I was someone else, I would.
In fact, I think if I were the Sadie Reynolds I had been pretending to be all this time, the one who threw caution to the wind and chose to stay in the French Riviera with a stranger and follow him to Paris to have hot sex, I think that Sadie would say au revoir.
After all, Olivier is going to be extra busy now.
He’s not going to have any time for me.
He’s going to be dealing with all this change and grief and loss and stress, and I’m the last thing he needs to worry about.
I need to go.
I need to get to Madrid and get on that plane the day after tomorrow and go.
It would be better for him to deal with all this on his own.
But that’s not me.
I’m not that person who leaves. At least, I don’t want to be that person.
I want to stay.
I want to make sure Olivier is okay.
I want to be that shoulder for him to lean on, the same way he lets me lean on him.
I don’t want to be the person who turns around because a situation gets difficult.
That’s not what he would do for me.
If this situation were reversed, he would give it all up to make sure I was okay, that I was taken care of.
It’s one thing for him to tell me to go.
But even if he did, I won’t.
It’s scary to decide this, right here, right now.
But I’m deciding it.
I’ll have to defer my studies for another year, but at least they’ll still be there when I get back (an added bonus is that Tom won’t be in my classes anymore, but who gives a fuck about Tom).
And I won’t be with my mom.
That’s the worst thing. That’s the only real thing that keeps me tied to Seattle. I don’t want to let go of her. But the more I’ve been talking to my mom lately, the more I’ve realized that her dream wasn’t just about me spreading my wings and learning to fly—it was about her. She’s relied on me, and it was that reliance that made me rely on her. Now she’s better. Slowly, but surely, she’s becoming a better, more independent person.
I’ll still have to call her and explain the truth and hope to God that she understands. If there’s any tremor at all in her voice, the kind that tells me that her life will collapse without me there, then I’m getting on the first plane back.
But if that doesn’t happen, if she’s convinced she’ll be fine on her own, and if she can bring herself not to worry too much about me, then I’ll stay.
I have to say, my decision scares me.
But it’s not just about our relationship—yes, I’m afraid of whether Olivier even wants me around (it wasn’t what we agreed upon)—and about what it means to take it to the next level, to turn this from a vacation fling into a full-blown relationship.
But it scares me because . . .
His family scares me.
And Ludovic was the kind, smart, gentle soul holding everything that they are together.
Now he’s gone, and the threads
are going to start unraveling.
And like it or not, now I know that, somehow, I’m going to be tangled up in those very same threads.
It might not be pretty.
I’m slowly walking away from the gravesite with the crowd, lingering by the trees at the cemetery, when I feel a rush of a cold breeze pass over my arms and then hear, “There you are again.” The voice comes from behind me, but I’m not even surprised.
A little scared but not surprised.
I stop and turn to face Pascal.
His face is stoic, no charming crooked smile, no coldness or heat in his eyes. It gives me nothing and prepares me for nothing.
“How did you recognize me without the mask?” I ask, and I’m grateful that my voice isn’t shaking. I’m immediately taking on the power pose with him—chin up, shoulders squared, and just a hint of contempt in my eyes.
His lips twitch. “Who says you aren’t wearing a mask right now?”
I can only stare at him, wanting him to lay out his cards, the reason for this conversation. His interest in me.
“I trust my driver got you to Bordeaux safely?” Pascal asks. “You are here in one piece, not in a body bag on the side of the road.”
I purse my mouth briefly. “Yes, thank you for that. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”
“You could have spent a night in a castle. Wasn’t that always the plan?”
My heart starts to climb up my throat. “Plan? I never knew the ball was also a sleepover.”
“Sleepover. Oh, you Americans do have funny words for things. So what are you doing at the funeral?”
“Ludovic was a great man.”
“You didn’t know him.”
“Did anyone here really know him?”
“Yes. I did. He was my uncle.”
An uncle you didn’t see eye to eye with, an uncle you seem so unmoved over.
“I just wanted to pay my respects,” I say. “I should get going.”
I turn, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist, his grip strong and hot.
“No. Don’t. I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“What?” I ask, subtly trying to get my wrist out of his grip but failing. His fingers only tighten, and I don’t want to cause a scene.
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