by Lila Dubois
“I promise you won’t,” Vivienne assured her cousin. After their first break up, Gerard had started the rumor that Victor had wounded Solomon while defending Vivienne. Vivienne had done her best to counteract the rumors, but her protests had the opposite effect, and Victor had earned a reputation as dangerously violent.
Edmund was looking back and forth between them. “Are you two together now?”
Vivienne considered her cousin. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“What I wanted was for you to be happy. And I didn’t think you could do that as long as there was so much unfinished between you.” Edmund smiled slightly. “And I knew you still loved him.”
“I did,” Vivienne said, unashamed. “But love wasn’t enough.” She glanced at Solomon. “We figured it out. We know who we are, what we need.”
Unexpectedly, Victor grunted. “Good for you. You two were always good together.” The rest of the table looked at him in surprise, but Victor just shrugged.
The server returned with a silver coffee carafe and an icy bottle of sparkling wine. The popping sound of the cork always made her think of celebrations. Vivienne glanced at Solomon. Today was a celebration, or at least it would be if everything went according to plan.
“A toast,” Solomon said, raising his glass.
“To love.” Edmund lifted his flute.
“No,” Solomon corrected. “To home.”
Victor and Edmund shared a bewildered look, but when Vivienne teared up as she raised her own glass, the brothers dutifully said, “Santé.”
They drank champagne and waited for their first course. Victor asked Solomon about the logistics of owning his own island, Edmund demanded an invitation to visit, and Vivienne sat back, listening to these three people who were all so important to her, enjoy a morning in one another’s company.
As the meal came to a close, Vivienne cleared her throat. “There are things, business things, I want to talk to you about.”
Edmund seemed to slump, but wasn’t surprised. “Of course, of course. Anything you need.” He looked at his brother, then back to her. “You’ve done more than enough.” From his tone, it was clear Edmund had some idea of what she needed to change.
“We will handle Mother and Father,” Victor added, proving he too could read between the lines. “Whatever you need, we will deal with them. Before we would not have been able, but now…” He shrugged.
“None of us are the same people we were six years ago,” Solomon said.
“No, we are not,” Vivienne agreed, and after five days of Solomon telling her she was strong and beautiful and worthy of love, she had no hesitations about making some changes in her life. He was right, she was strong, and that’s why they’d come to her. She’d been strong for everyone but herself, made everything but her relationship a priority.
“Why don’t we go to my apartment so we can talk about the details? I have draft papers ready to print out for your review,” Vivienne said.
Solomon had been holding her left hand through most of the meal. Now he raised it, kissing her knuckles.
Edmund sucked in an outraged breath grabbing her right shoulder. “You didn’t.”
Vivienne’s stomach clenched. “Edmund?”
“You would not have done something like that to me. You would not have gotten married without me.” Edmund stared accusingly at her left hand. An ultra-thin gold band resided on her ring finger, so slender that it was easy to overlook.
Vivienne shared a soft look with her husband. The word felt both foreign and right. “We got married in Miami yesterday. It was the fastest option. Everywhere else required days of notice and preparation.” She’d been bitterly disappointed to learn that the captain of Nerio’s ship hadn’t been able to marry them.
“No,” Edmund said shortly. “It did not happen. You did not get married without me. I refuse to accept it.”
Solomon squeezed her hand. “If you don’t approve, then go fuc—”
“For god’s sake, Vivienne, what were you wearing?”
Vivienne relaxed, even as she tried to look contrite. “If it makes you feel better, we can have a ceremony here in a few weeks.”
“Eight months. It will take six for the dress.”
“Four months, and we have it at Maison Delphine.”
“Seven months and you will be married at Château Rossolina, of course. My God, woman, where is your sense of occasion?”
“Do I get a say in this?” Solomon asked.
“No,” Edmund said.
“Is this what you wanted to talk to us about?” Victor asked.
Vivienne didn’t really care when or where they had a second ceremony. She’d married him in a judge’s office in Miami, Florida, neither of them dressed for the occasion, and with no witnesses of their own.
It had been perfect.
She’d have an elaborate ceremony because Edmund would want to make her dress, because probably Solomon’s mother would care. She’d have it so photographic evidence that they’d made it, that they’d grown up enough to make it through everything life had thrown at them, could be splashed across the front page of gossip sites.
Vivienne rose, and the men followed suit. “We have much to discuss.”
As they walked out of the restaurant, Solomon leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You can still change your mind.”
“About marrying you?”
He pulled her against his side. “Oh no, you’re mine now.”
She smiled. “I don’t want to change my mind, about any of it.”
The next morning they met at Maison Delphine. Her family members arrived in fits and starts. She’d called the meeting for ten a.m., but Edmund and Victor arrived well before then, Victor looking serious, but happy, Edmund anxious.
Her mother arrived around nine. She’d driven in with Uncle Alain. Alain looked at Solomon with surprise, and no small amount of distaste.
Vivienne pulled her mother aside. They’d never been particularly close, but she was, after all, her mother. Vivienne held up her left hand, then quietly assured her mother that she was both happy and very sure about her decision to marry.
By the time they walked back into the meeting room, the final two attendees, Tempeste and Gerard had arrived. They were glaring daggers at Alain, having never forgiven him for the merger of the companies, despite repeated explanations that, from a business perspective, it made sense.
The current plan, the one she was about to explain, also made sense, and a third of the room—Edmund and Victor—were already on board, yet as she walked to the head of the table, Vivienne’s palms were damp.
She took her place, staring down the long conference table. Solomon was sitting at the other end, arms folded, but his eyes were soft when he looked at her. Suddenly, she was eager to get this done, eager to move on.
The six guests she called to this meeting had arranged themselves along family lines.
Her mother and Alain—the Deschamps—sat on her left, while Edmund, Victor and their parents, Tempest and Gerard, sat on her right.
“The purpose of this meeting is to give you advance notice of the structural reorganization of CRD Beauvalot.” Vivienne was proud of how calm and cool her voice was.
“What do you mean?” Gerard snarled, slapping his hands on the table. As always he responded aggressively.
“No reorganization is necessary,” Alain said coolly. Though they’d never talked about it, Vivienne was sure that he had to harbor resentment over the fact that the merger had been his idea, and by right he should be the CEO over both companies, rather than the president of only the winery.
“For you, perhaps there is not. However, I am unwilling to continue as CEO.”
She let that statement hang. Tempeste glared at Solomon, Gerard looked stunned, but then pleased—surely he didn’t think he would be named CEO in her place? The man’s hubris was staggering. Alain also glanced at Solomon, though without malice, and her mother…
Her mother smiled proudly.
>
She hadn’t even known she wanted that approval, that part of her had been waiting for her mother, who had always seemed so content with her role within the family she’d married into, to be okay with Vivienne’s decision. She hadn’t known she wanted it, but now that she had it, something inside Vivienne relaxed.
She gave them another moment to absorb, then went on. “I am stepping back from day-to-day operations, and going forward I will hold the position of president of the new board of directors.”
“Unnecessary,” Alain barked.
“It is necessary. I will repeat myself—I am unwilling to continue as CEO.”
“Then someone else will do it,” Gerard asserted.
Alain snorted. “You?”
“If you hadn’t lied and made me sign—”
“If you weren’t so stupid it—”
Solomon rose, then banged one fist on the table like a gavel. It had the desired effect of shutting everyone up. Vivienne went on as if there hadn’t been an interruption.
“There will be seven members on the board. Myself, and three people from Deschamps, three from Beauvalot. The lead executive of each business will hold one of those spots. Alain, as CEO of Château Rossolina Deschamps, one spot is yours.”
“I am not the CEO, I am the president of the company.”
“We’re changing that.” Vivienne looked at her mother. “You are now CFO, and on the same level with the same power, as the CEO.”
Alain stiffened, “You cannot—”
“If she were on the board, and still your subordinate, she would be obliged to vote with you.” Without giving that side more time to protest, Vivienne turned her attention to the Beauvalots. “From now on, Victor will serve as CEO of Beauvalot Fashion, and sit on the board. As the creative director, Edmund takes the second spot. Gerard, you will have the board member third spot.”
“And what of me?” Tempeste demanded. “I am the only one with no vote? I am a Beauvalot by blood!”
“You will serve as an ad hoc board member, and have deciding vote in case of a tie. Your ad hoc position gives you the right to attend all meetings, and speak at those meetings.”
Tempeste look mollified. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out that with seven voting members, a tie was impossible. Hopefully her aunt wouldn’t realize that until after Vivienne was not only out of this room, but off the continent.
“Who is the last member?” Alain asked. “There are only two people from Deschamps. I would like to nominate—”
“As of right now, and by design, the board of directors is limited to family. It’s why the CFO of Beauvalot isn’t included, when the CFO of Deschamps is.” Vivienne met each person’s gaze in turn. “The final member of the board, representing Deschamps for the sake of equality, is Solomon Carter.”
Everyone at the table, even Victor and Edmund, who’d known this was coming, twisted to look at Solomon. He grinned and waved.
“He’s not—” Tempeste started.
“As my husband, he is family.” Vivienne couldn’t help but smile as everyone swiveled back to her, shock evident on Alain, Tempeste, and Gerard’s faces.
“Board meetings will take place once a month, here at Maison Delphine,” Vivienne went on. “All members are expected to attend in person. Our first order of business will be to finalize the scope of duties for the board. Between now and then I will be handing off day-to-day decision making strategies to Victor and Alain.”
She thought they’d made it, that the hard part was over, but Gerard piped up at that point. “You’ve made him your enforcer.”
Vivienne found it was easy to remain calm, to see Gerard’s outburst for what it was, a tantrum. “No, he is my strength. He reminds me of who I am. Makes me better than myself.”
“Brava!” Edmund cheered.
Solomon chuckled.
Tempeste’s lips were quivering. “I see what you’ve done. You’ve kept all the power but expect my son to do the work.”
“Your sons are more than capable, and I am under no illusions as to how much work this will be.” She gestured to the conference table. “I gave years to this family. I will not be made to feel ashamed for taking back my life.”
“Brava,” Edmund exclaimed again, with even more feeling.
“I love you all,” Vivienne said, more softly than she’d been speaking before. “And I love what we do. Who we are. I would not sacrifice that, but I also won’t sacrifice myself.”
She glanced up and Solomon rose from his chair, coming around to her end of the table. He held out his arm, and Vivienne slipped her fingers around his elbow. She smiled at her family. “There are packets for each of you. I’ve engaged the services of a management consulting firm to aid the transition, once we agree upon a date. Take your time; we’ll meet again in a month to finalize the changes. Until then, Alain and Victor have full decision making power, as I’ll technically be on a leave of absence.”
Together she and Solomon started walking towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Alain asked, tone more curious than accusatory.
Vivienne looked back over her shoulder without slowing her steps, then back to Solomon. “I’m going home.”
Want more? The Orchid Club series continues with
VIENNA BETRAYAL
She watched the quiet man from the shadows of her hooded, enveloping cloak.
She stood out from the crowd, as she intended, her body concealed while around her, flesh was on display. Some bodies were already pink or red as a result of sadistic, masochistic, and taboo recreation.
The quiet man hadn’t partaken. She knew because she’d been watching him watch everyone else.
He was the reason she was here. The reason she was willing to play the submissive once more.
And now he was watching her. She’d known the exact moment his gaze landed on her. Felt it the way prey felt the presence of a predator staring at them from the shadows.
Hidden under the cloak, Magdelena Moreau’s fingers curled into her palms when he rose from his seat. If she’d done this right he was going to approach her, ask her to submit to him for the night.
As much as she longed to make the first move, she couldn’t. Not here. He had to come to her. It was the only way.
The quiet man started towards her.
Her fingers relaxed as satisfaction and relief, with a thin note of panic interwoven, slid through her.
He walked with purpose and confidence, not the lazy grace she’d expected from the quiet man.
Two meters away.
There’s still time to run.
She wouldn’t run. He was a piece in the game. A knight, she decided. The black knight. She needed to take the knight, even if it meant sacrificing a pawn.
One meter.
She had to play multiple roles in this particular game…including that of the pawn the black knight would take.
When he stopped, he was close enough that she could smell him—liquor, a smoky cologne, expensive linen, and below it all the warm smell of skin.
She didn’t look down, but she didn’t look up either. He was taller than her, so she was looking at his throat, the inverted triangle of flesh exposed by the undone top buttons of his dress shirt. The shirt was crisp white in contrast with the black bowtie draped around his neck. There were no creases in the bowtie—it hadn’t been tied. No, he’d looped it around his neck and tucked it under the collar of his shirt to cultivate an end of the evening, relaxed look.
Time stretched, disproportionate to reality. She bit the tip of her tongue to keep herself quiet.
“May I?” His voice was low, but precise. It was the first time she’d heard him speak in person, and it fit with the moniker she’d picked for him—the quiet man.
“Please do.”
He cocked his head to the side in response to her reply. Surprise. He’d spoken German, and she’d replied in the same language, but despite her best efforts, her American accent was present no matter what language she spok
e.
Rather than comment, he raised his hand. She caught her breath as he toyed with the cloak’s hood, which hid her hair and cast her face in shadow. After a long moment, during which he seemed to be considering her, he pushed the hood back.
Magdalena—Alena—looked straight ahead, holding perfectly still as he examined her.
“No collar,” he murmured.
Succinct but blunt, while also making his intentions clear.
Relief mingled with new, but not unexpected, anxiety. “No, Sir.”
The quiet man held out his hand.
Alena accepted the silent offer, his fingers warm as they closed around hers.
Then the quiet man led her through the crowd, past women and men bound to appliances and structures of wood and chain. He led her past a whipping post, the stocks. Past a woman on her knees, panting in pain as her Dom added another magnetic weight to the nipple clamps dangling from her breasts.
The quiet man led her out of the medieval-style dungeon that was, under normal circumstances, a hotel ballroom. The contrast between it and the elegant hallway was sharp, but easy to ignore as she focused on walking beside him, her thoughts on what was about to happen.
The room he brought her to was done in an odd mix of Japanese and Moroccan styles, the floor scattered with massive meters-square floor pillows and soft rugs. The furnishings were low chairs and tables with bowed legs, footstools, and banded trunks.
The theme of the event lacked focus, in Alena’s opinion—a medieval dungeon and a Moroccan lounge were hardly copacetic—but she wasn’t the hostess of this month’s Orchid Club gathering.
The quiet man dropped her hand, then gestured, inviting her, without words, to take a seat.
She hesitated for only a moment, quickly considering and dismissing various options, weighing and calculating what to do.
How she should present herself so that she was both enticingly submissive, but not forgettable?
Alena sat on a floor pillow, but rather than kneeling, she tucked her legs to one side. As she sank to the floor, her cloak—maroon velvet with black closures running from her neck to waist—spread out around her, falling open enough to reveal her legs.