Lord at First Sight (The Montevor Royals Saga #8)

Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ANTOINE

L aura hesitates for a moment before she says, “Fine, I’ll show you.”

I stand from the couch, grab a chair, and sit next to her at the dining table. The soft scrape of the chair legs is the only sound as I settle in.

She opens the sketchbook to the page with the pendant she’s been working on. I lean in so that I can study the intricate detailing. It’s shaped like a fat teardrop made up of delicate, interwoven flowers. A single, exaggerated petal curves outward, giving it a whimsical edge. It’s simple in concept, but effective. And masterfully executed.

“This”—I gesture to the page—“is amazing. What materials were you thinking for it?”

“Stainless steel, maybe?” She looks at me like I’m qualified to give an opinion. “Or brass. Something cheap and affordable.”

“It would look stunning in gold.”

“You think?”

I decide to ignore the snark and point to the pendant’s center. “Maybe a gemstone here. Something subtle like a sapphire.”

“Great idea!” She laughs, a short, dismissive sound. “Let me just go get the sapphire money I had lying around.”

With an eye roll, she reaches to close the sketchbook.

“Can I see your other designs?” I ask.

Her hand freezes. “I don’t know…”

“If they’re half as good as this one, then you have a real gift. In which case I’ll insist that you stop calling it a hobby.”

Laura bites her lip, on the fence about letting me see the rest of her work.

Then she relents. “Fine. But you have to promise to be honest. If something’s bad, say so.”

“I promise.”

She flips to the first page. It’s a bracelet with interlocking geometric shapes.

I take in the clean lines and the way the angles flow seamlessly into curves. “Not bad at all!”

We go through the sketchbook. Some pieces catch my attention more than others, and I let her know when they do. “Very clever,” I say of a ring design with an adjustable band disguised as part of the aesthetic. Others get a neutral “hmm,” not because they’re subpar—quite honestly, none of them are—it’s really just for the contrast.

Halfway through, we hit a necklace. It’s unabashedly baroque with cascading chains that mimic falling water.

I study it for a while. “This piece is spectacular.”

“It’s too dramatic.” She blushes, waving me off. “No one would actually wear that.”

“Gigi would,” I say without hesitation. “You should show her your designs. She has an eye for jewelry that stands out, and she’d agree with me that your work is uniquely original. And bold. And beautiful.”

Her softly rounded cheeks turn redder. “You’re just saying that.”

“I never just say things.” My eyebrows knit together. “Oh, come on, I’m sure others have told you how good your designs are.”

“Denise has,” she admits. “And Aunt Mei. But my parents don’t think they’re anything special.”

“Your parents don’t know what they’re talking about.”

She stiffens.

I soften my tone. “Whatever they sacrificed so you could get the right education and work at a bank doesn’t justify burying a talent like this.”

Her lips press into a thin line.

Again, I push past her defensiveness. “Laura, their expectations are holding you back. Can’t you see that?”

“They only ever wanted what’s best for me,” she says with an edge to her voice. “You make it sound like they’ve been terrible.”

“I didn’t say that. But sometimes the people who love us most can’t see past their own dreams for us.”

Her gaze sharpens. “And what about you, Antoine Bellay? If you didn’t have to fulfill your parents’ expectations, what would you do?”

To say that I was completely unprepared for the question would be an understatement. My mind scrambles for a witty retort, but nothing comes. Fine. Then I should just answer that my choices are my own, and that I do what I do in life because I’m good at it and I enjoy it. It’s the truth. I know it. What puzzles me is why I feel so… exposed.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” I finally say, before picking up the sketchbook. “Can I see the rest?”

“Yes, of course.”

She doesn’t ask any more personal questions, and I’m relieved. As we work our way through the sketchbook, I observe carefully and comment, though my thoughts remain muddled. Laura turns a page. My gaze locks on a design. It’s a brooch depicting a blooming rose entwined with two ribbons.

At first glance, it looks like a simple floral motif, rendered in Laura’s unique style. It isn’t particularly original. But something about it makes me focus on the details. The unusual shape of the petals… The elaborately asymmetric way in which the ribbons wrap around the stem… These elements look suspiciously familiar.

I’ll be damned! I’m looking at the sigil of the Order of the Brassiere, Mount Evor’s oldest and most prestigious chivalric order. My pulse quickens.

“Where did you get the idea for this design?” I ask.

Laura looks startled. “The rose? Oh, it’s just something I remember. Why?”

“Remember from where?”

She tilts her head, visibly perplexed. “My grandma’s house.”

“Where?”

“In Chengdu,” she replies. “I was sixteen when my parents, Aunt Mei, and I went there. It was for a big family reunion with the grandparents, my uncle, and my cousins.”

I lean forward. “What exactly do you remember about that pattern?”

“Not much.” She frowns, tracing the edge of the page. “I saw it somewhere in her house. It stuck with me because it didn’t fit.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything else was so traditionally Chinese—the furniture, porcelain vases, calligraphy scrolls. And then this… this random European-looking design.”

“Was it on an object?” I ask, hoping to jog her memory. “Like a… music box, maybe?”

Laura blinks at me, her confusion deepening. “A music box? I don’t know. Maybe? Why?”

It’s a bloody shame I’m not allowed to reveal the truth to her!

Her eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you’re still trying to solve Pedro’s secret challenge?”

“I am.”

“But why?”

“I’m dogged like that.” I shrug. “And so, I’d like to see if this leads anywhere. Do you find that annoying?”

“No, it’s just weird how much you’re still into it.”

You have no idea, sweet cheeks.

I look at the brooch design again, the rose and ribbons burning into my mind. I’m ashamed to say I’d almost given up. My plan was to carry on until the end of the show, hoping for a miracle. I didn’t really expect one. Every relevant location had been searched, even the remotest ones, and nothing had been found. I’d asked Laura all kinds of questions and done everything I could to help her remember. All in vain.

The ignominious prospect of becoming the first unsuccessful key seeker loomed on the horizon. It was beginning to weigh on me. The only thing that kept my spirits up was the solace I found in being around Laura, and the gratification of being inside her.

But now, for the first time since I’d embarked on this quest, I have a lead. A bona fide fucking lead!

I dart to the coffee table and grab my laptop. “I’m booking us on the next flight to Chengdu.”

“What?” Laura stares at me like I’ve just proposed we ride there on unicycles.

“Call your grandmother,” I say, fingers poised over the keys. “Tell her we’re coming.”

“But what about the show? My job? Your job?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “We’ll tell Isabelle it’s a family emergency, and we’ll be back in three or four days. Shoot an email to the bank and give them the same story.”

Should I ask Adam to send us a private jet?

I stare at the screen, thinking. I could also search for one to rent, crew included. Or, if there’s a commercial flight leaving in a few hours, I could book us on that instead. It could be a smart move in case Kurt still has eyes on me… I should call Adam and ask for his advice.

Laura’s silence breaks me from my cogitation. I glance up. She’s staring at me, her head shaking.

“What?” I ask. “What’s the issue?”

“If this is really about Pedro’s challenge, then why lie to Isabelle?”

I think on my feet. “Because it was a secret challenge, remember? She’s not in the loop.”

The frown between her eyebrows deepens.

“OK,” she finally says. “Assuming I take three days off work and go along with this crazy plan of yours, where do we find the money? Do you have any idea how expensive last-minute tickets to Chengdu are?”

How do I wiggle out of this one?

“I’m a bank teller,” she goes on, “and you’re a tattoo artist. We’re not the kind of people who can jet off to China on a whim.”

I close the laptop and meet her gaze. This is delicate ground. But I think I can handle it. A MESS psyops expert prepared me for this. I’m going to feed her a lie. A small, sustainable lie, tied to a truth.

“Laura,” I begin. “I have something to confess.”

She crosses her arms. “What?”

“I’m what they call a trust-fund punk.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

“I come from old money,” I say, trying to look guilty. “Henri and I grew up rich. That explains the posh British accent.”

“Yeah, that explains a lot, actually.” She narrows her eyes. “But why the charade?”

“I left that life behind to pursue my own path, to live unshackled by social constraints.”

She looks like she’s on the fence about buying my story, but it’ll have to do.

“Anyway,” I say. “The money’s there, and I’m free to do with it as I please.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “And you just never mentioned it before?”

“It never came up.”

She exhales. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And fully capable of funding this trip,” I declare. “So, what do you say?”

She rubs her temples. “This is madness.”

“But fun madness,” I counter, deciding she’d just said yes. “Now, will you call your grandmother while I arrange our flight?”