Chapter 25
EVA
Brigitte’s room smells, as always, of her perfumed hand cream and the dry tang of white wine.
She sits propped against the pillows, glass in hand. It’s her second since I came in—and who knows how many she’s had since this morning.
In her defense, it’s a tense day. We’ve all been on tenterhooks since Vautrin recused himself three days ago, and today the stress is sky-high.
“Are you sure the new judge will rule today?” Brigitte lifts her gaze to the clock. “It’s already five-thirty.”
I move a piece of apple pie across my plate, too nervous to eat. “Pauline was adamant.”
“But the judge had the file for only three days.”
I take a tiny bite of pie, barely tasting it. “Judge Sarrazin is famously efficient.”
Even as I say the words, I realize my mother-in-law isn’t wrong. A verdict in the next twenty or thirty minutes feels unlikely. But it isn’t unlikely enough for me to relax, finish this tea, and get on with my day. The chance that my fate could change by six keeps me planted here with Brigitte.
Millie is in her room doing homework. I picture her sitting cross-legged on the floor with her books open and humming while she works. I want to be with her when Pauline calls, but I don’t want her catching my anxiety.
I sip my tea. The cup rattles against the saucer as I put it down. The last three days have been nerve-racking. Alex and I have kept up a polite facade, but I can tell he’s wound tight. I’m no better.
He’s been driving to Pombrio every day to teach an advanced math class. By the time I get up, he’s already gone. He’s never around for lunch. At dinner, I’m a no-show, armed with a steady supply of excuses—some real, most made up.
On the day of Judge Vautrin’s recusal, I ran into Alex in the hallway near my room. It was almost midnight. He gave me a questioning look. I wanted to hiss, “Seriously?” But I held back and just turned away. He got the message and hasn’t sought me out since.
“Do you think he’s worried?” Brigitte asks.
“Who?”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Your rival. Who else?”
I top up my teacup and drink, burning my tongue. “If he is, he’s not showing it.”
“I’d bet he is,” she says. “Men are proud like that. They think they can hide their fears.”
I nod, thinking to myself that women are no better. Brigitte, me, even Millie—we all hide our fears in our own flawed ways.
Beyond the impending verdict, something else gnaws at me.
Von Dietz still hasn’t called with the results of his team’s investigation of the secret tunnels Alex and I uncovered.
Another day of radio silence. Another day of wondering if Geoffroy was mixed up in something ugly.
At this point I pray it’s just smuggling and not treason.
Alex and I are on the same side here. Neither of us wants the Castellane name tarnished. If it’s treason and it comes out, everybody will pay the price.
Brigitte refills her wineglass.
I refill my teacup.
It’s ten to six.
Despite my resistance, my mind drifts to the nights Alex and I spent together at the Royal Pombrio and at Fort Vauclairt. I should’ve never let my guard down. I would’ve been better-off if we’d never made love.
The sex was amazing, though.
And that’s the problem. Under the sheets, Alex is everything I want. Outside them, he’s a heartless, tactless jerk who managed to turn a marriage proposal into an insult.
He’s no monster like Geoffroy, not even close.
I know that in my bones. I’ve learned to recognize the signs, and Alex doesn’t have them.
He’s blunt, but not cruel. Not twisted. His lovemaking is generous.
He went down on me again and again, because he could tell how much I enjoyed it.
I never returned the favor. I couldn’t. Geoffroy had turned the act into something degrading and debased it beyond repair.
And Alex… he never insisted, never pushed. I don’t even think he asked.
But none of that matters. He’s still infuriating. And I hate that I miss his touch.
It’ll pass.
Brigitte points at the bottle on the nightstand. “You sure you don’t want some?”
“No, thanks. Tea’s fine.”
“Suit yourself.” She takes a long drink. “So, what happens if we win?”
“I haven’t let myself think that far.” I push my plate aside. “If we do, I’ll go to the cellar and open our best champagne. We’ll celebrate. And then I’ll call the bishop to schedule Millie’s anointment ceremony.”
“And if we lose?”
“Millie and I will be out of here before he’s hung his victory banners.”
“And I’ll have to move to my depressing house.” Brigitte shudders. “Hate that place!”
She tries to roll her eyes Millie-style, but the wine in her system makes her eyelids falter, ruining the effect.
“Let’s hope you won’t have to move.” I look at the clock.
Any minute now.