Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
LUCAS
I take her to my favorite pizza place in Nice, Les Amoureux . I’m painfully aware that the restaurant name translates to 'lovers' , but their pizza is the best Nice has to offer. In my opinion, anyway. What I had forgotten, however, is that some pizzas come in different shapes than the usual circle.
"It's a heart," Leora exclaims as she looks up at the young waiter with the biggest smile.
"A beautiful girl like you deserves all the hearts the world has to offer," he replies, with a wink that suggests there's more to the compliment than meets the eye.
As I glare at the waiter, he suddenly breaks into a mischievous smirk. "Wait a moment, you have something there," he says, reaching behind Leora's ear. With a flourish, he produces a single flower, his eyes lingering on her with a playful twinkle.
Leora gasps in delight, and the surrounding tables erupt in applause.
Is this man flirting with my wife right in front of me? I can’t have other men flirting with her openly; what if someone sees or hears?
I take her hand in mine, subtly asserting my presence, "She truly deserves it all."
When the waiter leaves, Leora's eyes sparkle with amusement. "Someone’s feeling a bit territorial today," she teases.
"Can you blame me? We have a facade to uphold," I reply before taking a bite of my pizza. I watch her under my lashes as she takes her first bite, waiting to see her reaction. It’s anything other than disappointing. Her eyes grow as large as saucers, and she moans at the taste.
"This is the best pizza I’ve ever had," she hums between bites.
"It’s the best pizza in Nice, but when I take you to Italy, you’ll taste the finest pizza the world has to offer."
She pauses, the pizza slice dangling a few centimeters in front of her lips. "You want to take me to Italy?"
"Doesn’t a married couple travel?"
"I guess." Her eyes sparkle with eagerness before she takes another bite from the pizza, a little smile hidden behind the slice.
I want to get to know her. I want to know what makes her hesitate, what makes her happy, and what her life is like. It's time for us to open up, to let each other in.
"So," Leora begins her tone more serious, "we should get to know each other better."
It’s as if she’s reading my mind, "I agree."
She puts down her food, and I sense a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. "Tell me about your family, Lucas."
Every time I think about my parents, about what I remember, something in me shatters over and over again. But for her, I'll try. "There’s not much to say. My parents passed away when I was very young, and Antoine and his wife, Marie, became our guardians. "
Leora's expression softens, and she reaches out to place her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry, Lucas. That must have been incredibly difficult."
I appreciate her empathy, but I’m more interested in her. "It was, but I had my brother with me. Now tell me about your family."
"Do you want to hear about my chosen family or biological family?" That’s not the answer I was expecting. Her expression reveals a haunted past, and for a moment, I find myself questioning why I feel this inexplicable urge to help her. I have no obligation to her. Yet, a strange desire to take away anything that has hurt her, lingers within me.
"If there’s a difference," I say, my tone gentle, "I want to hear about both."
A deep breath escapes her before she speaks. "My mother died when I was born, and after that, my biological father left me to be raised by a foster family who cared more about getting their checks than taking care of us."
There’s a tightening in my chest as she shares how her father left her as a child. The idea of someone abandoning Leora is incomprehensible to me.
"I’m okay, Lucas. He did me a favor," she assures me, obviously noticing the shift in me.
"As for my chosen family," she continues, a smile creeping up on her face. "Adeline and her family were our neighbors, and I spent quite a lot of time with them. They’re practically my family, and later on, Sophie joined."
Her eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of something deeper.
I don’t want to push her further, but there’s something in me that wants to reassure her. "If you ask me, your father made the biggest mistake a man can make by leaving you. You grew up to be a smart, resilient, and compassionate woman, and based on what I've seen between you and your friends, you're right, he did do you a favor," I tell her. "I truly believe that the people you surround yourself with say a lot about you, and your chosen family is a testament to the remarkable person you are, Leora."
"Thank you." There’s a slight blush to her face as she speaks. "You’re quite the remarkable person yourself, Lucas."
She takes a sip of her drink before I continue, "I don’t want to pry, but why did you get fired?"
Leora coughs at the change of subject but recovers quickly, setting her glass down and taking a moment to compose herself.
"It's okay, Lucas. You're not prying," she cringes a little. "I got fired because . . . well, it’s quite weird. I did something I don’t remember doing."
"What do you mean?"
"According to my boss, I accidentally left out important papers during an event, and a client found them. They were not meant to read those papers, so it put the company in quite a bind. They fired me for my complacency around confidentiality."
I understand the implication. If one of my employees had lost papers, I would be very upset. What baffles me, however, is her apparent lack of recollection about it. I file it away to look into later.
"Why can’t you remember it?" I ask.
Leora hesitates for a moment before replying, "I had a drink or two that night."
"A drink or two?" I repeat, questioning. Typically, a drink or two doesn't lead to a blackout.
"Yes. Only that, but I still don’t remember losing those papers."
Fear rushes through my body as a thought hits me. "Did someone put something in your drink?" She immediately sees the wildness behind my eyes and shakes her head fast, "No, no. I didn’t feel weird or anything like that.” Leora’s shoulders drop, her expression troubled. "I was tired and drained even before the event started, which must have been the reason for my forgetfulness."
I sense her frustration and confusion, and to try to offer her some comfort, I put my hand on top of hers. "Sometimes, we all have moments where our minds play tricks on us, especially when we're exhausted. It doesn't make you less capable or reliable." I reassure her, giving her hand a squeeze.
Leora's eyes briefly drop to our connecting hands, and when she looks back up, there's a subtle sheen to her eyes. "Thank you."
Then she takes a breath, and the sad, grateful look on her face morphs into a little smile. "Enough about that. Let's not dwell on my past mistakes." She leans in slightly, her voice mischievous as she continues, "Tell me about your last relationship."
I let out a laugh. "Oh, you want to talk about my past mistakes instead, huh?"
Leora chuckles, a melodious sound that adds warmth to the atmosphere. "We all have our share of mistakes, don't we? Besides, I'm curious."
I take a sip of my drink, considering her question. My last relationship had been with Milena. It was a whirlwind of passion and arguments, a rollercoaster ride that I’m glad to have left behind.
"My last relationship was intense to say the least. We had our moments, of course, but we also clashed a lot."
Leora raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What caused the clashes?"
I sigh, memories of heated arguments and sleepless nights flashing through my mind. "Differences, I suppose. Different values, different priorities. We wanted different things from life, and it became clear that we couldn't give each other what we needed."
Leora nods in understanding. "Sometimes, love isn't enough to bridge those gaps."
"I wouldn’t call what we had love," I reply. "I don't think I ever loved Milena. Our relationship was mostly physical, but that wasn’t worth staying in the relationship."
Leora's eyes widen slightly, registering surprise at my admission. "Not love?" she echoes, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Have you ever been in love?"
Her question catches me off guard, and I take a moment to consider it.
"No, I haven’t. Not yet," I admit, "Have you ever been in love, Leora?"
"Once, but it turned around and stabbed me in the back," she answers quickly.
There’s pain in her words, and I tread carefully as I respond. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?"
She shakes her head. "Not now."
I know a little bit about her ex, the one who cheated on her. I did some research myself after our argument. The guy is a singer-songwriter according to his social media. He's got a group of adoring fans he likes to call his "angels." His songs are clichés, filled with cringe-worthy lyrics and his performances are often more about spectacle than substance.
He’s a joke, a walking punchline.
As much as I dislike the guy, it seems more realistic that he lost Leora, rather than managing to make a woman like her fall in love with him. I can’t wrap my head around it.
Leora deserves so much more. She deserves someone who appreciates her, someone who lives to keep the smiles on her face and someone who cherishes every aspect of who she is. Someone like . . . The thought crosses my mind, considering if I could be the one to take care of her. However, a lingering doubt persists. Deep down, I question if I would ever truly deserve her.
I glance at her, my eyes meeting hers. "I’m all ears if you ever want to talk or if you want me to send him a message."
She laughs at my comment, raising an eyebrow "As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll let the universe handle him. But thanks for offering, "
"Of course, anytime. And if you ever need a partner in crime for some good old-fashioned revenge plotting, you know where to find me."
Leora's laughter fills the room, and for a moment, the weight of her past heartbreak seems a little lighter. We may not be able to change the past, but we can certainly make the present a little brighter.
Later, I decide to meet up with Estelle Lavigne. She took over her seat at the board after her husband passed away. But she's more than just a stakeholder; she's one of the few with a heart. Her late husband, my uncle's first investor and best friend, left a void that she's been trying to fill ever since. I grew up with both of them around, so getting her on my side in this upcoming vote, won’t be hard.
"Lucas," she calls out from her office, looking up as I approach. She's in her early sixties, and her timeless elegance radiates from every carefully chosen detail of her appearance. Her silver hair, impeccably styled, frames a face that has weathered the years with grace and wisdom.
"Estelle," I greet her with a nod as I step inside, before her arms envelop me.
She gestures for me to take a seat. "It's been a while. How have you been, dear?"
"I've been managing," I reply, settling into the chair. "Especially with everything that’s going on."
She nods in understanding, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern. "You know your uncle is very proud of the way you've handled things. He believes in you."
"I appreciate that, Estelle. It means a lot," I say, genuinely touched by her words. "But I need your help. Michel is stirring up trouble, and I can't afford to lose this vote."
Her expression turns serious, and she leans in slightly. "I'll do whatever I can, Lucas. I might be able to talk with Duval, to see where his mind is at. But you should reach out to Grimaldi; I think he’s the one that will be manipulated by Michel the most."
She’s right—Marc Duval and Louis Grimaldi are the closest to Michel, their loyalty making them potential targets for his manipulations. Which is why I have to get to them first.
She then shifts the conversation back to personal matters, "How's Leora handling everything? Being the wife of a man in such a challenging position can't be easy."
I sigh, "She's been great, always supporting me. I can't ask for a better partner."
Estelle gives me a warm smile. "Marriage is a partnership, Lucas. You need to take care of each other, especially during challenging times." She pats my hand reassuringly. "I’m sorry I missed the reception, but your uncle showed me photos. She’s a beauty."
She's the most beautiful woman I've laid my eyes on. A small, unconscious smile tugs at my lips. Little do I realize, Estelle catches this moment of unguarded happiness.
"I'm happy for you," Estelle says. "Your parents would be proud."
Her words hit a chord, and I pause. Would they be proud if they knew the truth?
"Thank you, Estelle."