Forty-One
FORTY-ONE
LUCAS
" W here the hell have you been?" Liam spots us as soon as we sneak back to the party—apparently, we’re not discreet at all. "And why does your hair look like that?" he continues, and then he peeks at Leora. "You too? Why is it all tousled? It almost looks like you’ve just—" He laughs but when he notices the red hue creeping up Leora’s neck, understanding settles in and he looks back at me.
"Really? You just had to sneak away like two horny teenagers this evening?"
Leora is biting her lip, holding back laughter while her face is red as a tomato and I just shrug. "Stop acting jealous. When and what we do is none of your business, brother. Now, where’s Ammo ?"
"He came a few minutes ago. He’s by the pictures. But please fix your hair before you go up to him. He’s already stressed enough, he doesn’t have to look at your sex-hair."
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to smooth back the locks and Leora does the same, combing her fingers through her beautiful waves that were wrapped around my fist a few minutes ago.
The way she took control just now might have been the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Little did I know that beneath her poised exterior, a fiery vixen resided. Seeing her confident and bold like that would have brought me to my knees if she hadn’t asked to taste me first, and what a taste it was.
I look at her, and when our eyes meet, there’s a particular gleam in them that makes me sure she’s thinking the same thing as me.
"Do you want me to hold your hand and take you to him?" Liam says with a mocking tone and I just shake my head at the smugness on his face.
"Let’s go." My hand reaches for Leora and we walk to meet my uncle standing in front of Leora’s picture wall. I haven’t seen it yet. She showed me some of the photos she found when she was planning this whole thing but seeing this live is something completely different. Seeing my uncle’s eyes light up with gratefulness and nostalgia as he gazes at the pictures—it's as if a bridge between the past and present has been built right here in this room.
He feels our presence and turns around, moving slower than he usually does. He greets us both and then he turns to Leora, a tear glistening in his eye. "You have given me a gift beyond measure, my dear. To see these memories come to life again, to feel their warmth once more. I cannot thank you enough."
Leora's smile mirrors the mistiness in her eyes. "It was an honor, Antoine. These memories deserve to be cherished."
We all continue to gaze at the photos as he points to them, sharing stories of his old friends and the little village where he grew up. When he reaches a particular photo, he pauses, his voice quivering with emotion. It's a picture that I've come to know well, but today, it takes on a new significance as I see it through his eyes.
"That's me and . . ." Antoine pauses, his voice nearly breaking.
His eyes linger on the image, and I gently complete his sentence, "You and Mum."
A wistful sigh escapes his lips, and he nods, the tears welling up but not spilling over.
"I miss her."
"I miss her, too," I reply softly, my own emotions bubbling to the surface.
Leora leans into me, squeezing my hand. "She’s beautiful."
My uncle smiles. "She was, indeed."
He clears his throat, "Lucas, I want to talk to you before the?—"
"Antoine," Michel greets, his tone lacking genuine warmth. My uncle is interrupted and the tranquility is shattered by Michel, accompanied by Melina. She walks up to us with an air of entitlement, and her disruptive entrance draws our attention.
He responds politely, although his face remains devoid of emotion, "Michel."
"You look tired. Are you sure you’re up for this tonight?" I can feel a nerve starting to twitch in my jaw, almost making me lash out at Michel. I'm still not over how he treated Leora during the brunch, and one misstep from him might just earn him a bruise or two. Which will not bode well for the meeting we’ll be having tonight.
Tonight is the night when the crucial vote takes place, determining whether I'll take over after my uncle or if they'll elect someone else to fill the seat. My palms are clammy as I glance around the terrace at the faces of the stakeholders—they hold our future in their hands. The anticipation hangs heavily in the air, and I can't help but feel a nervous knot tightening in my stomach. From my end, I truly believe they’ve been happy with how I’ve taken care of the company by my uncle’s side. I’ve encouraged many changes and I was the reason for us starting to branch out, well, outside of Europe. It should be enough for them to see the potential in me. If they don’t, I’m not sure I’ll know what to do.
Leora has been a sweetheart this past week, she seems even more nervous than I am. She's been acting in the most endearing ways, trying to alleviate my own anxiety, though her own nerves were palpable beneath her composed exterior. She'd surprise me with my breakfast in bed and by leaving small notes all over the apartment. With her I can be honest, and I can tell her about the fear I have of losing, but here, in front of my uncle and Michel, I can't afford to show weakness. Not when the future of the company, my uncle's legacy, and my own destiny hang in the air. I know Michel has never liked us but I’m afraid he’s used his poisonous tongue to get the other stakeholders on his side.
"Don’t you worry about me. I’m feeling great," he answers.
"Dad, can we go now?" Milena complains, impatient as always. "This place is so boring."
"I’ll see you soon gentlemen," Michel says before they both walk away.
I sit in a stately conference room, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the city's skyline. The room exudes formality, with dark mahogany furniture and plush leather chairs surrounding a long, polished wooden table. Crystal chandeliers hang from above, casting a warm, golden glow.
At the head of the table, Antoine sits, looking composed but bearing the marks of his declining health. To his left, my brother Liam, and to his right, myself.
Liam can't help but fidget subtly in his seat, his nerves betraying him. I glance around, my eyes meeting Michel's. He sits among the other six stakeholders, a sly smile playing on his lips. His gaze locks onto mine, and he raises a taunting eyebrow at me. The other stakeholders maintain a stoic demeanor, fully aware of the gravity of this meeting.
Antoine calls the meeting to order, his voice firm but carrying a hint of strain. As the discussions commence, I can't shake the feeling that Michel is plotting something, and it keeps me on edge throughout the proceedings.
When it's Michel's turn to speak, he stands up. "We all know this meeting was called upon by me. As we're all aware, our long-time friend Antoine is sick, and his health has been deteriorating." There's a hidden agenda lurking behind his carefully chosen words and I grip the edge of my chair, my knuckles turning white.
"As we face this challenging situation," Michel continues, "we must consider the future of this business. It's clear that decisions need to be made, and I believe it's time for us to plan for a smooth transition. Perhaps it's time for new leadership." My heart races as I watch him manipulate the situation.
Liam leans over and whispers to me, "Stay calm, Lucas. We expected this."
Antoine addresses the room, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience and dedication. "I appreciate Michel's concern for the well-being of the company, but rest assured, I have a succession plan in place. Lucas will take over and the business will continue to thrive under his leadership."
Michel's smile widens, and it's clear he's ready to challenge whatever plan Antoine has set in motion.
"You mean the man who pretended to marry a girl to fool us all?" Michel's voice drips with mockery. I try to maintain composure because Michel can’t know about me and Leora. He can’t have any proof, no one will believe him.
"Enough," Gérard Moreau speaks up this time, his tone firm and commanding. "This is neither the time nor the place for personal vendettas."
"What do you mean by pretend?" Louis Grimaldi asks. He’s the oldest and probably the most old-fashioned of all people involved today so I’m not surprised he took Michel’s bait.
"I happened to have the incrementing agreement, signed by both Mr. Ayoub and Miss Davis. Filled with different kinds of conditions and a sum she would be paid at the end. If that doesn’t speak of both their character, I don’t know what would. Is that the man you want to handle the hotels and your investments?" He holds up our agreement in his hands, with a smirk on his lips.
The room spins as Michel's words cut through the air, and a chilling panic takes hold of me. How the hell did he get a hold of those papers?
I glance around the room, meeting the eyes of the people who have the choice to change my life today. They now wear expressions ranging from shock to skepticism. Their trust in me hangs by a thread, and I can feel it slipping away with every passing second.
My mind races, contemplating the repercussions. This revelation not only jeopardizes my chances of taking over, but it also has the potential to cast a dark shadow over my family, over Liam. We all knew there was a risk of them not choosing me, but never about them finding out about the agreement with Leora.
Leora . The woman I’ve come to love, whose name is now associated with a scandal that threatens to tarnish her reputation. There would be no fixing it; these people would speak to everyone they know, and word would travel. That can’t happen. She’s my wife. No matter how the marriage started, she’s my wife now, and it will remain that way.
"It’s Mrs. Ayoub," I interject, unable to remain silent any longer.
"Excuse me?" Michel responds, feigning ignorance.
"I said it’s Mrs. Ayoub . Not Miss Davis," I assert firmly. "I’ve told you this before, and this will be the last time, but you don’t speak about my wife, Michel. Not now, not ever. Do you understand me?"
"Is she truly your wife if you had to find her on the streets just to fulfill your desperate, selfish needs to uphold a clause?"
I stand up quickly and move toward him and Liam follows me. "Did you not hear what I just said?"
"Your wife is?—"
"I would be very careful how you finish that sentence, Michel," Liam says in a low, threatening tone.
"Is it true, Lucas?" Estelle Lavigne's question pierces through the room, her eyes searching mine for an honest answer. I meet her gaze, recognizing the genuine concern etched on her face. In this sea of scrutiny, she stands out as one of the few stakeholders who genuinely cares.
She was always there, a constant presence as I grew up, a witness to my journey. Now, her inquiry demands a truth that could shape, not only the company's future, but also the perception of my character.
"Yes, it’s true. Both him and that wife of his are liars." Michel speaks up again and I have to stop myself from grabbing on to his collar.
"Leora is my wife," I declare firmly. "It doesn't matter how she became my wife, just that she is and will stay so." I run my hand through my hair, frustration filling me. "You all forced me into this."
Louis' stern voice echoes through the room, "Your actions are set on your shoulders, son. There's no room for blaming others."
I meet his gaze, acknowledging the weight of his words. The responsibility for my choices rests squarely on me, and no amount of justification can change that.
"That clause shouldn't even be there. Haven't I proven to you what I'm capable of?" I retort, frustration seeping into my voice. The achievements and dedication I've demonstrated seem to fade in the face of this traditional constraint.
"It's tradition," Michel interjects.
"But traditions can evolve, can't they?" I challenge, attempting to plant a seed of doubt in their adherence to the old ways. Michel's smirk persists, but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
"It's true that circumstances led to a unique marriage arrangement," I begin, addressing the elephant in the room head-on. "But let me be clear, Leora is not just a means to an end. She's my wife, and I care deeply for her. The agreement is a part of a complex situation that doesn't define the entirety of our relationship. But that shouldn’t matter to you. My uncle has taught me everything he knows and I’m certain I can continue on in his footsteps."
Liam stands by my side, a silent pillar of support, and I sense his unspoken determination. The stakeholders remain divided, some still skeptical, while others seem swayed by my sincerity.
Estelle, with a thoughtful expression, speaks up again, "In matters of the heart, perhaps we should focus on the commitment. After all, it's not unheard of for marriages to begin under unconventional circumstances."
Michel attempts to interject again, but Gérard, with a raised hand, silences him. "We’re all aware of the clause, and from where I’m standing, Lucas has followed it. Now, let us proceed with the vote. This meeting is not the forum to pass judgment on personal matters. We are here to decide the future of the company." He takes a break and looks Michel in the eyes. "Lucas has consistently demonstrated his capabilities in his role, the hotel we’re sitting in today is open because of him. He’s the reason we’re planning to venture into the United States, with not one, but three, hotels. One set to open its doors in New York in three years. Antoine has chosen him as his successor and it’s our job to accept it or not. So let me start . . . I accept."
Gérard’s words offer some relief. His support reminds me that there are people in the room who recognize the depth of my commitment to the company and my integrity. While it's true that Leora and I didn't start off on the most honest footing, we couldn't have predicted how our relationship would evolve, and ultimately strengthen our resolve. I'd make the same choices again if it meant keeping Michel away from our company and Leora in my life. I don't regret it and never will.
Michel leans back in his chair, his sneer fading into a scowl. "I do not accept."
My eyes travel to Estelle, and the look on her face is warm when she speaks, "I accept."
Then it’s Louis’s turn, "I do not accept."
Two, on our side
Two against us.
Three votes left.