Chapter 13
Elora
I took a cab back to the manor myself.
Close to midnight, and the rain hadn't let up. My dress had soaked through, the hem heavy and dragging, clinging to my legs.
"Oh my God—Elora!" The second the door opened, Natalie practically lunged at me. "Get in here. Don't just stand there in the wind."
She pushed me onto the couch, then turned to grab the first aid kit, looking back every few steps like I might collapse any second. She called the family doctor, then sat right next to me, watching as he used tweezers to pick glass shards out of my palm, one tiny piece at a time.
"Does it hurt?"
"No." I shook my head.
"Don't lie to me." Her eyes were wet. "You poor thing... why do you always carry everything alone?"
I didn't answer. Truth was, I wasn't lying to Natalie. I couldn't even tell which part of me hurt anymore.
After he cleaned the wound and wrapped my hand in thick bandages, Natalie carefully took my arm and walked me to my bedroom.
"Get some sleep. Keep your hand dry for a few days."
"Okay."
Sarah helped me out of the soaked dress and got me washed up. But when I lay alone in that massive bed, all I could see was Lucien shaking me off in the ballroom. He'd just walked away without a second thought, carrying that woman in his arms, leaving me standing there in broken glass and sneers.
I don't know how long it was before the door opened slowly.
Familiar footsteps stopped beside my bed. Then the lamp clicked on.
I opened my eyes. Lucien stood there, black shirt collar slightly messed up, holding a paper bag.
"Elora, let me see your hand."
"Don't bother."
I closed my eyes. Didn't want to deal with him. But he yanked back my covers and grabbed my wrist.
I gasped. My palm screamed with pain, and dark red seeped through the edge of the bandage.
I jerked my hand back.
"See? Happy now?"
His throat moved. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his arm around my back like he was going to pull me close. I turned away from him. He grabbed my shoulder, frustrated, and slammed the paper bag onto the nightstand.
Then he kissed me. I went completely rigid. I had no idea what the hell he was doing. When I didn't respond at all, Lucien finally let go.
"You just gonna lie there like a corpse?"
"Oh, sorry about that."
He took a deep breath, something wild flashing in his eyes. "Ungrateful."
The door slammed shut. I lay back down, but something on the nightstand caught my eye.
The bag had tipped over. Something rolled out—an old-fashioned amber glass bottle, squat and solid, sealed with a cork. The label was handwritten in flowing script. Vétiver Bourbon—Réunion, wild root, 2023.
My breath caught.
I'd spent three months looking for this bourbon vetiver essential oil.
Seventeen emails. Two phone calls through an old woman in Marseille.
Every single response said discontinued, sold out.
I'd crossed it off my formula book, then stubbornly penciled it back in...
and now here it was, just sitting on my nightstand.
I laughed. My shoulders shook. Tears streamed down my face.
This oil had one purpose—to make sleep aromatherapy for Lucien's severe insomnia. I'd wanted it more than anything. But now, it felt like the cruelest joke.
The sadness turned to rage in an instant. I grabbed the bottle, ignoring the pain in my hand, walked into the closet, yanked open the back cabinet, and shoved it deep under a pile of old clothes.
Because of my injured hands, I couldn't do massage therapy anymore. I just sat behind the counter mixing formulas, writing labels, teaching Claire about carrier oils.
Julian was the first to notice something was wrong.
"What's going on with you? You look completely out of it." Julian sat in the consultation area, frowning at me. "I heard about what happened at Casalesi Manor... did Lucien blame you again when he got back?"
"No." I shook my head and forced a smile. "He even gave me an extremely expensive gift as an apology."
"Did you forgive him?"
"Why would I?" I looked at him, surprised. "I'm not that easy to buy off."
"True." He nodded. "You're my most difficult client."
I laughed. "Julian, you're my client, remember?"
"No! No!" He wagged his finger, his eyes warm and focused. "When it comes to feelings, you're the one who needs my patience."
My heart skipped. I looked down, silent.
Julian chuckled helplessly. "Okay, just teasing. Seriously though, why so unhappy?"
"If you heard about that night..." I stared out the window. "Then you know that ever since Serena showed up, I've been nothing but wrong. No matter what happens, he doesn't ask, doesn't listen—just blames me first. Sometimes I feel like... I'm ridiculously unnecessary in that manor..."
"Forget it," I looked down. "Maybe I'm just being dramatic."
"No!" Julian's voice was firm. "Your feelings are valid. This is Lucien's fault."
Julian walked around the counter and stood in front of me, looking straight at me.
"You don't need to punish yourself for his mistakes. So... Elora, if you're really unhappy there, would you consider leaving with me?"
"What?" I stared at him.
"I like you." Julian looked nervous. "I wanted to say this at a proper, romantic moment, but seeing you like this, I can't wait another day."
I had no idea how to respond to this sudden confession. Watching the light fade from Julian's eyes, I finally scrambled for an excuse. "I'm sorry... I... I can't disappoint Natalie."
It was a terrible excuse. But only I knew I was using Natalie as a shield to hide the pathetic fact that I didn't want to leave Lucien at all.
Julian sighed. "Alright. I get it." He let go, controlled. "But if you ever can't stay there anymore, call me anytime. I'll be here."
He pulled open the door and walked out into the gray snow.
"Was it you?"
The sudden crash cut through my thoughts. A woman slammed a glass bottle down on the counter.
"That's one of our decant bottles. May I ask who—"
"My husband is still in the ICU at Mount Sinai!" The woman's voice was shrill enough to split eardrums. "Since last night he's had trouble breathing, his throat swelled up—they almost had to intubate! The doctor said it was severe chemical contact toxicity from this thing you sold him!"
"Ma'am, please calm down." My palms started sweating, stinging with pain. "If it's our product, please provide the purchase record. We have detailed documentation for all our formulas and shipments—"
"Documentation?" The woman's laugh was sharp. "Don't give me that!"
A man in a suit stepped forward, voice cold.
"Miss, you can't escape legal responsibility for this.
We've already filed a complaint and copied the district attorney.
If testing confirms undeclared harmful ingredients, selling toxic substances that cause serious injury could get you seven years in New York State! "
"That's impossible!" I argued desperately. "My products could never cause throat swelling. I demand third-party retesting!"
"You have the nerve to demand anything?" The woman completely lost it, grabbed my hair, and yanked me toward the counter.
I slipped and crashed to the floor. The pain made everything go black.
"You bitch! Running this shop just to seduce my husband..." The woman spewed vile curses, dragging me by my hair toward the wall.
"Stop! Let her go!" Mrs. Nolan rushed out from the back room, trying to pull the woman off. The woman swung hard. Mrs. Nolan stumbled backward, her lower back hitting the iron frame of the massage table, her forehead grazing a piece of broken glass. Blood poured out.
"Mrs. Nolan!" I broke free and pressed down on her forehead. "Claire! Call Rocco! Call the police!"
"Nobody can help you!" The woman looked murderous, lunging at me again.
Then the door flew open.
Lucien stood in the doorway, his coat shoulders covered in unmelted snow, his usually perfect tie askew, looking windswept.
Everything after that was chaos. When I came to, the crazy woman and the suit were pinned to the floor by Rocco.
Lucien checked Mrs. Nolan's injury and quickly arranged to have her taken to the hospital. Then he said something quietly to Rocco before crouching in front of me.
He pulled me into his arms, carefully checking my forehead and palms. Once he confirmed I only had minor injuries, he patted my back gently, like calming a child.
"It's over. You're okay. You're fine."
Maybe it was the unprecedented tenderness in his voice, or maybe it was all the hurt and despair from these past weeks finally shattering—my defenses collapsed. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed.
His arms came around me, his chin pressed to the top of my head, patting my back softly.
I hated him. I really hated him—hated how he'd walked away at Casalesi Manor without looking back, hated how he'd cornered me in the bedroom and called me "a corpse," hated how he blamed me for everything without asking.
But I hated myself more! Hated that even though I was furious, even though I could've held myself together like I did when I refused Julian, the second he held me and said "you're okay," all my pride crumbled and I cried my heart out.
So I hated him deeply while burying my face even deeper into his warm, damp chest.
I don't know how long I cried. When I finally calmed down, sniffling, only the two of us were left in the cleaned-up shop.
"You..." Seeing the huge wet stain I'd left on his expensive suit, my face burned. I tried to pull away from him.
But Lucien didn't let go. He kept his head down, his throat working hard, like something extremely difficult was stuck there. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and turned his face away. "The gala... that was my fault."
His jaw was tight, his voice so low I could barely hear it. "...I didn't check the facts. I shouldn't have treated you that way."
I froze, sniffling, waiting for him to continue. But clearly, there was no more. I looked up and realized the all-powerful Genovese heir's ears were red all the way down to his neck.
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
"What are you laughing at?" Lucien frowned.
"Nothing..." I wiped the tears from my eyes, sniffling as I looked at him. "I was just thinking... turns out the mighty Mr. Genovese can barely get an apology out."
His ears turned even redder.
Whatever. Hating him, being angry—none of it mattered. Watching him now, awkward and struggling to say sorry, my frozen heart melted anyway.
"Lucien," I sniffled softly, "help me up... my hand really hurts."