Chapter 30
EVELINA
Juxtaposition.
It’s the only word that comes to mind as Vaughn, looking gorgeous in his fitted tuxedo, waltzes me around the grand ballroom of Chateau de Villargent.
Waltzes. Like, to an actual string quartet.
On the one hand, this feels like a fairytale.
I’m wearing the most princess dress in existence, dancing around a French chateau ballroom in the arms of a dashing Prince Charming.
Every step is like a dream. Every time his blue eyes glint into mine through the black masks we’re wearing over the top halves of our faces, I feel a tingly flutter ripple through my chest.
On the other hand, I’ve watched this “Prince Charming” literally rip a man’s throat out in front of me.
He’s tied me up. Spanked me and slapped my face. Fucked me like I'm a complete whore and his own personal slut. And just earlier this evening, he threatened to fuck me in the ass without any preamble if I didn’t do as he said and let him insert that…thing in my ass.
And I have loved every second of it.
I’ve craved it. Thought of it on repeat after the fact as my body longs for more. When he threatens me, I’m not scared of him. I don’t submit to his demands because I’m worried he’ll hurt me.
I do it because I like doing what he tells me to do.
Giving up control.
The pure peace and clarity I get when everything about me is in his hands.
The feeling of being put back together, lovingly, carefully, after he’s broken me apart.
And so, as we waltz through the ballroom in our masks and finery, and I dance with him at a fancy gala knowing the savagery and monstrousness he’s capable of, we’re really two couples, melded into one.
The glittering prince and princess.
But also, the brutal Dom and his submissive sub.
Hence…juxtaposition.
“You’re a very good dancer,” I breathe, panting a little as the quartet finishes a seriously impressive—and fast-paced—rendition of “The Skater’s Waltz”.
Vaughn smirks a little but then dips his head. “So are you, but you don't need me to tell you that.”
I grin, then my brow furrows. “Seriously, where’d you learn to dance like that?”
I mean, it was just a waltz, but it was perfect. So were the dances before. Which is…not something I’d expect from a man who rips out throats and fucks you on the floor with his belt around your throat.
“Someone close to me suggested I learn.”
I smile grimly. “Let me guess. Sabine.”
Vaughn’s mouth curls into a smile as he cups my jaw, lightly brushing his thumb over my bottom lip.
“There’s something very fuckable about you when you get jealous, you know,” he murmurs.
“I know the feeling,” I breathe as his hand slips from my mouth and falls away.
“But no, not Sabine.” He frowns, then shakes it away. “Anyway, it was suggested that learning to ballroom dance would impress my predecessor, thus allowing me to get closer to his inner circle and eventually usurp him.”
I arch a brow. “You learned ballroom dancing to kill your boss?”
“And to impress beautiful professional ballerinas, should the occasion arise,” he murmurs.
“Monsieur le Marquis?”
We turn to see a young man in a tuxedo bowing stiffly.
“If you would care to follow me, Monsieur d’Auvrelle will meet with you now.”
I glance up at Vaughn, confused. Why does that name sound familiar? Vaughn just nods. “A moment, please.”
“Of course, monsieur.”
The man retreats and waits by a gilded archway to one of the many opulent hallways of the chateau.
“Xavier d’Auvrelle,” Vaughn says, seeing the question on my face. “The head of the d’Auvrelle family.”
It clicks.
“Wait, that d’Auvrelle family?” I blurt quietly.
The d’Auvrelle family is old-school. Like royal-adjacent, founders of the country old-school. Not to mention, they're an insanely powerful underworld empire.
Vaughn nods. “Yes.”
“That's why we’re here?”
He shrugs. “That and the dancing,” he murmurs. “Plus seeing you in this gown, of course.”
My face heats.
“In all seriousness,” he murmurs, “I’ve been trying to hammer out a deal between the Syndicate and the d’Auvrelle family for months, but Xavier is notoriously selective about taking meetings. So, yes, it took coming to his turf for us to sit down with him.”
I swallow thickly. “Us.”
He nods.
“As an…us?”
Vaughn looks amused. “After the shit-fit you pitched about us not being an us, now you have an issue with it?”
I bite my lip. “No, it’s just…” I lift a shoulder. “It feels like a big announcement to present us as an us to someone with that much power.”
Vaughn frowns. “And?”
“And…” My mouth twists. “Could I maybe sit it out?”
His brow darkens.
“No,” he growls quietly.
“Vaughn—”
“It’s important that you’re there, at my side.”
“To distract him with my neckline?” I snap. “To be your fucking arm candy?”
“Amongst other things, yes,” he growls. “Nailed it. Let’s go.”
“Vaughn, I’d really rather not—”
“And I’d rather not pin you to the wall later and ask you exactly what it is about Carson King and his background that you find so fucking fascinating.”
My face pales as his eyes pierce down into mine.
“W-what?” I mumble.
Vaughn smiles grimly. “You’re sneaky, but not so sneaky that I didn’t notice. Would you like to tell me why the fuck you keep digging into my very good friend's family?”
I swallow nervously.
Somehow, I get the impression that “I’ve been trying to join your organization to spy on you and your friends because a man you hate is threatening my family if I don’t find his long-lost son within your inner circle” wouldn’t go over well at this moment.
Or any moment.
“No reason,” I mumble. “His background caught my attention. That’s all.”
“M-hmm,” Vaughn growls.
His hand tightens on my waist as he look down into my eyes.
“Don’t think for a second I won’t pry your secrets from you later. But right now, we have an important meeting. Shall we?”
I nod quickly.
“Good.”
The young man from a minute ago escorts us through the huge chateau and then down a couple of flights of stairs, leading us deep underground and informing us that we can now remove our masks.
Armed guards wave us through two sets of heavy wooden doors set into stone walls.
Finally, we step into a sumptuous lounge with smooth granite walls and an ancient floor, luxurious Persian rugs, and buttery leather chairs and sofas arranged in front of a huge, crackling fireplace that looks vaguely medieval.
There are four men and a woman already sitting—all dressed as if they’ve also just come from the ball upstairs—and they stand as we step into the room.
“Monsieur le Marquis.”
It’s the taller man in the middle of this group—obviously Xavier d’Auvrelle—who speaks, his accented voice low as his blue eyes glint.
His tuxedo fits his trim, athletic build perfectly, showcasing his broad shoulders and muscled arms, despite obviously being in his forties.
He smiles a pristine white smile as he shakes Vaughn’s hand.
“Welcome, friend,” he murmurs. “I trust you’re enjoying the party upstairs?”
“You’re a most gracious host,” Vaughn says crisply.
“I believe you know my advisors,” Xavier says, turning to the three men who look his age or slightly older. “Bertrand, Jean, and Pierre.”
Vaughn dips his chin, firmly shaking each of the men’s hands in turn.
“And this beautiful lady…” Xavier smiles as he turns to indicate the young woman who's about my age with gorgeous long red hair that tumbles elegantly over one shoulder and down her stunning blue gown. “Is my daughter, Cerise.”
Then Xavier's attention settles onto me.
“And who might this lovely creature be?”
Vaughn bows. “Allow me to introduce Evelina Nikitin,” he murmurs. “My…”
I brace myself for “assistant” or “Acolyte”.
“My date for the evening…for all evenings, actually.”
Heat tingles over my skin, creeping up my neck and face as I quickly glance up at him. But Vaughn is just looking right back at me, one brow slightly cocked and a smug expression on his face.
“Enchanté,” Xavier murmurs, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing the back of it softly.
Vaughn growls under his breath.
“Please, let us sit,” Xavier says. A man in a black suit quickly appears at his side, presenting a dusty, extremely old looking bottle of wine.
“I trust a ’64 Chateau Lafite Rothschild is adequate to wet our throats?” Xavier says smugly.
“Pity you don’t have the ’61,” Vaughn growls mildly.
Xavier grins widely as he takes the bottle from the waiter and turns the label to Vaughn and me.
1961.
He chuckles as he passes the ludicrously expensive bottle back to the waiter, who starts to open it carefully.
“This is what I like about you, Monsieur Bancroft,” Xavier smiles, wagging a finger. “You are a chameleon. You are whatever color you need to be to blend in. For your predecessor, you learned about classic literature and ballroom dancing. For me, you've brushed up on fine wines.”
“And vintage firearms,” Vaughn adds. “Shall we talk about those next?”
Xavier chuckles deeply as the waiter pours wine for everyone present and then takes his leave.
“I do enjoy talking about my guns. I have a growing collection of pistols owned by various former United States presidents, and I’ve recently managed to acquire the Colt Single Action Army revolver owned by Sheriff Pat Garrett which slew the one and only Billy the Kid. ”
Vaughn smiles. “How much did that set you back?”
Xavier chuckles. “Eh bien, who can put a price on history?”
“Papa means he’s embarrassed to tell you how much he paid for a second-hand gun,” Cerise says in a bored tone, raising a brow.
Oh, I like her.
Xavier sighs, spreading his arms. “Again, who can put a price on history?” He takes a sip of wine, then his gaze settles on…
Me.
“But you’re not here to talk about guns, are you, Monsieur Bancroft?”
“I’m afraid not,” Vaughn replies.
“Yes, well, your proposed deal is well thought out,” Xavier says. “Balanced…mutually beneficial…minimal risk. I like it.”