Chapter 3
THE INQUISITION
QUINTON
As the chopper descends into Meille Resort, I glance over at Emery, my heart rattled with apprehension.
A woman weeping whilst you’re inside of her cannot be a good sign.
It cannot mean that you’re the one. But maybe I can be a one.
A choice. I can’t force her to see what I see.
What I feel. What I know we could be together.
Christ, I sound like a desperate sap of a schoolboy. What has she done to me? What spell has she cast? How unnerving. How utterly miserable in a sense.
I steal another glance at Emery as she sits quietly, her gaze fixed on the breathtaking scenery unfolding before us.
Mountains rise in the distance, their snowcapped peaks piercing the dimming sky.
As the chopper lands, I can't rip my gaze away from her, completely mesmerized by the way her eyes sparkle.
The moment we step off the chopper, the scent of pine and fresh snow greets us. Emery inhales deeply, her face relaxing into a soft smile. I fight the urge to clasp her hand in mine, knowing she’s not fully mine to claim. Not yet.
We walk side by side, my body aching to be closer to hers, to comfort her, but I know I need to be patient. I know I need to let her make every first move until it becomes her natural reaction.
We approach the main villa, the building tall and historic, the architectural design a perfect combination of country charm and contemporary prestige.
The large windows offer panoramic views of the surrounding mountains, and I soak in the exterior warmth of the resort, knowing that a cold front awaits us on the inside.
Emery gasps, grabbing her chest as the grand door swings open and Sophie bursts out, charging toward me at full speed.
Oh, they’re already here. Lovely.
“Quinny!” she squeals, suffocating me in her surprising vice grip.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you, darling!” She grabs my cheeks with both hands, inspecting my face.
“Glad to see you no longer look like a street fighter.” She snaps her nosy head in Emery’s direction.
“Hello there. I’m Sophie Marquis. Quinny’s older sister. You are…?”
Emery blinks. “I’m—”
Sophie bursts out in a hearty laugh, waving her hand before going in for a hug. “Emery! Yes, I know who you are!” Sophie rocks her side to side, Emery’s stunned side-eye forcing me to rein in my own laugh. “I’m kidding. I know who you are.”
“You do?” Emery draws out, slightly frowning.
I shoot my sister a hardened glare. “Yes, I’ve informed my family I’d be bringing a guest this year.”
“Yes.” Sophie feigns a sweet, innocent smile. “A guest.” My sister and I exchange a silent battle of ‘fuck yous’ before she sings, “Well? Shall we head inside?” She glances toward the ground. “No bags?”
Emery fiddles with her fingertips. “It was all last minute… I didn’t get a chance to—”
“No worries!” Sophie shoots me a curious side-eye as she latches onto Emery’s arm. “We’ll remedy your wardrobe situation tomorrow. Let me show you your rooms quickly. Supper is almost ready, and we can’t keep Daddy waiting, can we?”
I wince inwardly. Perhaps I should’ve prepared Emery for Sophie’s animated theatrics.
As the three of us make our way inside the villa, I can't help but chuckle at Emery's bewildered expression as my sister talks her ear off about this year’s holiday itinerary. I only expected Emery to come for the fundraiser, but given what’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours, I think she’ll want to stay for the entire holiday.
Sophie leads us through the grand foyer, guiding us upstairs to the guest suites. She opens the door to Emery's room. It’s spacious and warm. Warm, just like Emery. Despite what she thinks, she is the sun.
"Here you go, darling," she says with a smile. "I hope you'll find it to your liking."
Emery nods, still processing my sister’s overly cheery disposition. "Thank you," she manages to say, gaze darting to the double doors at the back of her room. “Those are?”
Sophie grins. “Doors, darling. You know, socially constructed barriers to keep people out?” She wiggles her antagonizing brows at me.
“Or in.” Emery blinks, unsure if Sophie is joking or not.
Sophie giggles. “It’s an adjoining room, dear.
Q’s on the other side. I figured this way, you’d be closer in case of… emergencies.”
“How considerate, Soph,” I say with a tight smile. “Always looking out for people, aren’t you?”
"Yes, just call me your little guardian angel, hmm?” Sophie claps her hands.
“Right. Well, I'll let you get settled in," she says, giving Emery a friendly pat on the back before turning to me.
"And you, little brother. I'm sure you remember your way around, or should I remind you where the loo is again?” She lowers her voice into a faux whisper. “Years ago, poor Quinny here got totally sloshed and wee’d in the coat closet.”
Emery snorts, covering her mouth, and my pride shatters upon the impact of her blabbering mouth.
“We’ll see you in the dining lounge, Sophie,” I say, escorting her out of the suite as Emery explores the room.
My grip tightens around my sister’s shoulder as I grumble into her ear.
“You are a complete and utter brat. What are you doing?”
Sophie reaches for my fingers and twists them, glaring up at me as pain shoots through my arm. “Humanizing you, you little baboon. Women find flaws to be endearing. I can tell by the way you look at her, you’re smitten. I’m just trying to help.”
“By telling her I have weak bladder control?!” I whisper harshly, shoving her out of the suite. “Brilliant. Can’t wait to see your next trick.”
“You’re welcome,” Sophie sings with a final wink before she disappears down the hall. I close my eyes, regaining my composure before I rejoin Emery.
“Apologies,” I say, scratching the back of my head. “My sister can be…a lot.”
“Yeah…” Emery looks at me with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. "She’s, uh, quite...energetic.”
"That's one way to put it," I reply with a wry smile. "But she means well, trust me. She just likes to make an impression."
Emery’s expression softens. “I can see that. She’s very…memorable.”
"Indeed," I say, my heart warming at her attempt to make light of the situation. Clearing my throat, I motion to the adjoining room. “I’m going to quickly freshen up then we can head down. Ten minutes?”
“Sure,” Emery says, reaching for her purse. “Ten minutes.”
I spend the entire ten minutes splashing cold water on my face. For fuck’s sake. Perhaps bringing her here wasn’t the brightest of ideas. A knock sounds from the doors. Shit. Alright. It’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine. All I need to do is survive my father’s initial charge, and we’ll be fine.
Emery cocks her head as I step into the hall to greet her. “Are you okay? You look a little…pale.”
“And you look absolutely stunning,” I say, dodging her keen observation. “Shall we?”
I place my palm on the small of Emery’s back, the faint connection grounding me as we make our way downstairs. As we appear in the dining lounge, five sets of eyes fix on us. Emery's spine stiffens against my touch, and I give her a tender rub, soothing both of our nerves.
The dining lounge is decorated with a long mahogany table set for dinner, adorned with fine china and crystal glassware. The soft glow of candlelight dances across the room.
As we approach the table, my father stares at us, trying to size up Emery.
Her posture straightens as she attempts to keep her composure under his blatant scrutiny.
Seated beside my father, my brother, William, raises a curious eyebrow at us, while his wife Ella, sips on a martini.
Sophie and her beau-of-the-week toss us a supportive smile as we reach the head of the table.
"Quinton, lovely to see you, son," my father says with a nod, but his gaze shifts to Emery, and a sour taste coats my tongue. "This is Emery, I presume?”
“Yes.” I step aside, nudging Emery forward. "Father, this is Emery Jones. Emery, my father, Charles Marquis."
Emery swallows, hesitant to shake hands with a man who covered up vehicular manslaughter. She extends her hand politely nonetheless. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Marquis.”
My father gives her a firm handshake, but his expression remains unreadable. "Likewise." He nods to two empty placemats. “Please. Sit down.”
Before our arses hit our seats, my father’s inquisition launches. “So, Emery,” he says, draping a cloth napkin over his knee as a server pours him a glass of merlot. “What do you do for a living?”
“I work in finance,” Emery replies meekly. She shakes her head, covering the top of her wine glass as the server passes. “No, thank you.”
“Finance?” My father perks a brow, unimpressed. “Is that a colorful term for cashier?” He glances at me. “People often tend to embellish, don’t they?”
“Fath—” I don’t get a chance to vocalize my distaste for his tone and insinuation before Emery speaks up again. This time her tone is steady, almost clipped with confidence.
“Private equity,” she clarifies with a defiant head tilt. “I was an associate at CJ Piers. I’m sure you’ve heard of them before.”
Father’s lips curl up. “Investment banking? Interesting,” he hums, searching for a hole in her story. A small smile. He found one. “You said ‘was’. What happened?”
Emery’s jaw tightens. “I left for Piers for a…better opportunity.”
“Being?” Father probes rather rudely.
“She’s the new CFO at Cavanaugh Industries,” Sophie pipes up, beaming with smugness. “You know, Damon’s company.”
My father blinks. “You’re the new chief financial officer?” He snorts. “That explains the stock prices.”
I’m going to kill him.
“Yes, it does,” Emery states. “It explains why we’re up thirty-three points in the last two months. Thank God they brought me on, right? Otherwise, it’d still be plummeting.” She holds out her glass to the server. “Water, please?”
To his credit, my father seems slightly taken aback by Emery's bravado. The dining lounge falls silent as the server quickly brings Emery a glass of water, and she takes a sip, her eyes never leaving my father's. He clears his throat and takes a sip of his wine, composing himself.
"Impressive," he says with a nod. "But…” He glances at me. Christ. What now? “Given Quinton’s previous taste in women, I can’t be blamed for my assumption, now can I?” His disapproving gaze meets mine, and I know if Mum were still here, she’d smack him upside the fucking head.
“What was she again? A dancer, right?” My blood boils.
He’s bringing up Alison? Now? In front of everyone?
He has no shame. “Oh, my bad. An exotic dancer.” He offers Emery a phony smile.
“At least my son has the ability to learn from his mistakes.”
Emery’s face blanches. Perhaps she was unaware of Alison’s profession. Or how Damon and I both met her. Where we met her. Together.
My fists clench under the table. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to provoke me. He's trying to test Emery's reaction, to see if she'll flinch. It's one thing for me to deal with my father's criticism, but I won't stand by and let him talk down to Emery.
Before I can say anything, Emery takes a deep breath, her voice calm with resolve as she responds. "Quinton and I are just friends, Mr. Marquis.”
My gut twists, and a moment later, Emery excuses herself from the table to use the restroom. As soon as she’s out of ear shot, I seize the opportunity to have a private word with my father.
"She’s my guest. Treat her with respect or else we’ll leave. Is that clear?”
My father's face remains stern, but there's a flicker of remorse behind the stoic mask he often wears. "I'm just trying to protect you, Quinton. Remember what happened last time? I don't want you to get hurt again."
"I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself," I say firmly. "You will behave, is that clear?”
My father reluctantly nods, but the damage from the evening has been done.
Emery finishes her dinner in silence, her mind undoubtedly churning with scenarios and theories. She barely looks at me before retiring to her room.
I spend the rest of the night staring at the double doors that separate our two rooms, willing her to knock. To come inside. But she doesn’t. Not a word. Not a sound.
Not until the morning. When I wake up to a charming alarm.
A furious Emery.
“Wake the fuck up!” Emery shoves me awake. “Quin!”