Chapter 4 Genevieve #2
“I’m serious.” I laugh. “You’d have to make it something outlandish like ‘I’ll take you to the moon.’”
“Why’s that outlandish?”
“Well, you’re terrified of heights. Being in space is basically the highest point you could get.”
“It’s a deal.” He smiles. “That’s how you’ll know. But mon chou, that day will never come.”
The rest of dinner is nice. He tells me about a restaurant he went to in New York and a technique they used for a sauce he thought I’d appreciate. And it isn’t until he’s brewed cappuccinos for dessert that we broach the subject of me being unemployable.
“What am I supposed to do? Cooking’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever been good at.”
He reaches over and takes my hand. “Maybe Boston isn’t the right place for you anymore.”
I flinch. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes when a door closes, it’s the universe telling you to look for a different one. Maybe this is your chance to start fresh somewhere else.”
I take a sip of my drink, the heat scalding down my throat. “Art did ask for me to move to Connecticut with him.”
He hums, and I suspect he already knew.
I stare into the mug, the steam curling up into the air. “Part of me wants to say yes. And Art’s… He loves me.”
“And the other part?”
“The other part doesn’t want to leave you.”
“Mon chou, I want you to go.”
“Don’t say that just for me.”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for years. What I can’t do is watch you waste away here, mourning something that was stolen from you.”
Stolen.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I love you, mon chou, always and in all ways.” He pulls me into a hug. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“I love you, too, Papa.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Seven seconds.
I count to myself and sink into his embrace, committing the moment to memory.
Present Day
It’s two a.m., and I can’t sleep.
My apartment’s a shoebox, really, in a narrow brick building wedged between a dry cleaner and an antique shop, with hardwood floors that creak when you step on them and a cute little bay window that overlooks the street.
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed in the dark, still in my jeans and white T-shirt that has the tavern’s logo on it, replaying the same four words over and over like a song I can’t get unstuck.
It’s about Genevieve’s father.
What about him? What does Art know that I don’t, and why was he telling Lance instead of me?
My phone sits on the nightstand, its black screen taunting me like it might bite me if I touch it.
Just call your dad, Ginny. It’s not hard.
Except it is. Because if I call and everything’s fine, then I’m paranoid, and if I call and everything’s not fine…
I grab the phone before I can talk myself out of it.
It rings for what feels like an eternity and I’m about to hang up when my father’s voice comes through, rough with sleep.
“Mon chou? It’s late, is everything all right?”
Some of the tension in my body loosens. He sounds okay. Like himself, like Papa.
“I’m fine,” I lie, tucking my legs beneath me. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“…at two in the morning?”
“Oh, is that what time it is?” I chew on my lip. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”
“Ah. Well, you can always call me. I love hearing your voice.”
Maybe Art didn’t know what he was talking about. After all, if something was wrong, my dad would tell me.
“The tavern keeping you busy?”
My stomach twists.
“Something like that.”
The soft static of the phone line fills the silence, and the distant sound of the classical music he always plays from his office. He complains about the time, but clearly he’s being a workaholic.
“Papa.” I grip the phone tighter. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Business as usual.”
“You should know that brings me minimal comfort considering you work with criminals.”
“Genevieve,” he tsks. “You know not to bring my work into this life of ours, oui? It’s not good for your spirit to worry over minuscule things.”
“Yeah, but, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
He doesn’t reply right away, and the little hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Papa?”
“Genevieve,” he singsongs.
“Are you safe?” I ask. “Just tell me that.”
“Of course. I’m as safe as I always am.”
“Okay, because if you’re not, I can come back. I don’t like thinking of you all alone.”
“You’re not coming back to Boston.”
My spine straightens. “Wow. That makes me feel loved, truly.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, mon chou. I just… I like thinking of you in some small town, away from those alleged criminals of mine you always worry about.”
“Papa, I’m serious.”
The classical music in the background cuts out, like he’s moved to another room, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower.
“You are the greatest single accomplishment of my life, Genevieve. No matter what happens, always know that I love you. Always and in all ways.”
My throat tightens. “Okay, but also, that makes me want to cycle back to the whole ‘are you okay’ thing, because it sounds like you’re saying goodbye to me.”
“‘Good night’ and ‘goodbye’ use the same mouth, non?” He chuckles softly. “You remember what I’ve told you. If there’s ever danger, I’ll let you know.”
The moon. He means the moon.
“Get some sleep, mon chou. We’ll talk soon.”
The line clicks.
I pull the phone away from my ear, our conversation playing like a haunting loop in between my ears, and as much as I try to sleep, the sleep never comes.
“brEAKING: The Power Shuffle of the Century Hits Rosebrook Falls”
Sure, Rosebrook Falls still has its quaint cobblestone charm and historical flair, but don’t let them fool you, the real sparks are flying behind closed boardroom doors.
This morning, in what insiders are calling “the most ambitious power play since the founding of the town,” Calloway Enterprises and Montgomery Organization dropped a bombshell: the launch of WayMont Corp—a shiny new joint venture that’s already being dubbed the corporate love child that could change everything.
The merger announcement came just days after the mysterious (and suspiciously well-timed?) death of Marcus Montgomery and the even more shocking “retirement” of Craig Calloway. Coincidence? We think not.
Out with the old guard and enter the heirs.
Paxton Calloway, now officially crowned CEO of Calloway Enterprises, is wasting no time stepping into the spotlight. Sources say he’s bringing a “younger, slicker” image to the table. And let’s be honest, the man wears a power suit like it’s custom stitched.
Meanwhile, Roman Montgomery—yes, that Roman, the one we all thought was dead until his return from the grave—is to take the reins of the Montgomery side of the empire.
The exact details of #WayMont are still under lock and key, but one thing’s for sure: Rosebrook Falls isn’t ready for what’s coming.
You heard it here first.
#WayMontRises #FromEnemiesToAllies #NextGenTakeover #CorporateTea #RagExclusive