Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
I stood at my bedroom’s tall, arched window, unable to sleep through the apocalyptic downpour. Outside, the Proven?al night had transformed from its usual tranquil beauty into a tempest of biblical proportions. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the rolling vineyards and lavender fields that surrounded the chateau in brief, electric bursts.
The storm had crept up on me, much like this whole surreal experience. One moment, I'd been peacefully reading in bed, lulled by the gentle patter of rain on the roof. The next, thunder cracked overhead with such force that I felt it reverberate through the stone walls.
The wind howled through the cypress trees that lined the long driveway, bending them at alarming angles. Sheets of rain lashed against the windowpane, distorting my view of the grounds. The poor vines cowered helplessly.
Another flash of lightning, and for a split second, I saw the reflection of my wide-eyed face superimposed over the turbulent landscape. I barely recognized myself—my usual composed expression replaced by one of undisguised worry. What if the storm damaged the chateau? I'd spent the last three months painstakingly restoring this place, pouring not just money but my heart and soul into every cracked tile and peeling fresco.
A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the window frame, and I instinctively took a step back. The tempest seemed to be growing stronger by the minute. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of the chill that had crept into the room.
I suddenly wished the house was full of life—my siblings, Remi. I wanted to be curled up around a fire with them. Safe, warm, comforted.
"It’s just a storm," I whispered to myself. "The chateau’s stood for a hundred years. It’s not going to fall apart because of one bad night."
But even as I said the words, doubt gnawed at me. The chateau might have weathered decades of storms, but how many of those years had it spent neglected and in disrepair before I came along? What if my renovations hadn’t been enough? What if—
A deafening crash from somewhere downstairs cut through my spiraling thoughts. The sound of shattering glass mixed with the howling wind, and my heart leapt into my throat.
"Oh God," I breathed, my mind racing through possibilities. A window must have broken—but which one? The newly restored stained glass in the library? The antique mirror in the foyer that I’d been meaning to properly secure to the wall?
I needed to go check, to try to minimize the damage, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot. Another flash of lightning threw the room into stark relief, and in that moment, I felt achingly alone. I wanted to call Remi, but surely he was dealing with his own property.
I glanced at the clock. Besides, it was after midnight.
I pulled a sweatshirt on over my pajama pants and started down the stairs.
Another crash echoed through the old walls, this one sounding even closer than the last.
My heart pounded, but I steeled myself and headed down. The worn wooden floorboards creaked beneath my bare feet as I descended. The air felt heavy with moisture, and I could smell the ozone scent of the storm even inside the house.
I made my way down the grand staircase, one hand trailing along the smooth, polished banister for support. In the foyer, shadows danced across the walls with each flash of lightning, creating an eerie, almost gothic atmosphere.
The wind’s fury seemed to increase with every step I took. It whistled through some unseen opening, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth. As I rounded the corner into the library, I saw immediately where the damage had occurred. The old French doors leading out to the terrace had blown open, their lock apparently no match for the gale-force winds. Rain poured in, soaking the antique Aubusson rug. Shards of glass from a shattered vase littered the floor, glinting in the storm’s illumination.
For a moment, I simply stood there, taking in the scene of destruction. Then, something shifted inside me, and I snapped to attention. I ran to the doors and threw them shut, groaning against the determined gusts of wind.
"Elodie!"
I spared a glance to see Eric running in, wearing a heavy rain slicker and tall boots. He rushed to me and heaved the door shut. I secured the latch and fell back with a grunt.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I took a moment to catch my breath. "Yes, I’m fine. This room, not so much."
Eric scanned the scene and scrunched his nose. "It is unfortunate. But it’s only a rug. You’re safe. That’s what matters."
"Elodie!" Colette came rushing in then. She, too, had on heavy rain gear—cargo pants, a heavy jacket, and boots. "Are you hurt?"
I shook my head. "No. Just startled. But unharmed."
She hurried over and wrapped her arms around me. "We were checking for flooding in the cellar when we heard the crash. I cannot remember the last time we had a storm like this."
She touched my cheek gently. "Come. Everything is secure now. Let’s have a cup of tea."