Chapter 19
Aknock sounds on the front door before it blows open, and an angry-looking Luc strides in, his eyes wild as he scans the foyer. “There you are,” he grunts when his honey irises land on me. The soft cotton long sleeve pulls slightly over the muscles in Luc’s arms, and his faded jeans seem to hug his hips perfectly. Even in his casual clothes, he looks like he could walk the Giorgio Armani runway. Why did he have to look like July on the hot French men calendar? “I thought you were coming to bed late, but I fell asleep, and you weren’t there when I woke up…”
The air in my lungs turns to ash. “Why are you knocking? Usually, you just waltz right in like you own the place.” I decide to skip past the part about him noticing I didn’t come to bed last night.
Luc walks past me, and my nipples perk to attention at the contact, causing my breath to hitch. “That’s because I do, Impératrice.” I flip him off as he passes me.
From the corner of my eye, I notice the slight pull on the corner of Luc’s lip. He knows exactly what he is doing, and he is enjoying getting this response from me. I take a step back and try to regain composure over my body. I stomp toward the sitting room where André was bent over working on the fireplace, testing to see whether it could accidentally blow up the chateau if we light it.
“André, I need a doctor’s note.”
André pulls his head out of the fireplace, soot caking the side of his face. “What for?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
“I can’t do my driving lesson today.” I pretend to cough into my closed fist. “I’m sick. Or better yet, let me call Madeline. She can give me the mayor pardon, you know?”
I wait to hear Luc’s reply, but it doesn’t come. He is transfixed by the new window frames.
“What’s a mayor pardon? And I don’t think Madeline will give it to you. She is still fielding complaints about someone causing town destruction.” André dismisses me, tucking himself back under the fireplace.
“These windows are amazing,” Luc finally says, unbothered by André’s comments.
“Thanks,” I mumble, shyly shoving my fists deep into the pockets of my jeans.
“Where did you buy them?” Luc asks.
“I didn’t.”
“She painted them,” André interrupts, standing up, poking his tongue out at me. He is very quickly turning into a giant pain in my butt.
“You are very talented.” Luc turns to look at me, causing me to blush at the compliment. I didn’t think that there would be people out there who actually enjoy my work, let alone appreciate it.
“Thank you.” I smile at him, the compliment meaning a little more than it should.
Luc clears his throat. “Also, good news. I just received an email that the chateau is going to be center stage for the summer festival,” he announces, causing my jaw to drop and my eyes to widen.
“What? When?” the only two words I can utter.
“August. The festival committee has endorsed it, and I assured them it will be ready in time.” Luc looks around the room then lifts his left hand, looking down at the watch face. “I guess that means you only have a few months to get this place in order. Unless, of course, you want to forfeit your half over to me…”
We’re already in April, August is only four months away. Steam evaporates out of my ears, and blood rushes through my brain. He planned this all along. Suddenly, Madeline’s words of making it a little harder for Luc ring in my ears. If Luc thinks he’s clever by putting the chateau up for events without consulting me, he is going to get a rude shock.
“I’m sorry, what?” I question.
“The chateau has its first booking in August,” Luc repeats slowly and winks at me, like that alone is going to have me running scared. I guess he hasn’t really gotten to know me too well these last few weeks if he thinks that. All I wanted to do was flick that eyelid like an elastic band. Luc is trying to ensure that he can overwhelm me with events and plans so that we wouldn’t make the deadline so he can inadvertently inherit the entire chateau. I’m just going to have to beat him at his own game and maybe send him packing too.
Damn this gorgeous French man, with his stupid smile and intoxicating scent. Damn him to Dante’s sixth level of hell.
I grind my back molars and say through clenched teeth, “Sure. As long as you don’t forget you need to help just as much as I do—or I might just need to put in a call to someone.” My shoulders tense with pent-up rage, holding my tongue to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret is becoming increasingly harder.
André watches the exchange between us, sensing the tension in the room thicken. “Uh.” He steps between me and Luc. “Hey, Luc. I wanted to get your opinion on what we’re thinking for the new heating system we have installed in the basement.” André leads Luc away. “It’s a two-pronged system you can switch between wood and gas heating…” The words trail off as André leads Luc to the basement and far away from me. The moment Luc and André leave the sitting room, I scream and kick the old paint-tub-turned-trash-can clear across the room and welcome the throb in my toes.
“Stupid-ass jerk,” the barrage continues. “I hate him and his stupid, handsome face,” I yell, grabbing the broken glass panes from yesterday that were removed and smashing them into the plastic bin. “Ahhh!” I scream with each glass square smashing into the plastic bucket. Both the sound of smashing glass and my screaming become extremely cathartic—perhaps this could be a new way for me to alleviate my anger. I still have plans to open a bottle of wine, once the rage has stopped burning in my veins like it currently is.
“Hey.” André’s hand on my wrist stops me from throwing any more pieces of glass. My breathing is short and labored as I glare at him. He is brave to interrupt me.
“Let go,” I breathe, my words more a feral growl.
“Okay,” André says, his voice calm, as he pulls the piece of glass from my grip, setting it down on the floor before releasing my wrist and holding his hands up. My chest continues to rise and fall with my gasping breaths, until finally it returns to normal and my shoulders slump as the adrenaline runs out of my system.
“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes.” André tsks, trying to lighten the mood.
“Is he gone?” I ask, almost relieved we don’t have a driving lesson today.
“Yep.” André lets the P pop. He returns to my side, handing me a broom as he looks around the room at the mess I’ve made.
“Thanks,” I grumble, taking the broom none too gently from André. Silently, I sweep up the glass shards into the dustpan.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say someone is in…how do you say in English…” André looks for the right word.
“Annoyed? Angered? Disgruntled? Ticked off?” I list.
André clicks his tongue. “In love,” he announces, causing me to blanche.
“I think you’re mistaken.” I level André with a scowl so strong it has the potential to fry a potato into chips.
“We all see the way he looks at you. I met a girl like that once,” André continues, a faraway look passes across his face. “She just had this way of getting right under my skin.”
“Hey, lover boy,” I snap. “Reminisce on your own time.” If there is one thing I know for certain, I would rather pluck my own eyeballs out than admit I have any feelings for Luc that don’t involve five curse words in two different languages. I’m not in love nor falling in love with Jean-Luc Badeaux III. If anything, I detest the man and his exasperating smirk.
I busy myself for the rest of the day with the soon-to-be duchess suite, which pulls inspiration from the chateau garden. I’d intended to add wallpaper to three of the walls as an ode to the original decoration. The half-tattered, yellowing gravy boat made of porcelain that is currently stuck to the walls has seen better days. I did some deep internet investigation for inspiration that landed me on some questionable sites—who would’ve thought typing boudoir photos into Google may not have been my brightest moment? Perhaps clicking on the link that said, boudoir tips was my second mistake. I’m just glad I did the research on Luc’s tablet. The fact that I needed to put my email address in to access the web page should have been the big red flag.
“I think my emails have been hacked, I keep getting messages from Boudoir Online,” Luc tells Pierre as they walk into the room. I smother my snort of laughter. I’m attributing that misjudgment to one too many glasses of white wine, but at least I was smart enough to put Luc’s email in not mine.
I take my time tracing the current design, drawing in the small details around the lip and the handle of the gravy boat, adding my little touch to it. I add in a delicate, rustic bunch of greenery, sprigs of lavender, daisies, blades of wheat, irises, and rosemary out the opening on the top.
“Are you two going to just stand there?” I question, staring down at the wallpaper laid out on the floor. Since Luc booked the chateau for the summer festival, he has brought Pierre to help with the renovations. It is a much-needed hand, if I’m honest. It also helps that Pierre is actually a really nice guy to be around too. I can see why Madeline and Luc are friends with him.
“We were waiting for you to finish painting the wall before we hang the paper on the rest of them,” Pierre says.
My pencil stills as I flick my eyes over to his. “Sounds to me like you’re procrastinating.”
“Aurora,” André calls, interrupting me.
“Yeah,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off the painting.
“Someone is at the door looking for you,” André says, coming into the room.
I freeze, pencil in midair, and look at André. “Who?” I ask, hoping he is going to say it’s the DHL man with my bath bomb order.
He just shrugs his shoulders.
“Tell them I’m not here.” I motion my hand in front of my face.
“Yeah…that’s going to be difficult,” André says as Timothé enters the room.
“Timothé,” I bristle, putting my pencil down and standing up.
“I can see you have settled in nicely,” Timothé remarks as he looks around the room. The smell of fresh paint and setting wallpaper glue is thick in the air.
“I’m in my element,” I reply in French, and Timothé’s eyebrows reach his hairline in delighted shock.
“Ah, I see you have picked up French.”
“I have.” I smile. Both André and Luc have been helping teach me French phrases while we work on the chateau, and Madeline has been spending time teaching me how to read French during our morning coffee dates. I notice a brown briefcase in Timothé’s hand, and my smile falters.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asks, and a knot of uneasiness worms its way through my nervous system, making all of my limbs feel cold.
“We better go to the kitchen.” I nod, proud my voice didn’t waver.