Chapter 20
Idrop my pencil and step over the paint can on the floor as I follow Timothé downstairs in silence. The last time I saw him he had told me I’d inherited a chance of a lifetime. My stomach churns with each step I take as the tips of my fingers tingle—deep down, there is a small voice telling me this isn’t a pleasant “just checking to see your progress” visit. I lean my head against the cool wood, trying to catch my breath.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, trying to busy myself so I don’t fall into a rabbit hole of dark thoughts.
“No, I am fine.” Timothé waves me off.
“It seems I owe you an apology,” he starts, making me swallow thickly. An apology wasn’t necessarily a Sorry, we tracked down the wrong Aurora Allard, but it is almost sounding that way.
“Mmm,” I squeak, my vocal cords not able to make another sound.
“You see, Miss Allard, there was a slight oversight.” Timothé clasps both his hands together on the table. I try to swallow, but my throat has become drier than desert sand. “Before Louis died, he told me he misplaced some jewelry. He promised them to me, but I have not been able to find them. Do you know where they are?”
Something in the way he says it has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Why has he waited until now, when the chateau renovations are really underway, to mention this? I’ve never been good at reading faces, but something in Timothé’s face makes me question the authenticity of his request. “Do we need to go through this now, I have the summer festival to prepare for.” I try to buy myself some time.
“Of course, of course.” His mouth pulls into a too-perfect smile. “If you come across them, do let me know. They are priceless but hold so much meaning to an old friend. These jewels are from the original duchess.”
Essentially, incredibly priceless then. “I’ll keep a look out for you.” I make a mental note to mention it to Madeline when I see her tomorrow to see if she knows anything about it.
“Thank you.” The deep grooves in his face relax in relief.
“Don’t mention it.” I lead Timothé out of the g?te. “As long as there are no other surprises?” I question.
“Miss Allard, I can assure you, there is not.”
“Oh, and Timothé? Are you free to come to the summer festival?”
“I will be there.” Timothé gives me a soft smile before opening the door.
“Annnnd?” André asks, standing in the foyer Timothé just left from, like an expectant puppy.
“Were you listening the whole time?” I ask, folding my hands over my chest.
“Nah, I just saw him leave.” André waves me off.
“Luc too?”
“Oh yeah, he left ages ago.”
My lips pull into a pout, I didn’t think I would be sad to hear Luc left, but the hollow feeling in my chest seems to indicate otherwise.
“And what’s the look you have on your face for?” André smiles.
“What look do I have on my face?”
“It’s one like this.” André screws the sides of his mouth up and flares his nostrils. “You always get it when a certain Porsche driver comes down the driveway.”
“I do not,” I argue back, causing André to laugh as I none too gently brush past him and stomp back into the main chateau.
“I lied. He’s still upstairs,” I hear André calling. “Waiting for you to ‘paint the room.’” He says the last part with way too much laughter for my liking. I flip him off over my shoulder.
“Aurora, is that you.” Henry appears over the banister.
“Yeah,” I call back, still mad at André. As if I pull that face when Luc is around.
“I have to show you something.” He waves me up the stairs. I take the stairs two at a time and follow Henry to the room they are currently working on. “I told André to come get you, where did he wander off to,” Henry grumbles.
“Probably meeting the girl from the bakery at the gate,” I reply. Apparently, we have been upgraded to home delivery because we have become such valued clients. Henry and I have an inside joke going about the young baker who delivers freshly baked pastries every day just so she can see André more. André always seems to be conveniently free and at the front gate right when she arrives.
“As long as she doesn’t ‘accidentally’ forget my madeleines again,” Henry jokes. My heart lifts at the site of Pierre and Luc gluing the wallpaper. André was right, Luc didn’t leave. I don’t know why, but it makes me happy.
“I heard that,” André calls from the bottom of the staircase, causing me and Henry to laugh. I still pinch myself that I have met people who have taken me in like family. Henry often tells me I’m the daughter he always wanted but instead had André.
“What’s the surprise, Henry?” I ask.
“Ta-da.” Pierre flips the switch, illuminating the new chandelier that I so desperately wanted in this room.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, staring up at the teardrop pieces of glass cascading in a wave across the thin silver frame. “Was it hard to install?” I ask.
“Aurora, do these look like surgeon hands to you?” Henry lifts up his meat claws for hands.
“An injectable’s surgeon’s hands, maybe,” I tease.
Sunlight streams in through the window, and I crack my crusty eyelids open. Fuck—morning already. My body groans when I stretch my legs out. I sit up and cover my yawn as I stretch the kinks out of my neck. Sleeping on the couch sucks. Something twinges in my chest; Luc didn’t get me from the couch last night like he usually does. Weird. I stuff down all the feelings starting to bubble within me, push the covers off, and swing my legs over the edge, blinking slowly to clear sleep from my brain as I pad the short distance to the bathroom. I twist the knob and open the bathroom door open, steam wafting past me. I freeze. My mouth falls open. And my panties flood, watching the water droplets hit the glass shower door, Luc’s muscular back on display as each muscle flexes with his movements. His hand rubs through his wet hair, making his biceps bulge. My absolute kryptonite.
“Enjoying the view, Impératrice.” A smirk plays across his lips, shaking me out of my stupor.
“Oh shit.” I gasp, slapping my palm over my eyes. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“So now you know, I guess the question becomes, are you going to join me or leave?”
He dangles the most tempting invitation over me. I wage an inner war with myself: Do I do the unthinkable and join him, or do I leave and keep the relationship between us as professional as possible while still trying to kick him out? It’s the chateau that has me closing the door. It means too much to me to lose it to the guy who is slowly setting my heart on fire while enjoying watching it burn.
In the main chateau kitchen, I busy myself making coffee; I need the distraction before I end up back in that shower. “Are you all right, Aurora?” Henry asks, coming to stand beside me.
“Yes, why?” I hide my flushed face behind my giant coffee cup.
“You seem a little flushed.”
“Oh, I think I have a cold coming on.” I grab a tissue and wipe my nose to emphasize my point.
Henry eyes me before he continues. “Jules is coming this morning.” He takes a sip from his coffee cup while we enjoy the quiet before the hustle of the day begins. Henry organized his friend to inspect the roof after he saw the builder’s report.
“Was anyone going to remind me about this?” Luc announces, walking into the kitchen. The moment he comes into view, I tuck my trembling chin to my chest and take a few calming breaths, hoping he doesn’t mention the shower incident.
“I didn’t realize you needed to have a schedule of appointments—you do know this chateau is hosting a party in a few months,” I bite back, the coffee not sinking into my veins just yet, making me the sweet, sunny person I usually am.
Luc looks at Henry. “I can see someone isn’t on their second coffee yet,” he mumbles, not mentioning the shower incident. Phew. My muscles relax. Or maybe someone is exceptionally grouchy because they just walked in on you naked with water sliding down your body like their own personal porno—semantics.
“She’s barely taken a few sips from her first,” Henry replies. By now, everyone knows I am not a morning person. In fact, I’m a do not bug me before my third coffee kind of morning person.
“So roof.” Luc changes the subject while going about making his own coffee. “Hopefully the roof tiles won’t be too weak and he falls through.”
“Beh, Jules doesn’t consider it fun if he doesn’t slip at least twice when he is inspecting a roof,” Henry says, shrugging with a toothy smile as he puts his now-empty coffee cup into the sink.
“Yay, Jules is coming.” André bounds into the room, snagging the last croissant from the plate in front of me.
“Hey, I was going to eat that,” I grouse, but that only seems to spur him on, and he takes a huge bite, almost eating half, before putting it back on my plate. “Seriously, now it has your icky germs…and probably Sofié’s too. Don’t think I didn’t catch you two making out not ten minutes ago. I’m probably going to catch mono or some shit.”
“She hasn’t had her second coffee,” Luc butts in.
André’s eyes widen, like I’m a viper ready to strike him with a poisonous bite. “Ah.” He picks up the remainder of the croissant. “Well, I better take my mono-germed croissant, then. Someone told me the mirror I hung yesterday was crooked.” He laughs, evading the swat I send his way.
Through the chateau window, I watch as dust clouds kick up behind a giant white van, followed by the distinct crunch of gravel in the driveway. Jules is here. Showtime.
“Bonjour,” I call as I stride toward the van, the builder’s report tucked safely under my arm. The morning sun is already hot enough to make sweat beads form on the back of my neck.
“Ah, Madame.” Jules emerges from the side of the van, Henry in toe. Unlike Henry, Jules is lithe and trim, in a pair of sensible work pants and a short-sleeve top. Just like Henry, an inviting smile graces his lips, showing his warm, caring attitude.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I say in perfect, practiced French, extending my hand for Jules, who takes it and kisses my cheeks. The rough stubble on Jules’s cheek lightly scratches my skin, making me hurry through the appropriate greeting process.
“Voah.” Jules’s eyebrows are pulled up as a look of shock passes his face. Tilting his head to the side, he looks over at Henry. “I’m beginning to think you lied to me, friend. You said she didn’t speak French.”
I blush, ecstatic by the compliment. All that time spent listening to French radio, practicing with the language app I bought on my phone, and the lessons with Luc and Madeline are really paying off. “Give me a few months and I will have the Burgundy dialect. You won’t even know I am a transplant.” I laugh, pride swelling in my chest.
“What have we got today?” Jules asks, clapping his hands together and rubbing them in excitement.
I shuffle a few steps away from Jules and face the chateau. “I have just been given this eighteenth-century chateau.”
“Lucky you,” Jules quips as he lifts his head, taking in the full scale of the chateau. The sun reflects on the tan fa?ade, bathing it in a yellow glow as the windows glint and sparkle.
“The report says the roof is leaking in two spots. I recount the memorized report and open the folder to the roof page.
“Is this where the issue is?” Jules looks over my shoulder at the bird’s-eye view of the roof. With a callused finger, he points to the first X located on the far right back corner of the chateau.
“One of them, yes. The other is here.” I point to the middle of the roof, where there is a faded scanned X.
Jules nods, walks to his van, and opens the back door. “While I am up there, I will check the whole roof and see how bad these two spots are. If it’s a small problem, I can fix it today.” Jules kicks off his sneakers and straps his feet into heavy-looking climbing boots. He grabs the harness and holds it up. It looks like a confusing knotted mess of ropes and carabiners, but Jules makes it look effortless as he steps his legs into the two loops that become his leg holes. Finally, a camera is attached to the front of the harness, and he hands a small tablet to me.
“Here, you watch everything I see.”
“You sure you can handle this, Impératrice?” His hot breath tickles the hairs against my ear.
I stare at him, one eyebrow raised. “A tablet or restoring the chateau?” I can handle both, but I just want to hear it leave his lips.
“I was going to say, if you have a fear of heights…”
I lift my chin. “Not a fear of heights, but I think I’m allergic to men who have more BDE than they have in their actual pants.” With quick steps, I leave Luc standing there, his jaw slightly open and his eyes boring holes into the back of my head.
No matter how many renovations I tick off, I still have one big problem.
Jean-Luc Badeaux III.