Chapter 22
While Luc is busy having a shower, I use the quiet time to sip my coffee at the makeshift kitchen table. A permanent smile on my lips. Last night was amazing. As much as I want to hate Luc, it’s also becoming extremely difficult, especially now that we’ve finally released some of that pent-up sexual tension, and I’ve gotten to see Luc’s softer side.
I open my phone and message Briar.
Rory
How are things going at the gallery?
For the first time I can say I’m not actually bitter about losing the deal with the gallery. In fact, I’m actually relieved. My mind is already spinning with ways I intend to make Luc sign over his share of the chateau. Working for the gallery wouldn’t have been this fun.
Briar
They’re going…How are things in France?
Rory
I’ll keep you posted. So far hot French man summer is looking up
Briar
I need details girl. The smuttier the better
Rory
*wink emoji* trust me they are smutty
I toss my phone away, not bothering to check her reply. The pile of envelopes I stashed from the mailbox catches my eye. With my first cup of coffee already sinking into my veins, I grab a random envelope from the pile. The first envelope was addressed to “the resident.”
I already feel special.
Inside is a typed letter asking if the chateau is for sale, due to an interested party wanting to view it.
I snort. “That would be a giant no.” I throw the letter on the floor, making a pile of things to go in the bin. A few more letters later and I’m shocked to find four more letters from people wanting to buy the chateau, two town events that were already over, and a letter from a man stating he believed there to be medieval treasure buried in the moat of the chateau and to call his number if I’m ever interested in digging it up. Another claimed to know the location of a secret stash of wines that was hidden in the chateau. Then there is the letter from some treasure hunter, Mathilde. No joke, the stamp at the bottom actually says, We find your treasure, claiming to know the exact geographical location of the Monet family jewels, supposedly buried by my great-grandfather. Oh, and my personal favorite, that some psychic told this person they believe the Monet family buried their enemies in the moat, and they would love the opportunity to dig them up for museum purposes. I wonder if Luc’s seen any of these. The letter from the professional treasure hunters may have been true, but it also felt very Indiana Jones-y.
“Reading letters from your admirers?” Luc asks, making me jump in my chair.
“Holy shit. Where did you come from?” I hold my hand to my racing heart. I lick my lips when I spot the towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips, the bulge of his dick clearly outlined as he slowly works the other one through his hair.
“My cock or me?” He smirks.
He shatters my lust-filled moment. “Annddddd we’re back.”
Luc closes the distance between us and grabs my coffee, gulping down the biggest sip.
My jaw slackens. “Do you wish for death?” My eyes narrow on him until he places my cup back on the bench.
“It was one sip.” He shrugs and places the half-empty cup in my hand.
I scoff and look into the cup. “You’ve just about finished it, and I haven’t had my wake-up yet,” I moan.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve already had you’re wake-up.” He straightens his shoulders and rolls his eyes. “And there’s still at least two more sips in your cup.”
“Micro-sips, maybe.” I swirl it around. “I can see the bottom,” I moan, not nearly awake enough to be staring at the bottom of my coffee cup. “And I have all these letters to get through.”
“And I thought André was dramatic,” he mumbles.
“I’m clearly not even thinking straight. I’m so coffee depraved it’s almost criminal.” I rub my forehead. “Isn’t there a clause you’re not supposed to sign paperwork when you are so depraved of caffeine? What if I accidentally sign over the rights to dig up a monument to one of these people.” I point to the small pile of opened letters.
“That’s for if you have been in surgery where anesthetic has been administered, not for caffeine. And no one is putting any paperwork in front of you—unless you count this,” he states, standing behind me, thumbing through the open letters. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let,” he squints, “Mathilde know not to let you sign anything unless you’ve had a minimum of three coffees in your system. Although, someone should tell her the chateau was built three hundred years after the medieval period, so it might be a little hard to find a cache of armor. But the store wine bottles might be a little more believable.”
“Small wins.” I sign and drink the rest of the coffee in one swallow.
There is only one letter left by the end of it, the one from Louis. Luc grabs it and hands it to me, and I quickly shake my head.
“Aren’t you going to open this one?” he asks.
“No, it’s from Louis, I…” I pause, my throat working hard to swallow the sudden lump. “I haven’t worked the courage up to read that one yet.”
He nods, understanding instantly. “When you’re ready. It’ll be here waiting.” He places a kiss on my forehead and the letter back down and walks away. And I smile at him, grateful that he’s dropped the subject.
I hurry through the rest of my routine, while Luc goes to the main chateau to continue helping the others with renovations. I have to meet Madeline for breakfast. I swing my leg over my slightly rusted bike, because Luc absolutely won’t let me drive on my own yet after I accidentally reversed into the Porsche. I put my small bag in the wicker basket on the front and peddle the short journey into town.
“Bonjour,” Madeline greets, kissing me on both cheeks while I still try to catch my breath as I lock my bike in front of the local patisserie.
“Bonjour, mon ami, comment vas-tu?” I hug Madeline close to my chest, practicing some of the phrases I’ve learned with her. She’s probably become my closest confidant since I moved to Carcen—right behind André. Even though she’s friends with Luc, she still wants to see me inherit the chateau as well.
“Shall we sit?” Madeline asks me and I nod. We place our breakfast order with the waitress, and we dive into our usual morning routine.
“I heard you have nearly finished the kitchen,” Madeline mentions, tightening the ends of her Hermès twilly scarf around her neck. The bright yellow scarf completes the white cap-sleeved top and skirt. I’m so envious of how well French people are at dressing themselves. It’s as if fashion is their sixth sense, and Madeline is by far no exception. Her eccentric style only makes her stand out more. I’m trying to absorb her fashion sense through osmosis, but so far I’ve just contributed to my currently lazy chic look.
I dive straight into my usual update on how the renovations are coming along, conveniently leaving out that Luc blew my brains out last night. “Henry tiled the walls yesterday, the floor was reoiled, the benchtop is already in, and hopefully this afternoon the oven and stove will arrive.”
“Did you add a bit of your Aurora flare into this room?” Madeline asks as the waiter brings out our breakfast order.
“Merci.” Madeline smiles at the waitress as she leaves. I lick my lips and start pulling apart the hot roll. I slather it with a generous amount of butter, watching it melt. I love melted butter.
“I hand painted some of the tiles and had Henry lay them in a pattern so the painted tiles are surrounded by four plain ones.”
“Did you use the duchess again?”
“No.” I laugh. I’d told Madeline about the shadow of the duchess one night after way too much cognac, and now she won’t let me live it down. Apparently when you say you think you have seen a ghost, people think you are crazy? Or maybe she wants to see the duchess too? I haven’t figured it out yet. “I decided to use the wildflowers from the forest behind the chateau as inspiration.”
Madeline nods, dipping her knife into the blackberry jam. “You should start a YouTube channel.”
I snort. “Yeah right, what would I call it? ‘Girl who doesn’t know how to renovate a chateau doing it with the guy trying to steal it.’”
My phone beeps in my bag, and when I pull it out, my eyebrows reach my hairline when I see Luc’s name on the screen. Rolling my eyes, I pocket the phone.
“Don’t you want to get that?” Madeline asks.
“Nope.” I shrug and take a bite from the bread roll, making the melted butter dribble down the corner of my mouth. “It was just Luc.”
Madeline smiles. “I see you’re starting to have fun with him.”
“No,” I reply too quickly and wince, my body freezing. Suddenly, too shy to tell her about our new little deal.
“Something to do with the festival, perhaps?” Madeline prods. If only he is messaging me about the summer festival. Luc is hell-bent on making sure I don’t end up with the chateau, but what he doesn’t know is I’m determined to have sole control. No matter how much his honey-colored eyes, the same shade as freshly spun honeycomb, plead, beg, and distract me. I’m going to win this clause be damned.
“Thank you so much for choosing the chateau to host the summer festival, by the way,” I reply sarcastically, still not quite over the have two hundred people visiting the chateau in a couple months announcement that was made, and as much as we’ve been working really hard to get the chateau in a better state, it’s still nowhere near ready. Livable doesn’t mean showable, I remind myself for the millionth time. There is nothing in the will that states anything about having guests in the allotted six-month trial period. If Luc thought throwing a party in an unfinished chateau is going to have me running scared, then he really has underestimated me.
“Throwing the gates open to Carcen’s very own Chateau des éveillés will be a great community event.” Madeline clearly hasn’t seen that the chateau is the mortuary for every single fly within a twenty-five-mile radius of Carcen, or that the amount of dirt accumulated could be enough to create a sandpit.
“As long as the community doesn’t go any higher than the second floor, we will have a great night,” I murmur, replacing the coffee cup in the saucer.
“Oh, that reminds me…” Madeline opens her cylindrical bag in the corner of the table and pulls out a piece of paper with torn edges. “Here is the name of the chef, he will be happy to help you out.” Madeline hands me the piece of scrap paper.
“Umm,” is all I can utter. Now I need to get a chef too. This small event I’ve convinced myself the summer festival is going to be is quickly evaporating and becoming something much bigger.
Shitballs.
“He is very popular in town. I asked if he would cater as a favor to me. We are very lucky he said yes,” Madeline assures me.
“Sooo lucky,” I mumble, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I should be glad, at least Madeline has sorted out the food.
Adjusting the brim of my hat to cover my burning cheeks from the midday sun, I rake all the sticks and fallen leaves from the driveway while André and Henry finish installing the rest of the kitchen appliances I’d ordered.
After the driveway is clear, I grab the handle of the lawn mower and wheel it out of the g?te-turned-shed. Sweat pouring down my back, my khaki shorts chafe and ride up between my legs. Thick thighs save lives—if only my shorts got that message too. I pull down the inside pant leg, reminding myself for the fortieth time why shorts and thick thighs on a hot day do not work. Sweat trickles down my arms before I’ve even started mowing the meters of lawn. The mower hums to life with a flick of a button. I push it down the left side of the driveway, careful to avoid the base of the trees; the last thing I need is to break my lawn mower by running over something I’m not supposed to. I make quick work of the grass and move on to lopping dead and overgrown tree branches, making the chateau look less like a haunted house and more like an inviting castle. I’m officially in my gardening era. I’m completely skipping the whole indoor plant thing and moving to acres and acres of lawn, trees, flowers, and vegetables. I’m an all-in kind of gal.
“Huh?” I question as I go to toss the newly chopped branch where there should be a pile of tree branches, but instead I find just cut grass. It’s probably just André helping to take the tree branches. Last I saw, André thought he was working on something inside the chateau. I wave off the unease and move to the next tree. I start chopping away, when the branch in front of me starts shaking.
That’s not André.
“Mountain lion,” I scream and throw the oversized scissors on the ground, running backward.
“Aurora, what is it?” André shouts, running out of the chateau.
“Mountain lion,” I howl, genuine fear seizing my throat. Who knows what beasts have wandered in from the forest about to tear me limb from limb. André looks at me in confusion, with one eyebrow raised. He remains unmoving, even going as far as to cross his arms over his chest. Clearly he doesn’t realize how close we are to certifiable death. Poor, na?ve André. I will be sure to tell everyone at his funeral that he fought the beast off with great valor. It’s a complete lie. But I’ve come to see André like a brother, and no one will want to hear he didn’t go down swinging.
My legs are replaced with burning rods as I gulp down lungs full of sharp air, debating if whatever beast is going to kill me would hurt less than the pain coursing through my body from running away from it. Deciding death by wild rabid animal would look nicer on my tombstone compared to death from running, I slow and turn my head to see the animal pounce from the bushes. The tree stops shaking, and I rest my hands on my knees, trying to breathe through the sharp pain in my chest. André reaches me and puts a warm hand on my sweaty shoulder.
“Aurora, there are no mountain lions in France,” he says, trying to hold his laughter in, but it doesn’t work, eventually breaking free.
“Then it must be a jaguar.” My words come out in short pants, only causing André to laugh harder. “Didn’t the neighbor say he lost a finger last week to a wild boar? I’ve heard once wild boars get a taste for human blood, they become obsessed.” I’m offended that André isn’t taking this threat seriously.
“Aurora, he went boar hunting, and he lost his finger because he had a mishap with his gun,” André drawls just as a figure emerges from around the tree. Luc is clutching his own stomach, hunched over in laughter. I straighten, scowling, knocking André’s hand off my shoulder, and I stomp back to the scissors I’d abandoned.
“You think it’s funny to scare people,” I bellow, my blood boiling in my veins.
“I was holding the branch so you could cut it. I didn’t expect you to shout ‘mountain lion,’” Luc wipes a tear, a FREAKIN’ tear from his eye. The absolute audacity of the guy.
“Well…” I sniff. “Why didn’t you tell me you were there.”
“I thought you knew I was there. Who else has been picking up all the branches and putting them in a pile?”
I level him with a glare. “For your information, they were in a pile, it was right there.” I point to where one tree branch lies, but it only sets off another round of laughter between the two men.
“Yes, that was my pile.”
“Well, just, next time warn a person, would ya.”
“And where would the fun in that be?” Luc mumbles under his breath.
I rest my fingers on the bridge of my nose. “If I knew you were there, don’t you think I would’ve cut more than the tree branch.” Especially after this little stunt, I might’ve been a little more clumsy with my cutting.
“I love it when you talk murderous to me, baby.” Shaking his head, Luc takes his place by the tree branch, waiting for me to begrudgingly snip it off with scissors. There is just something about Luc that makes my skin feel tight. I really am beginning to hate that feeling.
“Aurora, where are you going?” Luc calls as I stomp away from them, all the while grumbling about wild boars and missing fingers.
I flip them off over my shoulder, I walk back to the chateau, ready to tell Henry everything. “To obviously give myself a much-needed coffee break, duh.” And tell Henry everything so he can give Luc a nice little lecture on the importance of safety at the chateau.