Chapter 25
“On my count, we lower the bathtub.” Luc looks at Pierre and André, the cast-iron clawfoot tub equally shared between the three of them. “Steady,” Luc calls as he walks backward into the adorning bathroom in the Dauphin room. The light blue porcelain sides barely make it through the small doorway as all three men slowly walk it into the bathroom. I choose the smart job of observing; it’s also the perfect spot where my latest little revenge plan will go down—and I’m safely away from the splash zone.
“Phew,” Pierre breathes as André steps through the threshold with the end of the tub. Luc aligns the front of the tub where he wants it to go, as the other two straighten the back. “One, two, three,” Luc counts, and the three men slowly place the claw feet on the ground.
“I’m never doing that again,” André announces as he stands with a hand on his lower back and stretches his back out. “That shit was heavy,” he groans.
“Thank god the other bathrooms only have normal tubs,” Pierre agrees with André’s sentiments. When I found this tub at Isobel’s, I knew the chateau needed to have it.
“Now to hook it up.” Luc touches the pipe hanging from the wall, and water starts gushing out at the velocity of a pressure washer. “What the fuck,” he roars, but it comes out garbled as water shoots into his mouth. All three men put their hands up to cover their eyes as the water continues to shoot at them, stinging their skin like little pinpricks.
“Turn it off,” André barks.
“I can’t see the nut.” Pierre tries to walk closer to the hose, where the tidal wave of water was coming out from, trying to locate the knut to turn the water off.
“Where is the wrench?” Luc tries to look on the floor—which is filled with nearly two inches of water—for a rusted, chipped red–painted wrench.
“Looking for something?” I call a little louder so I can be heard over the sound of the rushing water—from my spot leaning against the doorjamb, with the rusted wrench in my hand and a large nut between the clamps. If looks could kill, Luc’s glares would have turned me into a pile of ash. I just wink and blow him a kiss.
“Oh, that’s it.” Pierre smiles at the nut clasped between the wrench I have in my hands.
“Uh-ah-uh,” I tut, pulling the wrench away from his grasp. Dear sweet innocent Pierre, too bad he doesn’t realize his best friend is a giant douche canoe.
“What the fuck, Aurora,” André yells, annoyed he was caught between their war.
“Sorry, André, collateral damage.” I shrug, but my eyes don’t leave Luc’s as a wicked smile graces my lips.
“Are you ready to forfeit yet?” I return the question Luc asked me.
“If you think a little water will scare me…” Luc laughs.
“Nope, but I think having to find another nut is going to annoy you.” I shrug my shoulders and turn to leave. “Have fun.” I point to the mirror where I wrote check in red lipstick. Game. Set. And match. All the time I spent planning and YouTubing “how to remove a nut” for my meticulously planned retaliation is so worth it. The look on Luc’s face was beyond priceless.
“You don’t know who you are messing with,” Luc fumes.
“Back at ya.” I wink at him and saunter off, making sure to make my hips sway a little more.
I hear Pierre faintly call, “Found another one,” over the sound of the gushing water. Fucking with Luc might be just as fun as well…fucking Luc.
Repainting the wrought-iron twists along the balustrade on the staircase back to a glossy state is quickly becoming my nemesis. Luc hasn’t retaliated since I’d doused him, André, and Pierre in water. I’m not too proud to say I’ve spent a few days second-guessing everything and double-checking behind every door, but as more days have passed with nothing happening except the weird sideways glances I’m getting from André, Pierre, and Henry, I think I can finally breathe a sigh of relief and accept that I’ve won and Luc is backing off. A small portable speaker resting on the steps plays the latest French summer hit I’m gladly singing along to. I dip the paintbrush back into the can of clear liquid. The first lion head is coming up soon, and I don’t really know how to paint around the eyes. I also don’t really want to have to replace the sapphires.
“Head’s up,” someone calls in the distance. I ignore it.
“Maybe I could put some tape?” I talk myself through the best options.
“Coming through,” someone else calls. I can’t shake the feeling that it suspiciously sounds like Luc, but it’s hard to hear over the thump of my speaker.
“But I don’t want to accidentally leave some adhesive, or loosen one of the sapphires,” I continue to debate.
“Ready to forfeit yet, Impératrice,” he says seconds before I’m doused in…in…is that tinsel and fake snow? I give a small cough, watching plumes of dust escape my mouth. My feet stay rooted in place, unable to move. I blink rapidly.
What just happened? Why do I feel like some crappy pop-up Christmas stall just shat all over me? Slowly, I turn my head to the second-floor railing, dust falling off my shoulders in soft sprinkles. A generous coating of dust lines the inside of my mouth. My eyes connect with the person holding a giant white tub that had been used as a rubbish bin over the railing.
“LUUUCCCCCCC.” His name is low on my lips, a feral growl; my glare alone should be enough to whither any living organism, and yet Luc stands there with a giant shit-eating grin.
“Oops, sorry, didn’t see you there. I found all these old, discarded Christmas decorations. I must have tripped and fallen,” he replies with an innocent look on his face, but what he just did was anything but innocent. “But I do believe this now makes me checkmate?”
I lift a hand, fake snow falling in piles from it, and wipe my eyes, trying to clear some of the dirt caking my eyelashes. Slowly, I lift my eyes up to Luc, more tinsel and snow falling off me in the process. “You’re going to pay for this,” I vow, coughing green and red smoke.
“Oh, by the way, you missed a spot.” He points to the wet varnish not speckled with red, white, and green. All that work and effort wasted. I have to remove all the semidry paint and repaint it. Again. I curl my hands into fists by my side, vibrating with anger as more of the crap falls off my shoulders. Luc is going to pay for this, and not just because I need to have a shower long enough to use up all the hot water in the chateau, but because I need to repaint the balustrade for the third time in two days.
“Missed a spot, my ass,” I mutter under my breath as I leave a trail of dirt in my wake.
I’m going to have Christmas snot coming out of my nose for the foreseeable future. Not to mention dinner last night had a hint of dust flavor, and this morning’s coffee tastes suspiciously like glue. I promise vengeance for what Luc did. I tap my finger against the table and take another sip of my coffee. I’ve momentarily considered slashing his tires, or taking a tire iron to his car, but I highly doubt it will be enough to convince him to leave the chateau, and besides, my beef is with Luc, not his car. And I think we can all agree, his car has already taken a beating from my driving. So I really need to up the ante here and become a little more inventive.
No, not just any payback will do this time. I need to play it smart—I need to think hard. I snap my fingers—the perfect lightbulb moment, and the perfect plan forms. Luc is working on measuring one of the walls to be knocked down. He has already measured one side and I know he will be on the other side marking out the same spots today, and that’s how I’m going to get him. But I only have a small window to do this. I throw the rest of my coffee out—I know it’s a mortal sin, but it will be worth it—and I sneak into the room and paint the floor with fortified glue, giggling to myself as I go.
“Let’s see who missed a spot now.” I chuckle, slightly delirious as I paint the last dab of glue. This is the most ingenious idea ever, if I do say so myself.
I spend the morning being painfully obvious to Luc, making sure to always be in his line of sight. It also helped he was watching me like a hawk—trying to decide whether I’m up to something or not. I thought I saw him flinch when I passed the saltshaker at breakfast, or when I walked a little too close to him, or dropped something next to him—it’s almost amusing, but it still isn’t enough, and I have something much better up my sleeve.
I pretend to be busy painting the top of the first landing under the balustrade. From my strategic spot, I can watch Luc walk between the rooms, because I do not want to miss one second of this. Every time he walks out of a room, I keep my focus on my brushstrokes, pretending it requires my full concentration, like I’m painting the Sistine Chapel. When he walks into the room where my carefully laid plan is, I lay down my brush and wait, straining my ears and trying to hold in my laughter so I don’t give away my plan.
“What the fuck,” Luc yells, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Aurora!” His voice has become panicked. Silently, I count to ten in my head, before moving a muscle.
“Aurora,” Luc roars, his voice reaching an octave higher.
“Aurora!” This time, his voice is a savage scream, sending chills down my spine.
Oh, this I gotta see. I take a few deep, calming breaths so I don’t seem too suspicious when I breeze into the room or dissolve into hysterical laughter.
“Oh, crap,” I exclaim when I lift my hand away from the wet varnish. A nice handprint now lining my newly painted rail. I shake my hand to flick the splatters off and climb the steps two at a time. “Did you call my name?” I ask, making sure my voice is an extra dose of powdered sugar sweetness as I walk into the room Luc is in.
“What took you so long,” he thunders, making me stop short. The image I had in my head was very different from what I see sitting in front of me. Yes, sitting—not kneeling, like I’d pictured in my head.
“Sitting on the job, are you?” I scoff and cross my arms over my chest. By some miracle I manage to keep the smile from my face and a mask of surprise in place.
“What did you do?” he grits out, his teeth clenched so hard, his jaw ticks. No, what’s waiting for me is way better than I ever could have dreamed. Luc glowers at me, sitting cross-legged in the superglue I so lovingly painted the night before.
“Har, har.” Luc shakes his shoulder in mock laughter before turning serious. His face quickly morphing, the small vein in his temple throbbing. “What did you do?” His voice darkens like the sharp edge of freshly cut steel.
“Me,” I put a hand on my chest in mock hurt, “I’ve been repainting the staircase. The job I have been trying to complete for the last three days, but somehow I always end up distracted.”
“Aurora.” My name comes as a warning. Too bad I never listen to warnings—especially when coming from Luc. Clearly he’s not finding my innocent act as cute as I think it is. In fact, far from it. From the glare he is sending me, I’d almost take a wild guess he looks ready to strangle me.
“What happened?” Pierre rushes into the room. His face twisted in worry from Luc’s screams. Slowly he looks between me and Luc, before doing a double take of Luc in his position on the floor.
“Pierre, help me up,” Luc growls, and Pierre immediately grabs his outstretched hands.
“Although,” I say, interrupting them, rubbing my chin. “That could be where I accidentally spilled some glue yesterday.” Both men stop and turn to look at me, Luc with a horrified expression and Pierre with a slight smirk on his face.
“You didn’t,” he gasps.
“Come to think of it…I did,” I proclaim. Pierre gives Luc a giant tug as I turn to leave, my shoulders shaking with laughter as I hear a giant rip sound.
“It even got your underwear too.” Pierre stares down at Luc’s crotch, his voice light and full of amusement. I couldn’t help but turn around to see what he meant and nearly fell over, clutching my stomach. When I see Luc standing, his pants torn, leaving jagged edges exposing his butt cheeks, the backs of his thighs, and the sides of his calves.
“Ready to forfeit yet?” I ask.
Pierre gets his phone from his pocket, snaps a picture, and starts laughing. “Got some nice air-conditioning there,” Pierre remarks, and I laugh even harder. Luc growls at us both, which only sets off another round of laughter. My voice turns hoarse from laughing so hard.
“Run,” he fumes, flashing his teeth. I look down and notice his foot still stuck in the glue.
“You missed a spot.” I wink at him, my sides hurting from how much I’ve laughed.
Oh yeah, I’m enjoying this little game much more than I care to admit, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up my chateau.