Chapter 24 Gustave #2
I refill my glass and don’t even ask her if she’d like some more, as propriety would demand.
“As unfair as it is—and it is grossly so—in French society, in our world, you must admit: the man holds all the power. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Simone’s mask cracks slightly, enough to show the fury and fear underneath. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” she sneers.
If I’d hidden Tara as a mistress and the tabloids found out, it would have still been a scandal, the Louvre would still have fired Tara, and she’d have to live with a scarlet letter on her chest. But there is an alternative to that. I can’t wait to see Simone’s face when I tell her about it.
I lean back as if she hasn’t spoken. “Everyone has a price, don’t you agree?”
She snorts.
“You crave headlines.” I smile widely at her. “You live for them. You adore people knowing you. You need the applause as oxygen. That’s your price, chérie.”
Simone gives me a look that could curdle milk.
“I was wondering what would happen if I freeze funds and access associated with your position in the de Valois Foundation. Remove you from the palaces and properties that have been at your disposal. Insist that you not be allowed to use my last name any longer.”
I see panic ignite in her eyes.
The thing she dreads most is humiliation, being stripped of the machine that has furnished her life. But then she regroups, and a dry, cutting chuckle slips past her lips. “Like you’d do that. I’m the mother of your son, Gustave. And what would people say?”
I rise from the settee and walk the small distance between us. “I don’t give a flying fuck what people say.”
Not anymore.
“Your parents will never let that happen.”
“My parents don’t control the de Valois empire. I do.”
Simone finishes her champagne.
“Chéri*, can you pour me some?” She raises her glass to me, arrogant and haughty.
I do as she asks. I’ve always been fair with Simone because she’s Aubert’s mother. But she’s gone too far.
She takes a sip of the wine and smiles. “Tell me, Gustave, how did you get Clérisseau to tell you my secret?”
“I told him that he’d get first bite at the next major de Valois announcement.”
She narrows her eyes for a moment and then smiles. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“What do you think I’m saying?” I ask, curious.
“Well, you’re talking about us getting back together, right?”
The woman is delusional!
“No, the next announcement from the de Valois family will be about my engagement to Tara Gayarre.”
The silence that falls is jagged.
“You wouldn’t—” she begins, flinging the sentence like a warning.
“Oh, yes. There will be a new Comtesse de Valois. You will not sit on committees. She will. You will be turned away from the salons you’ve been buying into for so long because they will favor her and not you.
The dresses will still fit, the diamonds will still shine, but they will not be worn to the right events anymore. ”
Her hand—the one wearing the seven-carat ring—trembles. “No one will accept her in society.”
“Do I need to remind you how much power I have?” I tell her laconically. I set my champagne glass on the ridiculously ornate salon table. “Do you know why I asked for champagne?”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“I’m celebrating going to Los Angeles with my son to see my future wife.” I lean down, my face close to hers. “You can no longer rely on me for your air. You wanted power by proxy. I’m removing the proxy.”
She claws for maneuvering. “If you do this, you will destroy your family’s name and reputation.”
“I’m not worried. The name will survive a little bruising. Tara is young and beautiful. An artist. A few parties and galas where Givenchy and Chanel dress her, and all will be forgiven.”
“She’s not our kind,” Simone spits out.
“Good. It’s the best thing about her.”
“You will not do this, Gustave.” She is shaking with anger now. “I am your wife.”
“Make no mistake, Simone, I’m not doing this for revenge alone. I’m doing it to protect Aubert and to stop you from preying on me and mine.”
She lunges for outrage, for pity. “You’ll look like a petty and cruel man.”
“I will look like a man who is in love.”
I pull out an envelope from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I slide it across the little table to her like a verdict.
“This is an injunction to revoke your access to the family apartments, to my accounts, and it prevents you from using the de Valois name.”
Simone stares at the envelope as if it has bitten her.
“If you ever interfere in my life again, in Tara’s life, even Aubert’s, my lawyer will file these papers.”
She can’t believe it—can’t believe I’m this kind of man.
She’s always known me as the conciliator, the one who keeps the peace, who smooths the edges and avoids the storm.
Does she really think I run an empire by being compliant?
“You would make a public spectacle of us?” she accuses.
“Oui.” The word is merciless. “For now because you should learn that there are consequences to your bad behavior. You will no longer be part of the de Valois foundation. You will have nothing to do with the work we do with museums, especially the Louvre. The trustees have been briefed.”
For the first time since I met her, she is speechless.
She tries her one last lever. Charm.
“Gustave, please. For the sake of what we once were.” Her voice softens, the predator trying the old lullaby.
I laugh, this time with genuine amusement. “What we once were is not something I aspire to remember or relive.”
Her breath catches. A single, short, ragged sound. “Think of Aubert.”
“I have run this by him. He agrees it’s the right thing to do.”
Now, she looks frightened. “You turned my son against me.”
“No, you did that. He overheard you talking to Emma.”
Her eyes widen with understanding. “Non!” she wails.
“If you attempt to weaponize the press again, I will ruin you, and the only place for you will be your sister’s attic in Marseille.” I hold her gaze. “Tell me you understand.”
There’s a silence so absolute it feels like snow falling in a chapel. She’s lost the thing she wants most, which is the ability to command a room with her last name.
Simone straightens, fury knitting her brows.
“Say, yes, Gustave, I understand,” I order.
And at last, realizing she’s cornered, she says, “I understand.”
“Consider this a warning, Simone.” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my suit pants. “Do not touch Tara again. Do not speak of her. If you do, you will have chosen obliteration over an ember of dignity.”
As I walk out of the salon, past the ormolu and the silk, past the chandelier that has seen a thousand polite betrayals, I feel relief.
Outside, Paris breathes as it always does. I walk to my car with the satisfaction of a man who has closed a door, soundly, with both hands.
“Charles de Gaulle, s’il vous pla?t*,” I tell my driver.
“Oui, monsieur*.”
* The harvest (French)
* Aunt (French)
* Ladies first (French)
* Darling (male)
* Charles De Gaulle, please
* Yes, sir