Chapter Three #2
“à bient?t,” he echoed.
I hung up, pinning the men with my best teacher look. The one that said, I know you’re guilty, and I’m giving you a chance to confess before I really explode.
Bene rubbed his hands nervously and glanced at Roux — a classic tell pointing to the ringleader of the bunch.
“What. Is. Going. On?” I gritted out, one syllable at a time.
Roux puffed out his cheeks, then fessed up. “Marius left at the end of our mission.”
“In Brussels?” I tried.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
I rolled my eyes, then pressed on. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did he go?” I tried.
“I don’t know.”
A good thing we hadn’t sat down to dinner yet. I might have thrown a platter or two.
“And Gordon doesn’t know Marius is gone,” I surmised.
“No. Gordon doesn’t know where Marius is or what he’s doing,” Roux clarified.
I made a face. “That makes two of us.”
Roux’s eyes hit the floor, and I studied him closely.
“You really don’t know?”
He shook his head. “I don’t. And Gordon can’t find out Marius is gone.”
“Because it will get him in hot water with Gordon?”
“Because it will get all of us in hot water with Gordon,” Roux growled.
“That was part of the deal,” Bene explained. “We work for Gordon for six months, and our records are cleared. But we’re all responsible for each other. If anyone causes trouble, we all pay.”
Damn, did my sweet godfather/shady business magnate drive a hard deal.
“That hardly seems fair,” I said.
Bene shrugged. “Those are the rules.”
I shook my head. Men were truly unique creatures, accepting some rules as gospel while flaunting others — especially the ones I made, dammit.
“Maybe those are your rules,” I said. “But not mine. Why should I lie to my godfather to protect someone who doesn’t even bother telling me where he is?”
Tigers didn’t plead, and neither did military men, but Roux looked close. “You’ll be protecting us all.”
Too bad I wasn’t feeling my most charitable that day.
“Oh, I see. I should lie to protect you, even though you won’t tell me shit. Sure, Roux. Just give me a second to turn off my intelligence and do whatever the hell you want, no questions asked.” I let a beat pass, then growled, “On second thought, forget that. I won’t. But if you explain…”
He grimaced. “Trust me on this one, Mina. I can’t.”
“Trust works both ways, and communication helps.” I pointed out.
Roux grimaced, then shook his head. “Just don’t tell Gordon. Please.”
I didn’t intend to, because frankly, I needed the rent money if I was ever going to fix the roof or the dozen other things in desperate need of repair.
As I weighed up the consequences, Madame Picard swept into the room with two platters.
“Et voilà! Dinner is served.”
She stopped, picking up on the mood of the room, then thrust a platter toward Roux.
“Now what have you gotten up to?”
He stuck up his hands, while Bene cut in with a winning smile.
“Madame Picard, that smells delicious, as always. May I help you with those?”
He scurried to take the platters, trying to placate her through sheer momentum and that Hollywood smile.
Her glare had Young man, do you really expect me to fall for that? written all over it. Then she shot me a look that said, I told you no good would come of this bunch, and stalked back to the kitchen.
Bene bravely followed her, then returned alone with two more platters and a sullen, “She’s holding dessert hostage.”
The words were aimed at Roux, who stuck up his hands. “How is this my fault?”
“It’s always your fault,” Bene and Henrik said in unison.
Roux grabbed a plate and slapped meat, potatoes, and vegetables onto it hard enough to make me wince. Then he grumbled and headed for the door.
“I think I’ll eat in my room tonight. Good night.”
My mouth hung open as Henrik and Bene followed suit.
“Seriously?” I huffed.
Breakfasts, lunches, and dinners had been lonely affairs before the men had moved in. Since then, mealtimes might have had their exasperating moments, but they’d always been lively and even downright enjoyable sometimes.
Now, footsteps echoed down the hall, leaving me alone between four silent walls.
Bene paused on the threshold with a guilty look, and I pounced.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
He looked at his plate, then down the hallway. “Um, nothing?”
I stomped over. “Come on, Bene. What’s going on?”
He studied his roast pork. “I’m not supposed to say.”
I snorted, because supposed to was obviously not a guiding principle in this lion shifter’s life.
“Dammit, Bene. I thought we were friends,” I hissed.
I sounded like an angry third grader, but I meant it. Bene was the only one of my guests I could halfway trust. Well, apart from Marius.
“I can’t tell you more. I’m really sorry.” He genuinely looked it, but that didn’t help me.
“Please,” I tried.
He scratched his ear, then whispered, “All I know is—”
“Bene!” Roux barked from down the hall.
Bene winced and stuck his tail between his legs. Well, figuratively speaking, but it was easy to picture him slinking away in lion form.
“Sorry,” he murmured on the way out.
I stood there, shocked and hurt — the new theme of my life, it seemed — long after the sounds of their footsteps and the aroma of their meals faded away. Then I filled my own plate and headed to my room. Halfway up the stairs, I backtracked to the kitchen in a truly vindictive mood.
“Aha. There you are,” I murmured, sliding a tray from the refrigerator. On it were five bowls of crème br?lée.
I made space for my plate on that tray, then carried the entire stash to my room, picturing Bene sneaking back later to find dessert gone.
Mean? Childish? Vengeful?
Absolutely. But I didn’t have classy in me just then.
I sat on my little balcony, scanning the sky for wayward dragons and drowning my sorrows in crème br?lée. It didn’t help, and Marius didn’t appear, leaving me with my thoughts and roiling emotions for company.
He was AWOL, and that threatened his contract with Gordon — a contract that would set him free of obligations to Gordon. Free, for example, to choose me…
…if that was what he wanted. But it sure didn’t seem that way.
Later, I lay alone in bed, gazing at the paintings on the wall. Several were by my father, and a few stemmed from my grandparents’ collection. Another was a recent addition — Van Gogh’s The Painter on the Road from Tarascon.
Propped up on my dresser near that was a painting I’d recently finished.
It showed the south face of the chateau on a misty dawn.
A lion prowled across the lawn, and a tiger stalked through the bushes, both blending in so well, they were nearly invisible.
The same went for the bat weaving through the west wing chimneys, and for the two figures in the windows of my suite, one tall, the other a little smaller.
I gazed at it for a long time, then pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes.