Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Adrien
Two Weeks Later
The Hamptons house sits like a quiet benediction against the steel-gray Atlantic, its weathered shingles and wraparound porch offering exactly what I’d hoped for—silence, space, and Brie. After two relentless weeks, this borrowed sanctuary feels like breathing again.
I watch her from the kitchen window as she stands on the deck, coffee mug cupped in both hands, golden strands whipping around her face in the salt breeze.
Even in jeans and an oversized sweater, she maintains that ballerina-straight posture—the one that never quite relaxes, even when she’s supposedly at ease.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Margot’s name flashes across the screen for the third time this morning. I let it go to voicemail again.
“Avoiding someone?” Brie asks as she slides back through the French doors, bringing the scent of ocean air and the faint warmth of sunshine with her.
My father and I have more or less put this behind us.
At least, last week he called to confirm my size hadn’t changed as he said he was holiday shopping with mom.
The conversation was short, slightly tense, and complete bull.
Mom made him call. Less than two weeks—better than the two months required for him to have a cordial conversation after I told him I wanted Margot to take the reins.
“Call her,” Brie urges, not with the brash emotion the women in my family leverage, but in that way she possesses, a blend of soft and firm.
I pick up the phone. She answers on the second ring.
“Margot,” I say.
“I can’t believe I had to hunt you down.” It’s true. I avoided her calls.
“I’m on the line now.” I lean back against the counter. “Go ahead. Say what you need to say.”
“And what exactly do you think I need to say?” Yes, she’s still pissed.
“You hate me. I get it.”
“I don’t hate you. You don’t get it. Jesus, Adrien, you risked everything.”
“There was a bigger picture at play.”
“Bigger? Than the d’Avricourt brand?”
“Yes.” I meet Brie’s gaze and she takes a step back…and is she smiling?
“You are unbelievable,” Margot snaps—and then her voice shifts, pitched into a cruel imitation. “‘Take the lead, Margot. It’s all you, Margot.’ And then you sabotage—”
“I did no such thing. And might I remind you that nothing has happened? All the fallout has happened stateside.”
“You burnt our source. We’ll never get competitive insights again!”
“Stolen. That’s what you mean, right?”
“Don’t go getting judgmental. Everyone does it.”
“Well, they can’t all buy from the same source. Go find another source. Or, better yet, hire the best creative and…I don’t know…be fucking unique.”
“Obviously, that’s the goal.”
She’s exasperated but so am I. Her breath comes across the line like heavy static. “You could have told me your plan.”
“I didn’t believe we’d see eye to eye.” Actually, I know my sister. She would’ve done everything in her power to stop me.
“You chose to be righteous instead of loyal—and that’s not something I can forgive.”
“I knew you’d never forgive me—and I decided I could live with that.”
“You’re infuriating.”
I am. I know.
“If we were in the same room right now...” she lets it hang.
“You’d what?”
“I don’t know. Something that would get me in trouble with mom.”
Well, yes, that I can see.
“It’s so annoying. She always takes your side. Always.”
“She’s the reason you’ve been calling.”
“She wouldn’t let it rest.”
Interesting. Through all of this, she hasn’t said a word to me about reaching out to my father or sister. I suppose she did take my side, but then again, I’ve only spoken to her once, briefly to check in. My hours have been insane. “I suppose she loves me best.”
“You fucker,” Margot says, but there’s no anger, no bite.
Silence fills the line and Brie sinks into a chair.
“I heard your membership took a hit,” Margot says finally. “What are you going to do?”
“Work through it.”
“Is that really what you want to do with your life?” She means life as a club owner.
It’s probably not my life’s end goal but I’m not about to quit. Nor am I ready to share the finer details with Margot.
“I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”
“Don’t bother,” she says quietly.
She’s interrupted by someone in the background, and we bid adieu.
“That went well,” Brie says, rising from her seat.
She doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t step away either. Just watches me, waiting for what comes next.
We’ve been in this strange limbo between lovers and colleagues, between the crisis that brought us together and straddling the future. The intense, long hours left little time to sleep, much less talk.
“Want to take a walk?” I gesture toward the deck. “It’s brisk, but the beach is secluded, owners only.”
She nods, and twenty minutes later we’re strolling along the water’s edge, jeans rolled to our calves despite the cold front’s chill. The wind has an edge to it that promises winter, and the cold bite against our skin is invigorating.
“So,” she says, stepping around a cluster of seaweed, “have you decided what you’re going to do about The Sanctuary?”
“I’m keeping it.”
She stops walking. “Really?”
“It’ll take a hit this year. Run at a loss. But I still believe there’s value in what it was meant to provide—a place for people to connect, to escape, to be themselves without judgment or risk of exposure.” I pick up a smooth stone and skip it across the water. Three bounces.
“And your original plan? Using it to understand your customers better?”
“That remains.” The words come easier now that I’ve said them aloud. “Observing fashion trends and gaining consumer insights. I’ll dedicate a couple of years to rebuilding it properly. Then I’ll take what I’ve learned and build something new.”
“Like what?”
“Men’s fashion, maybe. Or something completely different.
The luxury market is evolving—people want authenticity now, not just status symbols.
I want to learn about fashion sustainability.
It’s an evolving trend with promise. It could be the future.
” I glance at her, noting the way she’s listening with unflinching attention. “What about you? What are your plans?”
“For now, I’m staying with KOAN.” She kicks at the sand, sending up a small spray. “The fact that someone sees us as enough of a threat to come after us proves there’s a need for what we do.”
“Do you know the Moores?” I ask, remembering Elena’s final warning.
“Caroline Moore founded KOAN. Her husband, Dorian, isn’t involved, at least not to my knowledge.
” She pauses, considering. “I don’t know her well, but Sydney does.
You haven’t met Syd yet, but you will. She’s one of my colleagues.
She left the CIA for the same reason I did—lost faith in the leadership.
For now, I’m confident I’m working for good people, and in my field, that matters. ”
Good people. It’s such a simple phrase, but coming from Brie, it carries weight. She’s spent her career reading people, understanding motivations, identifying threats. If she trusts Caroline Moore, that means something.
“Will you stay in Manhattan?”
“For now. Noah relocated to DC temporarily to coordinate protective detail for Alicia—as a precaution. I’ll remain in New York, but I could be pulled if needed.
” She stops to examine a shell, then straightens, meeting my eyes.
“For now, I’ll be working with Quinn and Sydney researching ties to the network.
As you know, Eddie caved—he’s in witness protection with his family–but I’m coordinating a meeting to question him further.
With him feeling safer, he might be more open about the information he sold. ”
“Looking for more prosecutions?”
“Not necessarily. Information is valuable.”
I nod. “That’s my father’s point of view too.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the rhythmic crash of waves filling the space between us. There’s something I want to share with her, something that’s been nagging at me.
“I had a tarot reading last week in Paris,” I say, immediately feeling foolish for bringing it up. I stopped in on a brief break while overseeing the renovation and handling personnel issues, just needing to clear my head.
Brie turns to me with raised eyebrows. “You believe in that?”
“Not believe, exactly. It’s more...entertainment.
But Celeste, this woman I found, she’s been remarkably accurate over the years.
There’s something about the patterns, the psychology of it.
” I run my hand through my hair, a habit that’s become more pronounced since meeting Brie again.
“I’d love to take you to Paris sometime; let you experience a reading with her. ”
“What kind of reading would you expect if we went together?”
I stop walking and turn to face her fully. The wind whips her hair across her face, and she pushes it back with one hand, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“She’d probably say something about a union being in our future,” I say, my voice dropping to something more serious.
Brie’s lips curve in a small smile. “Would she now?”
“I believe that’s exactly what she’ll say.” I step closer, close enough to see the dark rim around her stunning blue irises.
The words carry on the wind, mixing with the salt air and the distant cry of gulls. This isn’t a business setting or the controlled environment of a fashion show. This is real—raw and honest and terrifying in the way that only genuine vulnerability can be.
Brie studies my face for a long moment, and I can practically see her processing—analyzing risks, outcomes, and probabilities. Then her posture loosens by a breath, and the woman I fell for on holiday returns.
“That’s quite a reading,” she says softly.
“I’m a businessman. The reading might be financially secured. I’m not one to leave long-term strategy at risk.”
She laughs, and the carefree sound scatters across the waves. “And what does your long-term strategy look like, Adrien d’Avricourt?”
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together despite the chill.
“Well, let’s see. The strategy stems from goals.
I aim to rebuild The Sanctuary into something worthy of its name.
Learn what real luxury means—not just surface beauty, but authentic connection.
I want to create something meaningful. And on a personal level…
” I pause, meeting her eyes. “I want the same.”
“Long-term…lots of variables to account for.”
“The best plans are flexible.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a warm kiss to her skin. “Besides, I have an excellent consultant now.”
Her smile widens, and for a moment, the careful distance she maintains dissolves completely.
This is the woman who found me in a bar and escaped with me, who disappeared from my life and left me searching across Europe, who walked back into my world and tore down the scaffolding around my illusions.
“I suppose I could be convinced to take on a long-term assignment,” she says.
“Good,” I murmur, pulling her closer as the wind picks up around us. “Because wherever you go, I plan to follow.”
As we stand there on the empty beach, waves rolling endlessly toward shore, I think about Celeste’s cards and the patterns she reads in their ancient symbols.
But looking at Brie—really seeing her, not as Sophie from Monaco or as an intelligence professional, but as herself, complete and real and choosing to be here with me—I don’t need mystical guidance to know what the future holds.
Some unions don’t require prediction. They require courage, commitment, and the willingness to build something genuine in a world full of beautiful facades.
For the first time in years, I’m done selling fantasies. I’m ready to build a life—one we choose and keep.