Chapter 37 Sutton
Sutton
My chest feels tight as I take the love of my life and her brother into what can only be described as an illegally funded paradise.
“Are we safe here?” she asks, her nerves lingering at the surface.
Charlotte and Preston are wide-eyed, looking out the window as the lavender-covered fields of Provence filter past. I made the call last night to Hugo, an acquaintance whom I signed some limited-edition merchandise for to give his nephew a couple of years ago.
He then flew me out to do an exclusive movie premiere and a meet-and-greet at his casino here in the South of France.
He always said he owed me a favor. I never thought much of it, but this is me collecting.
“They owe me,” I tell her quietly.
She looks at me curiously. “Who owes you?”
“Dragonfly.”
“Who’s Dragonfly?” she presses, understandably. I’m just not sure how much to tell her right now. I want her to feel relaxed, and it’s a toss-up if any more information will help or hinder that.
The driver, who has remained silent all this time, looks at me through the car mirror, and I swallow.
“Just some people who run a casino here.” I keep my answer vague as the driver looks at me again, with a quirked eyebrow this time.
“Are they safe? I mean, are they legal?” Charlotte whispers to me, and if it wasn’t such a dire situation, it would be comical. Because no, they’re not.
“They’re safe for us. That’s what we need. We just need to buy us some time, figure out our next steps, and keep the two of you hidden.”
“But what are they into? We just came into the country without showing our passport…” She’s smart; her mind must be spinning about all of this.
“Best you don’t know, Tinker Bell. But rest assured, there’s probably nowhere safer for us to be.
” My hand hasn’t left hers. From the moment we fled Sawyer's house in the darkness of a Whispers evening, we’ve been on the go.
Boarding Tanner's plane, which took us to Portugal, where we switched to another private jet. Anyone would think I’m a fucking criminal mastermind on the run, not a global movie star just trying to get a little peace.
The car slows as we enter a gated compound, and we drive around manicured gardens until we pull up and stop right at the front door where Hugo Moreau, head of the French mafia, commonly known as Dragonfly, stands, his men at his sides, making him look like the mobster he is.
“Hollywood. Good to see you.” He greets me by the nickname I hate, offering me his hand as I step out of his car.
I don’t correct him. He’s a dangerous man; he can call me whatever the fuck he wants.
I’m at his mercy now. He could ask me for anything, and I would have to say yes.
But Charlotte’s security is my number one priority. I’d do anything for her.
“Hugo.” I shake his hand before ensuring Charlotte and Preston are by my side. Hugo’s gaze drops to her, his head tilting with interest, and my jaw tightens.
“Thank you for offering your home,” I say to bring his attention back to me, and his gaze slowly drifts to meet mine. He gives me a smile, but it’s chilling. I hope I haven’t made a mistake by coming here.
“I owe you. And I always honor my word.” He nods. “Besides, it’s not every day that my nephew's favorite movie star spends a week at my compound.”
“Is he here?” I ask, trying to work out exactly who’s here and who knows I am.
He shrugs. “I might fly Bean in at the end of the week to get a photo.” He loves his nephew. It's the only part of him that shows any kind of emotion. Hugo Moreau is all business, hotheaded, and completely deadly.
“Maybe your son here would like a little friend?” Hugo looks at Preston, and I remain silent, not correcting him.
“Tu aimerais avoir un petit ami pour jouer?” he says to Preston, and I have no idea what he just said, but Preston offers a small smile.
“Peut-être…” Preston mumbles, and my eyebrows rise.
“Merci de nous avoir accueillis chez vous.”
I try to tame my smile when Charlotte speaks. I should've known they would know another language.
“You’re welcome. Stay the week. I hear the media are troublesome in America. We don’t have that issue here. Brigitte will manage your stay. Au revoir.”
Hugo nods toward a woman to his side, before slapping my shoulder and moving past us, getting in the same car that brought us here and he and his men drive away.
As he does, my shoulders lower a little.
There’s security all around, the front gate is locked with a guard house, and the entire property is surrounded by large fencing, but the gardens are extensive.
“This way…” Brigitte says in poor English as another few guys grab our bags like we’re staying in some hotel.
“Any other language you speak?” I murmur to Charlotte as we walk, my smile small, the stress of the past twenty-four hours slowly leaving me.
“A few.” She looks up at me, grinning playfully as we walk inside and are shown around.
The place is magnificent. We’re in the middle of nowhere, the nearest neighbor not even visible.
Our bags are whisked away as Brigitte, who I assume is the housekeeper, takes us on a tour.
Partway through, Charlotte speaks French to her, and she seems relieved.
I guess I’m now the only one among us who has absolutely no idea what they're talking about.
“Our rooms are this way,” Charlotte whispers as we walk down a hall to the far side of the compound. “We have this entire wing to ourselves.”
My eyes feast on the space. High ceilings, luxurious furnishings, French doors leading out to a private pool and gardens. It doesn't feel as homey as our cottage, but it’s beautiful.
“Merci.” Charlotte nods to Brigitte, who walks out, shutting the doors on us, and we all can finally breathe.
“You alright, buddy?”
Preston looks tired, it's been a hell of a day.
“I’m okay.” He nods sleepily.
“Everything will be okay, Preston. We’re safe,” Charlotte says, but his face doesn’t change. His expression is remorseful, with a healthy dose of fear.
“It’s all my fault.”
I frown at that. “None of it is your fault,” I tell him adamantly, because if anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one the media are after. I’m the one who couldn’t stay away from her, even though I know she can’t go public. “Come here.” Taking a seat on the large sofa, I pull him down next to me.
“Why do you think any of this is your fault?” Charlotte’s concern creeps into her voice as we both look at her brother.
“Because if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t need to hide.
You could’ve left me. You could’ve had a life where you didn’t have to run.
” His glossy eyes stare straight ahead, not looking at his sister, who swoops down on her knees, right in front of where Preston sits.
She grabs his hands in hers and forces him to meet her gaze.
“I would never leave you. I would never leave you there with her. Hiding here is better than what you had.”
“But none of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for me…”
“You’re right,” I tell him, and Charlotte’s eyes widen at me in disbelief.
“None of this would’ve happened. Thanks to you, I’ve met the love of my life. I have a cool younger brother and an amazing new home in Whispers. Thanks, Preston. Without you, I wouldn’t have any of the good things in my life that I have now.”
Charlotte's gaze melts, a tear trailing down her cheek that she quickly brushes away.
“You mean that?” Preston looks up at me, his eyes searching mine.
“Yeah. I mean all of it. I can’t wait to hang out more, take you to ball games or museums or whatever you enjoy.
” I hold his gaze, and before I know what’s happening, he slams into me.
Charlotte’s hand covers her mouth as more emotion takes over her face, and I hug her brother tight.
“I always wanted a little brother,” I tell him quietly. “I’m happy it gets to be you.”
“Thanks, Sutton,” he whispers against me.
My chest feels a little wet so I just hold him for a moment before I release him and we both wipe our eyes.
“Why don’t you go and check out the bedrooms. You can take first pick,” Charlotte tells him, and he gives her a smile before jumping up to go explore.
I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly, my eyes still blurry with tears. “That got heavy quickly.”
“I had no idea he felt like that.” She sits next to me, and I pull her to my chest.
“He’s a pretty smart kid. Takes after you in that regard.”
“He also got my inability to dance, my total incoordination at anything remotely rhythmic.”
I grin, because she moves just fine on me; the rest doesn’t matter.
Lightening the mood, I ask what I’ve been curious about since we stepped into this house. “So, what other languages do you speak?”
“Italian, a little German. We traveled a lot as kids. Mom wanted us to learn the cultures and languages of the places we traveled. She believed understanding a place meant understanding its people. It all stopped when she died, though.”
“The only language I speak is superhero.” I huff out a half laugh, a bit embarrassed. I’ve been everywhere—Paris, Tokyo, Rome—but I never really belonged. Never immersed myself in another culture.
Her lips curve. “Well, that’s globally recognized. You may not speak another language fluently, but your language touches millions of people, Sutton. No matter the country, your movies filter into lives, both young and old.”
I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat.
“Never underestimate your abilities.”
My chest pulses. Even after everything I’ve put her through, she empowers me.
“I’ve never really thought about it like that.”
I turn her words over in my mind, letting them settle.
I’ve jumped from movie set to movie set, doing what Bobby told me, attending interviews, taking meetings, shaking hands, signing contracts.
Living in a home Bobby picked. Driven in a car Bobby organized.
Eating meals my trainer approved. Wearing the clothes my stylist chose.
“Bobby handled everything.” I exhale, my fingers flexing. “I just did what was asked, never thinking about my impact, never thinking about… me.”
She watches me quietly. “Your life moved pretty fast.”
“Until I came to Whispers.” I meet her gaze, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressing into me.
“Until I finally put the brakes on.” Not just on my career, but on everything.
For the first time, I realize how little control I’ve had over my own life.
For the first time, I feel what it’s like to make my own choices and what it’s like to fight for them.
And in the rush of running away, hiding, protecting, falling, something inside me clicked into place.
I’ve spent my entire life playing roles, fitting into a mold someone else designed and moving at a schedule someone else managed.
But now? Now, I know what was missing.
The missing piece was me.