Chapter 10
SEBASTIAN
Ihail a cab.
Our drill is that I accompany Diane to her place before going home. Sometimes I stay for an hour or so, checking emails on my phone and reading a paper while Diane does chores or edits photos.
She calls that a “quickie.”
The few times we’ve gone to my town house after a date, I’ve insisted she stay the night, but she always has a good reason to return to her apartment.
As we drive across the city, I’m painfully aware of Diane’s thigh next to mine.
Get a grip, man.
She isn’t even my type. I’m sure I’m reacting this way because I haven’t had sex in months, ever since Ingrid left me.
That’s it; this isn’t about Diane, this is just about me having gone too long without a woman.
It’s decided—I’m getting laid as soon as Diane and I are done, and I won’t be picky.
The first pretty face who falls into my lap will do just to take the edge off.
Because, heaven help me, that edge will be the size of Everest by then.
I stare out the window, surprised to see we’re passing by the imposing red gate of the H?tel d’Hozier and other familiar buildings on rue Vieille du Temple.
The taxi is taking us to the left bank through Le Marais.
This itinerary is practicable only by night.
By day, my neighborhood’s mesh of one-way streets makes it a nightmare to drive through.
My town house is just a few blocks away, hidden from sight behind a walled garden, as a self-respecting Parisian h?tel particulier should be. It hasn’t been in the family for very long—only half a century—but I hope it’ll stay for generations to come.
Half an hour later, the cab pulls up outside Diane’s building. I pay the driver and follow my intended upstairs.
“I’m not very good with cocktails,” Diane says, opening one of her kitchen cabinets. “But I can fix us a gin and tonic.”
I sit at the kitchen table. “Sure.”
A Scotch is what I’d really like, but I already had two glasses of the best single malt at the nightclub, so I’m fine with a gin and tonic. Or anything, for that matter.
Diane hands me my drink and sits down across from me, nursing her own glass in her hands.
“When you walked me through the contract,” she says, “you said something about waiting for ‘a certain person to make his move.’ ”
“Did I now?”
“Yes. So, did he?”
“Make a move?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not yet.”
“What kind of move are we talking about?”
I spend some time gulping down my drink. Diane is already halfway through her glass.
“My father worshipped my mother,” I finally say. “Fifteen years ago, he made a terrible mistake and slept with another woman—a much younger woman, as it happened. She posted their sex tape online the next day.”
“She didn’t try to blackmail him first?”
“No, and that is additional proof her seduction of Papa was planned by someone who’d paid her.”
Her mouth forms an O. “A booty trap.”
“You could say that.”
“Did your dad try to talk to her, find out more?”
“She disappeared.”
“And your parents?”
“Maman said he’d broken the sacred vows of marriage and humiliated her. She packed up and left.”
“To Nepal?” she asks.
“You’re well informed.”
She arches an eyebrow. “As your significant other and soon-to-be better half, it’s my duty to be informed.”
I guess she has a point. “The first year, she took an apartment in Versailles, and a year later, she moved to Nepal.”
“What’s she doing there, by the way?”
“Running a charitable foundation. She hasn’t set foot in Paris in years.”
“Really?”
“I was nineteen when she announced she was leaving the country, Raphael fifteen, and Noah only eleven,” I say. “Raph and I chose to stay here with Papa. Noah went to Nepal with her.”
“What happened?”
“Papa… he just… lost his way. Half the time he was depressed, and the other half he tried to have fun, often with the help of drugs. Ten years ago, he was found dead.”
She nods sympathetically. “Suicide?”
“Overdose, more likely,” I say. “The report was inconclusive.”
“That’s a very sad story.”
I set my empty glass on the table next to Diane’s.
She refills both. “So you believe someone orchestrated the affair that led to his downfall and will now try to do the same to you? Isn’t that a bit farfetched?”
I can see how it would seem so.
“A year ago, I met a woman. I really liked her. She came from one of the country’s most respectable and wealthiest families, and she was a rare beauty, to boot. We started dating, and things were going in the right direction. She moved in with me. I was thinking of proposing.”
She nods as if she already knew this. Well, I guess she might if she reads gossip magazines.
I gulp down half the liquid in my glass and point at Diane’s. “You have some catching up to do.”
“Oh.” She smiles and takes a good swig. “So what happened?”
“I suddenly became terribly popular with gorgeous women.”
She cocks her head. “What do you mean by suddenly? You’re rich, you’re handsome—”
“Wait, did you just call me handsome?”
Diane brings her glass to her face, tips it toward her mouth, and mutters into it, “Did I?”
“I’m positive.”
She sets her glass down and puts her chin up in defiance. “So what if I did? You are handsome. It doesn’t make you a good person.”
I suppress a smile, not sure why Diane’s admission pleases me so much. “Fair enough.”
“Finish your tale,” she says.
“Where was I?”
“The Siege of Darcy by Hot Chicks.”
“Right. So, all of a sudden, exquisite creatures were wooing me left and right. Naturally, I became suspicious. It was like somebody was trying to stage a remake of my dad’s story.”
“Or maybe you were just reading too much into someone’s flirtation,” she says with a wink.
I smirk. “You’re right. I’m paranoid. Who would want to hurt me, the harmless do-gooder that I am?”
She doesn’t look so amused anymore. I’m sure she’s thinking of her father now and what I did to him.
It bothers me. I wonder… Does she still hate me as much as she did before I hired her?
Or have our conversations and kisses, no matter how fake, mellowed her?
Is there a chance she actually enjoys my company?
And my kisses?
She stares at her hands, visibly peeved.
I shouldn’t care. She’s not my girlfriend, not even a friend. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me. It doesn’t matter if she likes talking to me or kissing me. It’s strictly business between us, and it’ll stay that way.
“My gut feeling is very trustworthy,” I say to break the silence. “And it tells me someone was pulling the strings behind both affairs, Papa’s and mine.”
“So how did the Siege end?”
“Ingrid grew jealous, and no matter how many assurances of my loyalty I gave her, her trust was broken. She kept saying there’s no smoke without fire. It drove me mad.”
“You should’ve told her about your suspicions.”
“I did. But she was too far gone. She said I was grasping at straws and inventing ridiculous conspiracy theories to justify my frolicking.”
“Because you didn’t frolic at all, did you?”
“Of course not! I was merely being polite with the ladies.” I give her a pointed look. “Anyway, Ingrid and I broke up a few weeks later.”
“Who dumped whom?”
I shrug. “She told me she was leaving. I did nothing to stop her.”
“I see.”
“Miraculously, the lustful supermodels disappeared shortly afterward. Don’t you find that strange?”
“Maybe…”
“Anyway, I got over the whole thing more easily than I’d expected. I just plunged into work and moved on.”
She smiles. “Your imaginary nemesis must have been disappointed.”
“I assure you he or she is very real. But yes, I believe, that person regretted putting things in motion too soon. I’m sure this time he’ll wait until I’m married to launch the attack.”
“Uh-huh.” She looks like she’s trying not to smile.
I rub my forehead. “Diane. I know how it sounds. Even Raphael, who witnessed Papa’s debacle, isn’t fully convinced… But I know I’m on to something.”
Her expression becomes less amused and more sympathetic.
“Put yourself in my shoes,” I continue, eager to capitalize on that seed of sympathy. “Can you imagine how hard it is to suspect everyone around you? And I mean everyone—family, friends, relations, help, competitors, subordinates… the whole damn world!”
She nods. “Must be tough.”
“I’ve ruled out a bunch of people, but only Raphael—and now you—knows about my suspicions and my plan. Everyone else must remain in the dark to avoid leaks.”
“Makes sense.”
Opening up to Diane is a huge relief. Her natural intelligence and inquisitiveness were making it hard for her to play her part without having read the full script. Not that she didn’t do a good job, but… let’s just say I’m looking forward to having her hundred percent onboard with this.
“There’s someone very dear to me,” Diane says, “who’s been… troubled for a long time—in a different way than you, but still. She’s doing much better now.”
Oh, great.
She thinks I’m crazy. Hundred percent onboard, my foot. Why did I tell her all this? Why didn’t I keep my motives secret, as I’d intended? The gin and tonic must have loosened my tongue.
“I’m not troubled,” I grate.
“OK.” She stares into my eyes. “Whatever you say. I’m just here to do a job and collect my paycheck.”
“That’s right.”
“When do you think your nemesis will make his move?”
“During our honeymoon.”
“Why?”
“To be sure to strike while the iron is hot and to maximize the devastating effect it would produce on me.”
“What if he decides to wait?”
“He—or she or they—won’t. He’s running out of time and out of options. With my previous girlfriend, he didn’t even wait for us to get engaged.”
“And you’re sure you’ll catch him this time?”
“Oh, yeah. As soon as my new admirer makes an entrance, I’ll have a private eye tail her 24-7. I’ll be prepared.”
She nods.
We finish our drinks in silence.
“You should go home now,” Diane says.
She’s right.
I pull out my phone and call a cab. I should get some shut-eye.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll be up at six thirty, as usual.
I’ll work out for an hour and head to the office.
Sleeping in isn’t an option. Even on weekends.
There are simply too many things to take care of—new markets to conquer, old competitors to decimate, and a backstabbing Judas to unmask.