22. CHAPTER 20 #2
The café was upscale, the kind of place where even the salt and pepper shakers looked expensive—tiny, heavy spheres of lustrous brass that looked more like modern art than kitchenware.
My fingers wrapped around the weight of the salt shaker, and with effortless sleight of hand, I slid it into the side pocket of my leather tote.
Isolde froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Céleste’s eyes widened, and then she let out a strangled, delighted snort into her coffee.
“Are you kidding me?” Isolde whispered, a grin spreading across her face. “The Crown Princess of Paris is still out here boosting spice shakers? Lée, you could buy the factory!”
“It’s the collection, Is,” I muttered, feeling a familiar, defiant spark return to my eyes. “Besides, this brass matches the lighting in my library office space perfectly.”
“God, this reminds me of that time at the Ritz,” Céleste laughed, leaning back as the tension finally broke. “Remember? You’d just finished that grueling final in sophomore year, and you were so stressed you managed to walk out of the lobby with four of those heavy, gold-rimmed crystal coasters.”
“I didn't think I’d make it past the revolving doors,” I admitted, a genuine smile finally breaking through. “I was shaking so hard the crystals were clinking.”
“And you still have them!” Isolde added, pointing a finger at me. “Do you still keep that secret stash box? Or has Orion’s guards already flagged you as a security risk?”
I thought of the box hidden in my closet, safe and sound. “He hasn’t found it yet. His men are looking for assassins and kidnappers. They aren’t looking for a girl who thinks a café's salt shaker is a trophy.”
“Good for you,” Céleste said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Keep it. Keep the box, and the harless heist. One more thing that gives you joy, no one can take away.”
We smiled at each other, and I felt a small rush of gratitude. Céleste in her motherly form, always indulging Isolde and me, as long as she knew the thrill was harmless and the trophies were just memories in the making.
A few minutes later, she reached into her handbag and pulled out her phone.
“By the way,” she said, her tone turning careful. “Cassian checked again regarding Yves.”
My shoulders tensed, and I swallowed.
“And?” I managed to ask.
“No viable leads,” she said. “The trail goes cold after the hospital. There’s been no chatter that suggests he’s in danger. No whispers of a body, or rumor of him being on the run. Cassian swears if there was something ugly, his contacts would have caught it already.”
I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.
Céleste had told me after the wedding that Cassian's men had trailed him down to a hospital somewhere outside Corsica.
That was the last I heard of him alive. I was hoping for more…
to get some closure at least, or something to rid me of the lingering guilt I still carried.
“So he’s… okay?”
“We can’t say where,” she replied. “But Cassian believes he’s alive and lying low. Possibly urged to leave quietly. The good thing is no one’s hunting him, or looking into him for any reason. Which, considering your father, is a blessing.”
The stubborn knot that had taken root in my heart since that night loosened. I stared down at my hands.
“I don’t think about him every day anymore,” I admitted. “Sometimes I forget for hours. Then guilt hits and I remember that he took the punches and I went home to a new last name.”
Isolde covered my hand with hers. “You were dragged,” she said. “You didn’t go willingly.”
Céleste nodded. “And you tried. You chose him once. It just wasn’t enough for the world we grew up in.”
I stared down at the table, my thumb brushing the rim of my teacup.
“I only needed to know he was safe,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “That’s all. I don’t want him back. That door is closed—” I smoothed a crease in my napkin, more to keep my hands busy than anything else. “I just couldn’t live with the idea that loving me might’ve gotten him killed.”
Isolde's hand squeezed around mine, and Céleste laid her hand over both of ours. When I looked up, they were already smiling at me. Their smiles reminded me I wasn’t carrying any of this alone. I smiled back, and instantly we shared girlish giggles that warmed my heart instantly.
Around us, the street hummed with ordinary life. People walked their dogs, while some balanced grocery bags as they walked, others in conversation as they strolled past.
“I’m Mrs. Kade now,” I mumbled. “Whatever I feel about that on any given day doesn’t matter. The binding contract makes it very difficult to undo.”
"That's not always the case," Céleste said. “A contract binds two people, Léonie. Not just one.”
“In this case, it might as well be,” I said. “My father was desperate to sign the papers and hand me over.”
Isolde squeezed my hand again. “Then maybe the question isn’t how to escape it,” she said. “Maybe it’s how to exist inside it without disappearing, or losing yourself.”
I looked at both of them. Céleste with her tough demeanor, and her thriving business empire. Isolde with her grace and relentless determination to dance in a world that tried to confine her too.
“Meet him in the middle,” Céleste suggested in a low, gentle tone “On the things that don’t cost you your soul.”
“And dig your heels in on everything that does,” Isolde added. “You know what they say… find his weak spot and bring him to his knees.”
Céleste tapped her, and she giggled mischievously.
I nodded in agreement and let out a smile.
Maybe that was the only way through this…choosing my battles, but on my own terms, not his. It should be easy right?
Part of me still doubted that.
Between Orion’s dominating presence, and my own reflexive need to snap at the leash, the path forward was a blur.
How do I yield without breaking?
Where do I find the line between compromise and surrender?
By the time we finally headed back, shopping bags clustered at our feet and sugar still buzzing through our veins, the sun had begun to dip. I caught my reflection in the car window. The heavy, tinted glass acting as a dark mirror.
My face still looked the same, my eyes too.
I was still the woman who had attempted to run once and failed, only now I was tethered to the very man I’d tried to flee. I lived in his house, but I didn't speak his language.
I pressed my palms together and caressed my wrist to feel the pulse beneath my skin—the only thing that still belonged to me and me alone.
He might own the house and the name. He didn’t own that. At least, not yet.