Chapter 5
ADDISON
The chessboard hasn’t changed since the last note appeared before sunrise yesterday.
I stand in the quiet corner of this private wing and stare at the hand-carved pieces still frozen in place.
I hoped whoever I was playing would continue forward without a response, but they didn’t, and it’s still their move.
As it stands, I’m three plays from checkmate.
Maybe they realized too late they were in a trap.
The note is still tucked under the edge of the board, where my opponent left it.
Who are you?
Someone who’s going to beat you.
You’ve met your match.
If you want to finish this game, meet me on Saturday at 9 p.m. in the study. Play me to my face.
I’ve read the words so many times that I’ve memorized every curve of each letter. Now I’m stuck dealing with an ultimatum, where I either meet this person or the game dies here. Maybe this is a real-life stalemate for us both, or maybe I have to make the first move.
I write at the bottom.
I’ll be there. Can’t wait to watch you lose IRL. :)
I slide the paper to the other side of the board and walk away. When I beat this person, I will make sure to gloat so much to their face that they’ll tell the king to send me back to America.
The painting situation is as frustrating as the chess standoff. This country is beautiful, but nothing has inspired me to paint. Maybe I’m broken. Then I quickly remember I’m a mood painter who needs obsession to fuel my work. It’s a blessing and a curse.
I spend the morning in my studio writing ideas, then take my camera around the palace gardens and snap reference photos. I consider creating portraits of the king and queen, the castle, stables, or even the sea, but nothing interests me. I need that spark to create.
Monday is the deadline I’ve given myself to commit to something, so I need inspiration to find me before then.
On my way back to the cottage, Delphine intercepts me with mischief written across her face. She falls into step beside me and steers me back toward the palace. “Perfect timing. We’re going out tonight.”
“We?”
“My cousin Marcelo is throwing a party at his villa. Very exclusive, very debauched, very much the sort of thing my mother would disown me for attending.” She tugs me up a staircase I haven’t used before. “Join me.”
“Say no more.”
“I knew you’d be in.” She grins at me over her shoulder. “Fair warning: I’m a terrible influence.”
“That’s usually my line.” I keep pace with her. “I also enable, so if he’s hot, I will tell you yes every single time.”
She playfully scoffs and leads me down a hallway on the opposite end of the castle. “You’re the worst. But also, same. Consequences can wait.”
She pushes through a set of double doors, and her room opens before us. It’s full of silk and antique furniture and a closet that might be bigger than my entire loft. She heads straight for a cabinet that swings open to reveal a bar stocked with top-shelf everything.
“Tequila first, and then we break some hearts.”
“I appreciate a woman with priorities.”
She grabs the tequila and two crystal glasses, fills them halfway, and hands one to me before raising hers. “To terrible decisions that make incredible stories later.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
She laughs, and we drink. It’s too smooth going down and warms my belly while Delphine reaches for the bottle again.
“So, tell me,” she says while refilling our glasses, “how’s the painting going?”
“I haven’t started yet. I thought about painting your parents.”
She shakes her head. “That won’t impress them.”
“What if I painted you?”
“Absolutely not. I’m not the subject who will win you this contest.” She hands me what looks like a triple shot. “Dig deeper. It will come to you. Authenticity is always appreciated.”
I down the booze, almost understanding what she’s telling me. It’s obvious she’s talking in code, but why?
“So, who?”
She studies me. “Pardon?”
“Who will win me this contract?” I smile sweetly.
“Ah, you’re competitive. I forgot you came from a family of pro athletes.”
In that moment, it’s like Delphine sees me. She knows I can read the invisible messages between the lines. “If we’re being honest, you already know who you need to paint.” She moves to her closet. “I don’t know how you’re going to pull it off, but somehow, you will.”
I glance around the room and shake my head, but I’m smiling. “You have too much faith in me.”
I imagine what it must’ve been like to grow up here.
“Maybe I do,” she says. “But you still have to convince my parents. Sometimes, they’re difficult, but don’t give up. Paint your heart, and there’s no way you won’t get chosen. Everyone will see what I see in you,” she promises.
I can hear fabric rustling. More hangers move, and then she strolls from the closet with red silk. When it catches the light, it shifts to black. “This. Perfect for a chameleon. You look sweet, but I know you’re deadly. I see a lot of myself in you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.”
I hold the dress up to my body. It’s a weapon with delicate straps and a back cut low enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination.
“I hope you’re ready to turn heads. Put it on. Let’s check the fit.”
I smirk, and she guides me toward the bathroom.
When I close the door, I check the label inside the dress.
It’s in a different language, but I can tell it’s expensive.
I remove my bra and slide the silk over my body.
It’s cool and weightless against my skin.
The neckline gives a peek of what lies beneath.
When I turn to check the back, I grin at how much bare skin is on display.
This look is bold.
When I return to Delphine, she lets out a low whistle.
“You look unattainable.”
This makes me laugh. “I am.”
She grins and sits me in the vanity chair. “Makeup?”
“Do your best,” I say, giving her control.
She pulls out golden compacts with crystals encrusted around the edges and works on my face like a professional, contouring and highlighting my cheekbones. After applying crimson lipstick, she steps back to examine her work.
“A masterpiece,” she whispers, handing me a golden hand mirror.
“You’ve outdone yourself.”
“No. I just added a touch of color.”
Delphine disappears into her closet and comes out looking as if she were put on earth to destroy men. Her dress is thigh-length and midnight-blue. It shifts to black when the light catches it. The back is open, and she’s swept her dark hair into a messy bun.
She adds some lipstick, then checks her teeth in the mirror. “Ready to ruin some lives?”
“Lead the way.”
The tequila hums through my bloodstream, and everything feels light.
The ride along the coastal road takes about twenty minutes.
We wind around cliffs that drop straight into the sea below while Delphine scrolls social media.
I roll down the window and let the warm night air tangle my hair.
As we round the corner, I can feel the bass vibrating through the car before the villa comes into view.
“Marcelo likes to make an impression,” Delphine says. “Try not to look too impressed. He’s also extremely charming, so stay sharp.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
His place is ridiculous. It’s three stories of pale stone that’s lit up with colorful lights. Fairy lights are strung around the balconies, and expensive cars are parked haphazardly along the driveway. Our driver pulls up to the entrance and lets us out.
“Welcome to Montclaire,” Delphine says with a laugh as she takes my arm.
The doors open, and the first thing I notice is how beautiful everyone is.
This comes from generations of wealth and access to the best trainers, dermatologists, and stylists money can buy.
Men in tailored suits cluster near the bar.
I recognize a few faces from magazines and tabloids.
These are the kinds of people whose last names open doors and whose scandals make headlines.
This is my world, too, even if I sometimes forget it.
Delphine squeezes my arm as we step inside, and heads turn. One by one, conversations pause. Recognition flickers across faces as they try to place me. A woman near the bar leans over to whisper something while a man by the windows straightens his posture. We steal the attention.
“They’re staring,” I whisper.
“Let them.”
Delphine grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd. A man cuts toward us with the kind of swagger that tells me he’s never been told no in his entire life. His dark, curly hair, paired with his unbuttoned white linen shirt, gives main character energy.
He pulls Delphine into a hug and spins her around. “Cousin. You’re late.”
She laughs when he sets her down. “Fashionably, wouldn’t you say?”
He nods, and his attention moves to me. His brown eyes slide from my lips down my body. “And you must be the famous artist.”
“Addison.”
I extend my hand, and he takes it, turning it over so he can press his lips to my wrist.
“Marcelo.” He holds on a beat too long. “Delphine has been talking about you nonstop. Somehow, she failed to mention you were beautiful.”
“She mentioned you were extremely charming.”
“Did she mention I was very single and searching?”
Delphine rolls her eyes so hard that I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Down, boy. Addison is here for a reason that doesn’t include you.”
He releases my hand with a grin full of mischief. “I’m being hospitable.”
I recognize his type immediately because I’ve met a hundred versions of him over the years. He’s a flirt who makes every woman feel like she’s the only one in the room while simultaneously working the entire party. Not husband material, but fun for an evening if I decide to play.
“Champagne,” he announces, and three glasses materialize seconds later.
I take one and sip, watching him, learning him. Life is a big game of chess.
“It’s an honor to have you in my home,” he says. “Your talent is incredible. Delphine showed me your work, and I was very impressed. I’d love to have you paint something for me.”
“Ahh, book a meeting with me if you’d like to talk business,” I say.
Delphine chuckles.
“Feisty as fuck. I love it.” He winks.
I playfully roll my eyes and sip the champagne. It’s cold and sweet, and it mixes dangerously with the tequila already swimming in my blood.
Delphine spots someone across the room and squeezes my arm. “I’ll be right back.”
“Not too long,” I whisper before she slips away.
Marcelo steps closer and asks questions about my travels and how I’m enjoying Montclaire. He talks about the history and living a legendary life. I actually engage in conversation with him instead of planning my escape.
“You should let me show you the coastline tomorrow,” he says while refilling my glass from a bottle that appeared in his hand. “The cliffs at sunset are breathtaking.”
I almost say yes when I remember what tomorrow is—Saturday. “Actually, I have plans.”
“Whoever it is, extremely lucky.”
I think about that damn chessboard. “I think so too.”
He laughs, and it earns me glances from several ladies who are jealous that he’s giving me this much attention. “I like you. Most women giggle when I flirt with them. You’re different.”
“Ah, the classic you’re not like other girls line. Love that for me.” I tilt my head. “What other moves do you have?”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He leans into my space. “You say whatever’s on your mind like you’re immune.”
“Because I am.”
“Wow.” He grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a fuckboy slayer before.”
Laughter bursts out of me, and my voice echoes against the walls. The champagne makes everything feel loose and sparkly, and his attention is flattering even if I have no real interest beyond this conversation.
“That’s a new one for me.”
His fingers brush my elbow, and I lean in closer to listen. I glance past his shoulder and freeze when I see Louis.
He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a navy suit with the collar unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His messy brown hair is pushed back from his face, and a few pieces have fallen forward.
The warmth from the overhead light catches the scruff lining his jaw.
The man is six-three, and with his lean muscle, he’s built like someone who plays polo on the weekends. His blue eyes scan the room with the kind of casual disinterest that only royalty can pull off while still making every woman in a fifty-foot radius aware of exactly where he’s standing.
I was told he was away on official business, but apparently, he’s back.
That thought shouldn’t excite me, but it does.
A second later, our eyes lock, and the room around us disappears.
Louis excuses himself from the blonde who was in mid-conversation and moves through the crowd, toward me, like I summoned him. People step out of his way without being asked because he’s the crown prince. His gaze never leaves mine as he closes the distance between us.
When he’s close, all the air in the room evaporates.
“Addison,” he says, and it sounds like he’s speaking in cursive. “What a fucking surprise.”