Chapter 6
LOUIS
Addison Cross is in Montclaire.
My fingers go numb, and I nearly drop my glass because she’s supposed to be in New York, on the other side of an ocean, not here.
I’ve spent weeks trying to burn her out of my memory while sitting through dinners with women who made me want to claw my own eyes out from boredom.
I told myself her face and the sound of her voice would fade. They haven’t.
Then I notice Marcelo’s palm on her lower back, and my jaw sets tight.
My cousin and I have been competing since we were old enough to keep score.
I’m shaking when I set down my glass. Watching him with her makes me want to tear him apart piece by piece.
I stopped pretending I was going to handle this with dignity approximately thirty seconds ago.
He turns, and his irritation is evident. “Louis. Didn’t realize you were back.”
“I’ll make a public service announcement next time, so then you’re aware.”
The silence stretches between us, charged with years of rivalry, and I can see him calculating whether pushing back is worth the fallout. Whatever he reads in my expression makes him step away from Addison.
“Yours for now, cousin.” His smile is forced. “Try not to bore her.”
He melts into the crowd, and then it’s the two of us, standing close. I want to press my nose to her throat and breathe her in until I’m drunk on it. I have no claim on her or right to feel this way, but watching my cousin near her made me violent.
“That was a tad dramatic—don’t you think?” Her voice is cool, like she’s completely unbothered.
“That was restraint.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “Are you always like this?”
“Being territorial is in my blood. Marcelo knew exactly what he was doing.” I take her elbow and guide her away from the party. “And so did you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she quips.
I look her up and down. “That dress says otherwise.”
She lets me lead her outside, and we weave past the clusters of people smoking and flirting against the railing. We take a stone staircase at the far end, which opens up to a private balcony that overlooks the gardens.
When we step out onto the balcony, moonlight catches the white roses that climb the walls. Muffled music and laughter drift from the distance, but we’re alone. Finally.
Addison pulls her arm free and sinks into a perfect curtsy. With her head bowed and posture flawless, she gives the exact depth required for addressing a crown prince properly. She holds it for precisely the right amount of time before rising with grace. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Please, don’t do that,” I mutter.
She grins, her eyes sparkling as she looks at me. “I’m supposed to honor you.”
“I don’t care about protocol.” I step closer. “Not with you.”
“I will get you in trouble, Louis,” she whispers.
As I study her, I feel a prickle over my skin. No woman has ever made me feel this way. “Why are you here?”
This makes her laugh. “Delphine invited me to join her tonight.”
“In Montclaire,” I state, noticing how she’s not giving me any additional information.
“Once again, Delphine invited me.” The strap of her dress shifts, and my eyes follow her bare shoulder, up to her neck, and to her red lips. “Why? Do you plan on using your princely powers and banishing me?”
“I’m actually considering it.” It’s impossible for me to hold back my smile.
“Please.” She playfully rolls her eyes, then moves farther onto the balcony and stares up at the starry sky.
The warm breeze brushes against my cheeks, and this feels like a dream.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say. “I’ve thought about you.”
“Aw,” she says. “I must have made an impression.”
I want her to give me something, anything, but she doesn’t. I’ve sat through dinners with women whose names I can’t remember, but I haven’t been able to get hers out of my head.
“Patterson warned me to stay away from you,” she says.
Patterson is her older brother and someone I’ve been friends with for years.
Anytime I visit America, I stay at Dyson Banks’s penthouse.
Patterson lives in the same building and always hangs out with us when I’m in town.
We’ve grown close over the years, and I’ve even invited him on exclusive vacations, but we never discuss family, only relationships.
Getting mixed up with his little sister is something that shouldn’t happen.
“You should listen to him and go back to New York,” I tell her, and I mean it, knowing he’d break my jaw if he knew what I wanted to do with his sister.
“Maybe you’re right.” She takes a step forward, disregarding my warnings. “But I don’t think I will.”
Her lips part when she realizes how close we’re standing.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and notice the champagne flush on her cheeks.
Her pulse beats at the base of her throat, and part of me wants to press my lips against it.
The breeze carries the sweet smell of her skin, and I realize how she’s haunted me since New York.
One of us should step back, but neither of us does.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and the space between us shrinks. I don’t remember moving. Maybe she did. Her chin tilts up, and her lips are so close that I can nearly taste her.
My fingers brush along her jaw and—
“Louis!” Delphine’s voice shatters the moment, and Addison steps away from me.
I keep a hand on her waist, then drop it when my sister appears at the double doors of the balcony.
Delphine joins us with the grace of someone who’s oblivious that she did anything wrong. “Addison, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Addison smooths down her dress, and I try not to notice the goose bumps that formed on her arms. “I was getting some air and saying hello to your brother again.”
Delphine’s eyes slide to mine, and I see an evil twinkle behind them.
“We were catching up,” I offer.
“Great. You’re finished.” She loops her arm through Addison’s and pulls her away. “This is my wingwoman tonight.”
Addison glances back at me and whispers, “Sorry,” as Delphine takes her from me.
I turn toward the garden and grip the railing, letting out an exhale. I’m still buzzing from being close to her again.
Potential brides are waiting for me to make a choice, and all I care about is a woman I can’t have. My parents would never approve. They want European nobility, political alliances, someone who’s been in this life since birth. Addison is none of those things.
Once I gather myself, I return to the party. Delphine and Addison are on the other side of the room, chatting with some of my sister’s friends. They’re giggling and dancing, but I have too many questions racing through my head, ones I need answered now.
I move through the crowd and grab Delphine’s elbow. “A word.”
She pats Addison’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
Addison smiles as she eye-fucks me, and I force myself to pull Delphine to the side.
“Why is she here?” I bluntly ask.
Delphine is drunk as hell. “I invited her. She’s my guest.”
“Why is she in Montclaire?”
“Ah.” She tilts her head. “Because I invited her.”
“Start talking right fucking now.”
Delphine leads me down the hallway, where we can actually hear one another. “Stop being possessive and nosy. I’m trying to have a good night without you ruining it.”
I groan, tired of the games. “I’ve been through hell this week, and you’ve blindsided me with this.”
“Fine.” She hiccups. “She’s competing for the portrait artist position.”
“What?” I stare at her, confused.
Delphine’s expression is smug, and it’s irritating me. “Oh. Oh? Oh! Now, this is an interesting development.”
“Fucking enlighten me before I lose the single ounce of patience I have available.” I keep my voice low.
“The subway series.” Delphine crosses her arms. “Addison painted that collection.”
My mouth parts as I put all the pieces of that night together.
I think about the woman asleep on the subway in her scrubs and work badge, the teenager with a torn paperback, the old man holding a birthday balloon, someone reflected in his eyes.
Then I recall watching Addison stare at that subway painting.
I want to know what it means to her, why she was so deep in thought, looking at it.
That night, I felt something I’d been missing in my life for a very long time, and it was all because of her.
“She didn’t tell you at the gallery?” Delphine asks, and she’s being genuine. “I thought you were chatting about her paintings.”
“We were, but she conveniently withheld that she was the creator.”
“It’s like how you didn’t explain you were a royal. I wonder why that is.”
I don’t have an answer. Most artists I’ve met can’t wait to talk about themselves.
They drop their credentials into conversation like breadcrumbs, desperate for recognition.
Addison let me ramble about her work without taking credit for any of it.
She wanted to blend in that night like everyone else.
We gave each other our raw forms, without titles and expectations. That rarely happens for me.
I glance toward the windows and see her smiling at something one of the women said. Addison’s head is thrown back, and she’s completely at ease, enjoying herself. To see her here is a mindfuck because she’s been living rent-free in my head since the night we spoke.
“How long has she been here?” I ask.
“Four days. She’s staying at the cottages with the other painters.” Delphine acts casual. “I believe you were in Paris when she arrived, and our parents apologized for your absence.”
“What the fuck, Delphi? You should’ve told me immediately.”
Addison’s been here, and I had no idea.
“Probably.” She doesn’t sound remotely sorry. “But getting this reaction is totally worth it. You’ve confirmed some things for me.”
“Thrilled to be your entertainment.”
She pats my cheek. “You’ll thank me later.”
“Send her home,” I say between clenched teeth.
“You know I don’t have the power to do that. Neither do you. Mom and Dad will choose if she stays or not.” She grins. “But I have a feeling she’s going to win it all.”
She walks away to rejoin Addison. The two of them click like they’ve been friends for years. Addison catches my eye and holds it for a beat too long before lifting her glass.
I drain my champagne in one go as this revelation dances in my mind.
“You should be careful,” Marcelo says to me, and I didn’t even notice he was standing there. “She’s a fuckboy slayer.”
The thought makes me chuckle. “I’m aware.”
Addison continues to watch me across the room, and I can’t get over the fact that she’s here. If she wins this competition, she’ll be required to paint the woman I choose as my wife. She’ll have a front-row seat to the engagement, the wedding, and eventually the baby.
I need her gone.