Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SOPHIE
I stayed in the room for what seemed like ten minutes, but when I finally calmed myself, it was almost three.
“I told the others you felt a bit dizzy. They made me promise I would organize another girls’ gathering.” Anne tried to joke. “They all want to be in the good graces of Mrs. Rowks. You know?”
I shook my head. “How’s Cath?”
“I’m here.” She appeared in the doorway, giving me an encouraging smile.
Madame Noir appeared behind her and spoke in her usual high pitch. “Fifi, my apologies—we should have known better than to proceed with Mr. Renier’s request.”
“No need to worry. I’m thankful, but I shouldn’t impose any longer.”
Madame Noir chuckled, mumbling yet another set of apologies while we went out into the corridor. The staff at Maison de Lys were visibly on edge.
Though knowing how much reputation meant to those kinds of establishments, it wasn’t a surprise.
One thing Maison de Lys was known for: secrecy and security.
They were aware of all kinds of rumors, which family was at odds with whom, how to organize everything in a way that two people who had even a slight distrust of each other would never cross paths on their territory.
Being the center of scandalous incidents was the first step to ruin.
As we were going toward the entrance, I noticed Madame Noir wringing her hands. And while passing through the reception, she gave an angry look to one of the young girls, presumably a new receptionist.
Was it her fault Edmond appeared?
My chest constricted with guilt. Did they believe I’d blame them? Not that it was her or anyone else’s fault. They let me know—I made the decision.
So once on the stairs, ready to go down to my car, I was about to turn back to assure them everything was fine, when a car entered the front garden.
Madame Noir nearly fainted—only one of the young attendants behind us catching her kept her from falling to the ground.
“Mrs. Rowks, perhaps you would like to have tea in our main room?” one of the attendants stammered.
“Who is that?” Catherine asked. She had obviously noticed the tension as well.
The attendant who’d suggested the tea lowered her eyes before answering. “Mrs. Rossini.”
“Mrs. Rossini?” I’d never heard that surname. Was it Italian?
My sister, on the other hand, surely had. So I tilted my head, waiting for an answer.
But her gaze, full of cold fury, followed the car, and when the valet opened the door, a lady, one or two years younger than me, stepped out. I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen her.
But when an elderly woman stepped out alongside her, my heart dropped.
You ruined my son’s life! Don’t act as if you didn’t tempt him! Her screams echoed in my head.
My eyes went back to Mrs. Rossini. Or considering she was the supposed wife of Sebastian’s brother, wasn’t she Mrs. Duret? She shivered under my gaze, putting her hand in front of her stomach.
And she was pregnant?
I cursed under my breath. This child was not responsible for his uncle’s deeds. Yet every ounce of mercy I’d summoned vanished when Madame Duret’s eyes found mine.
Maybe I wasn’t a good person for wanting to destroy every light in her life for what her son had done to mine, but I managed to control myself. I held my head up and met her gaze, while gesturing for the others to continue toward the cars. No way would I alter my plans for this person.
Yet when we nearly crossed, she hissed, “You look content.”
“Much.” I smirked, slowing my steps.
“Why wouldn’t you? After torturing my son.” She clenched her teeth. “Content with the spectacle your family did?”
“Much,” I repeated. Was she referring to the fact that my father had actively blocked their way?
I gestured toward her daughter-in-law’s bump. “Let’s hope this Duret won’t give us a reason to need another one.”
Her daughter-in-law paled at my words. And while I would have felt awful were it anyone else in her place, I couldn’t feel a shred of regret.
“You dirty wench!” Madame Duret’s voice rose alongside her hand.
But before I knew what was happening, one of my bodyguards shielded me, while the other opened a way for me to move.
I couldn’t tell to whom the next curses belonged—Cath or one of the women from Duret’s family, as Anne came closer.
“Let’s go,” she whispered, her hand pressing against my back.
She meant comfort. I knew that. Yet my skin crawled where her hand had been, as if insects were burrowing beneath the surface.
I hurried toward my car, nearly stumbling on the steps. Anne tried to reach for me once again, but I flinched away, my hands up.
Once inside, I sank into the leather seat, pressing my back against it. Hard. Trying to scrub away the sensation. But it clung to me.
Not only Anne’s touch.
Madame Duret’s gaze.
I rubbed my back against the leather. Again. Then again. The fabric of my dress bunching, pulling. Yet it wasn’t enough.
I thought I was past this phase. I thought after the small touch I had with Viktor, I would be one step closer to being open again. That all I needed was just another accident.
Yet I guess I hoped too soon.