20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Duncan
J ean-Luc Moreau had spared no expense to show off his new son-in-law. The grand ballroom at Le Meurice was nothing short of spectacular.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the high, detailed ceilings, casting a soft golden light over the guests. Lavish floral arrangements sat on the tables, their bright colors standing out against the white linens and polished silverware. The event was designed to impress, a clear display of wealth and power.
I hated that he was putting his daughter on display because said daughter was nervous as hell. She looked like a dream, fucking beautiful, but I could see and feel her anxiety.
I held her hand as we walked into the ballroom; with Thierry and Angelique behind us.
"What's got you so worried, ma douce ?" I asked softly, brushing my lips against her ear.
"I don't like this," she replied, her eyes downcast. "Mamman always kept me away from Papa's world. And now, it's like I'm the…how do you say, center de l'attention , in English?"
"Center of attention."
"Yes, that. I don't like it. Everyone is looking at us."
I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, my eyes flitting to find my family. Being with them, I hoped, would calm her nerves. If I needed more proof about how far she was from her father's business, here it was. Her uneasiness was obvious.
My eyes fell on Dom, and I all but rolled my eyes. He was standing next to Moreau, and I could guess which one of his legends he was using. My money was on an obnoxious American arms dealer he loved to play, Jett Percival.
" ?a va, ma chérie ?" Moreau bent down, gently brushing his lips against each of his daughter's cheeks, one after the other.
" Tres bien, Papa ," she whispered.
"Let me introduce you to one of my good friends," Moreau pulled Elsa away from me and toward Dom, "Jett Percival. He's from Chicago."
Elsa shook hands with Dom demurely. "Welcome," she said politely.
"Congratulations on your nuptials and I hear you and Duncan are going to become parents," Dom said smoothly, his eyes insolently resting on Elsa's stomach.
Son of a bitch , he'd just announced to my father-in-law that he knew me. I didn't know what game Dom was playing, but I didn't like it. Moreau's eyes brightened with awareness.
"You both know each other," he mused, his hand on Elsa's shoulder.
"In passing," I muttered, glaring at Dom.
He grinned. "Ah, come on, Archer, you wound me." He turned to face Moreau, "Duncan and I had a wild night in Cannes once."
Wild was one way to describe getting shot at while running with a rolled canvas worth millions that had been painted on by Picasso.
Elsa looked at me in query, and I shook my head. I couldn't tell her anything about the work I'd done with Dom. It was classified, and it was also none of her damn business.
She seemed even more uneasy now.
"Elsa, ma chérie ," a matronly woman descended upon us. The woman whose name I didn't register kissed Elsa and dragged her away. I had no choice but to let her go because I wanted to keep my eye on Dom.
As the evening progressed, I stood near one of the elegantly draped tables, my eyes scanning the crowd. Over two hundred people were in attendance, all dressed to the nines. The air was filled with the soft murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the delicate strains of a string quartet playing in the background. It was the kind of scene I was used to and preferred to be part of from a distance. But now I was in the thick of it and everything felt surreal.
My parents were mingling with some high-profile guests, their smiles polished and practiced. My brother Damian and his pregnant wife Emilia were seated nearby, Damian's hand protectively resting on Emilia's belly. Dean’s his eyes darting around as if he were cataloging the entire scene.
Dom mingled with the crowd, his conversations calculated. He suspected Moreau was involved in gun running for the Russians, using Archer Arts I was making sure my brother was taking care of her.
She'd never been the clingy type, but then I didn't know her, did I? Maybe this was who she was, needy and clingy. And when she didn’t get her away, she sulked. This wouldn't work. She needed to know that she'd have to handle herself and be independent.
But she is independent ; a voice inside my head mocked me. She only needs you now because she's nervous about being around her father's people .
"Duncan, how are you, darling?" The wife of one of the richest men in Europe swamped me with her perfume and an inappropriate hug. I'd done business with her husband and had been clear about my disinterest in being her bedmate. She and her mister had an open marriage. I'd told her that I preferred to pay for sex. Used to prefer paying for sex , I reminded myself, because now all I could see and want was Elsa.
I glanced in her direction and was satisfied to see she was with Dean and Emilia. She was smiling. I felt relief course through me as I focused on the people I needed to talk to, people who, like me, had a foot in the legal world and the not-so-legal one as well.