21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Elsa
T he reception was in full swing, filled with conversation and laughter. I chatted with a few guests, trying to push down my anxiety. Duncan had just left me. I hadn't expected it. He’d been attentive since the start of our marriage, so him walking away when he knew how insecure I felt being here was a shock.
I went to the restroom and relaxed for a little bit in the luxurious handicap bathroom. When I came out and began to look for someone familiar to be with, I felt a presence beside me.
I turned to find Pascal Fournier, my father's man from Marseille, standing uncomfortably close. His cold, predatory eyes bore into mine, and a chill swept over me.
" Bonsoir, Elsa ," Pascal said, his voice oozing false charm. "You look lovely tonight." He took my hand firmly, not letting me pull away, kissed the back of it, and winked.
I pulled my hand away, hating that he thought he had a right to touch me.
I had met him once, a long time ago when I'd come to my father's house and he'd been there. Even then, he'd made my skin crawl—and when I started to suspect Papa would want me to marry him, I'd gotten rid of my virginity real quick. A man like Pascal Fournier, I believed, wanted an untouched wife. I was wrong. He wanted to be my father's heir a whole lot more. So, when I found out I was pregnant, it was a relief. Marrying Duncan had been another.
" Bonsoir , Monsieur Fournier," I replied curtly, taking a step back.
"Call me Pascal, ma chérie . Married life looks good on you." He looked at me head to toe, his perusal unabashedly sexual as it lingered on my breasts. "So does motherhood."
"Thank you." I looked around, wanting to escape desperately.
He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "I like pregnant women; they're so horny, don't you agree?"
I froze. " Monsieur Fournier—"
"Just Pascal, ma chérie . You were supposed to be mine. Your father promised me your hand. But now, you're married to that Archer boy. It's a shame. But don't think for a second that I've given up."
My heart pounded in my chest, fear gripping me. "What does that mean?"
Pascal smiled maliciously. "I have nothing against widows."
I knew what he was capable of. I wasn't stupid. I knew what Papa did, and I knew what happened in his world. Mamman had been explicit, which was why I was frightened of it. I looked around, desperately looking for Duncan.
Help me, damn it!! Where are you?
"Oh, he's busy talking to Giselle," he whispered in his rasping creepy voice, "she's a model and she fucks for money. I hear your husband also likes to fuck for money."
I pulled myself together when I saw Duncan laughing at something a beautiful woman who had a hand on his arm said to him.
" Monsieur Fournier," I began smoothly, "My husband and who he fucks is none of your business."
He chuckled darkly. "We'll see about that, ma chérie ."
I smiled sweetly. "The thing you need to think about, Monsieur , is what he'll do to you when I tell him how rude and insulting you are being to me."
Pascal arched an eyebrow. "You think I'm afraid of your husband?" he growled.
"If you're not, you should be. You know that whole Archer Art his father was a regular at Délices d'Elsa. He gave me a quick hug and then looked at Pascal like a worm beneath his shoes. "Fournier."
Pascal all but bowed. " Monsieur Arsenault."
Vincent offered me his arm, and I took it.
"Why is Pascal afraid of you?" I whispered as we walked away from the offending man my father had wanted me to marry.
"Let's just say that Pascal and I have had dealings in the past."
I chuckled. "That tells me absolutely nothing."
"I know, ma chérie . How are you? And how's the bébé ?"
I had known Vincent for years through his father, who had been coming to Délices d'Elsa ever since I opened it. Emile used to get his café au lait , a pastry, and read his newspaper every day. But then he stopped coming, and I got worried, so I called him. Vincent answered the phone and told me that Emile was ill. Since then, I visited their home a few times a month, bringing along Emile's favorite pastries—profiteroles stuffed with passion fruit custard—and spending time with him, keeping him company as he fought what Vincent told me was a losing battle against cancer.
Over time, Vincent and I had gotten closer during these visits, trading stories and jokes to keep his father’s spirits up.
"The baby is good. I didn't know you knew my father, but then maybe I should've expected it," I said laconically.
"Your father knows everyone, Elsa," he quipped.
"I have a feeling it's the other way around," I said sincerely. Vincent's home was guarded with high security. I thought he was a wealthy man but seeing him here made me wonder who he really was.
We stopped by the bar, and Vincent got himself a drink and me a glass of orange juice. He led me to one of the balconies, and I was relieved to get away from the crowds.
"I remember you telling me how much you hate parties like this." Vincent held my drink as I sat down on one of the outdoor sofas. He joined me.
"I do hate them; but Papa wanted to tell the world." I drank some orange juice.
"And your husband?"
"Duncan seemed okay about it. His family is here. I think they're seeing this as an opportunity to network."
Vincent grunted. "You're his wife. I shouldn't have been the one keeping Pascal Fournier away from you; it should have been him ."
I didn't disagree. I was annoyed with Duncan. How quickly had he gone from loving husband to serious businessman to the exclusion of all else? Is this what life had in store for me? Another man like Papa who gave his all to his work and making money rather than his family?
"Are you alright?" Vincent asked, concern etched on his face.
I nodded, though I was far from okay. "Pascal threatened Duncan and me."
Vincent's expression darkened. "That bastard."
"I put on false bravado and told him that Duncan could fuck him up when I have no idea if he can."
"He can," Vincent said succinctly and then added, "if he wants to."
I grimaced.
"Why did you marry him, Elsa?"
I put a hand on my stomach.
"Come on, this isn't the olden days. You can be an unwed mother in 2024," he teased.
"Mamman raised me on her own. She was a great mother; but she was alone and lonely . I didn't want that for myself or my child. So, when I got pregnant and marriage was suggested, I didn't hesitate." I knew Vincent well enough but not that well to tell him how and why I ended up in Duncan's bed and life.
"You know you can always come to me." Vincent took my hand in his. "You take care of my father, and he thinks of you as a daughter, which makes you a sister. When you need something, you come to me. D'accord ?"
" Merci beaucoup , Vincent."
He took my hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against my knuckles just as Pascal had but his touch was avuncular compared to that asshole’s.
"You're a beautiful woman inside and out. I don't know a lot of people who'd spent time with a lonely old man and—"
"Anyone would do that," I muttered, not wanting to be praised for being decent. "And I like Emile."
"He's an ornery bastard."
I laughed. "Maybe, but he's teaching me to play chess, so it's not like I get nothing out of our visits."
Vincent smiled, his eyes full of genuine warmth. "You are very special, ma chérie ."
"You just like my profiteroles," I sassed him. "I think we should head back so I can go home. Pregnant women and parties are not conducive."
Vincent helped me stand.
I felt a movement next to me and turned to see the man I'd seen with my father. What was his name? It took me a moment to remember.
I nodded at him.
Jett Percival. Yes, that was him. He knew Duncan, and they'd had a wild night in Cannes; probably something to do with hookers.
"Vincent," Jett held out his hand.
"Jett." Vincent shook the man's hand, but I could see he didn't want to. "What business do you have in Paris?"
Jett shrugged. "A little this and that. Jean-Luc has been most solicitous."
"I bet," Vincent bit out.
"Maybe you and I can have a—"
"No business today." Vincent put his arm around him. "I'm sorry, Jett, but today is all about celebrating this beautiful woman. If you'll excuse us."
Vincent hurried us out of Jett's presence.
"What was that all about?"
"That man is dangerous. Stay away from him."
"How is he dangerous?" I demanded once we were inside the ballroom, my hand on Vincent's arm.
"He's an American agent."
"Agent? Like James Bond?" I mocked.
Vincent laughed again. "Yes, just like that, only James Bond is British."
"You're joking, right?"
"No," Vincent said, scanning the room, "serious as a heart attack. Now, ma chérie , I must leave."
I saw Duncan marching toward us.
Vincent grinned, he kissed me on the forehead, wished me well, and went on his way.
I saw Jett Percival watching me and a shudder ran through me..
Why did Duncan know an American spy?
And speaking of Duncan, I couldn't wait to give him a piece of my mind about abandoning me when I explicitly asked him not to.