8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Behave
Luca
He’s like a leech.
He never leaves her side. Never stops talking. Never seems to run out of ridiculous stories that make her laugh.
I honestly don’t understand it.
I lean against the living-room doorway with my arms crossed, watching through narrowed eyes as Adrien and Simone look at something on her phone.
He’s been at the estate for less than an hour and has already settled in as her personal entertainer.
They’re sitting too close.
Her legs are stretched across his thighs while she leans against him, smiling at the screen.
I should look away.
I shouldn’t care.
But the sight of her draped over him, giving him smiles that come far too easily, makes my jaw clench until it aches.
I’m not jealous.
I’m observing.
Closely.
Professionally.
At least Adrien keeps his hands to himself. Considering they’re supposedly dating, the absence of intimacy might look strange to anyone paying attention.
Unfortunately for them, I’m always paying attention.
It has been three days since the attack.
Three days since armed men turned Francis’s gala into a battlefield.
And Adrien Belcourt has spent most of that time attached to Simone like a second shadow.
Always present.
Always smiling.
Always lingering.
I haven’t seen them kiss.
Not properly.
They hug. They laugh. He kisses her cheek when he leaves. But there’s nothing intimate between them. Nothing that suggests the night at the hotel was real.
I can’t explain why that matters to me.
It isn’t jealousy.
I have no reason to be jealous of Adrien.
Look at him.
Then look at me.
This is about responsibility.
Simone is Bran’s sister. Francis’s daughter. She’s impulsive, unpredictable, and dangerously convinced that consequences belong to other people.
I’m here to protect her.
Not only from whoever attacked her family, but from distractions. From people who smile too easily and talk too smoothly.
People like Adrien.
He appears harmless.
But harmless doesn’t automatically mean welcome.
At least not to me.
“You should stay for dinner,” Simone says as she walks him toward the front door. “Dad would like to see you.”
“I would, but I have work waiting.” Adrien gives her that pleasant smile of his. “I’ll text you. Good night.”
They exchange another kiss on the cheek.
Then, to my surprise, Adrien looks past Simone and meets my eyes.
“Good night, Luke.”
“Luca,” I correct.
“Right. Sorry. I always get it mixed up with—”
“Good night.”
I wave him toward the door.
He takes the hint.
Simone walks him outside and returns several minutes later. She passes me without speaking and heads into the kitchen.
“Adrien is welcome in this house,” she says as she opens the refrigerator and retrieves a can of diet soda. “Try being respectful to him.”
“Respectful.”
“Yes.”
She looks at me over the open door.
“You should experiment with being nice occasionally. You might discover how to speak to women without insulting them.”
She’s still angry about the car.
Fair enough.
“Who knows?” she continues. “You might even get a girlfriend.”
That’s new.
“A girlfriend?”
She opens the can and lifts one unimpressed eyebrow. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“I’m curious about when my relationship status became your concern.”
Simone lowers the can.
Her tongue catches a drop of soda from her bottom lip.
Something beneath my right eye twitches.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I couldn’t care less who you date.”
She turns away as though she has already grown bored with me.
Then she starts to leave.
I should let her go.
Instead, I say, “We need to establish security protocols.”
She stops.
Slowly, she turns back toward me.
“What?”
“No unscheduled visitors after nine. No leaving the estate alone. No disappearing without telling me where you’re going.”
I hold her gaze.
“Any outing that the security team hasn’t cleared needs to be discussed in advance. Until the threat assessment changes, you’re back inside the estate by ten.”
Her eyebrows rise.
She glances around the kitchen as though searching for the hidden audience witnessing this performance.
When she looks at me again, her mouth is twitching.
“I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Had what?”
“A sense of humor.”
She takes another drink.
“I assumed you were only capable of glaring and standing around with the emotional range of a concrete pillar. I’m impressed.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Of course you aren’t, buddy.”
She turns toward the stairs.
I remain where I am and count silently, waiting for my words to finish registering.
Five seconds later, she storms back into the kitchen.
“A curfew?”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“What am I, fifteen?”
“It’s a temporary movement restriction.”
“That’s an impressive collection of words for curfew.”
“It’s easier to protect you when I know where you are.”
“And what gives you the right to impose rules on me?”
She throws one hand toward her chest.
“Do you know who I am?”
I can’t stop the small smile that pulls at my mouth.
Simone blinks, momentarily distracted by it.
“I know exactly who you are, Simone Isobel Rochefort.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Being my bodyguard doesn’t mean you can order me around. Technically, you work for my family, which means you work for me.”
“We’ve already covered this.”
I walk past her and retrieve a bottle of water.
“I’m not interested in repeating the same argument every day.”
She follows me.
“And I’ve already explained that I’m not a child.”
“I never said you were.”
“You’re treating me like one.”
She begins counting on her fingers.
“No visitors after nine. No going anywhere alone. No sneaking out. A ten-o’clock curfew.”
Her mouth curves.
“Okay, Daddy.”
Something tightens low in my chest.
I ignore it.
“Find someone else to argue with, Simone.”
“I liked you better when you stood in corners and glared like you had a personal vendetta against the entire world.”
Maybe I do.
She turns and marches toward the stairs just as Bran begins descending.
Her shoulder clips his as she passes.
Bran frowns after her before looking at me.
I stand in the kitchen holding my water and offer an innocent shrug.
“When are the two of you going to learn to be civil?” he asks.
“Her,” I correct. “I don’t have a problem with your sister.”
Liar.
“She hates your guts.”
Bran checks his phone.
“And to think she used to follow you everywhere. I still don’t understand what happened between you over the last five years.”
“Who knows?”
I change the subject before he can examine my face too closely.
“Is Cassie joining us for dinner?”
He shakes his head. “She’s spending the night with her grandmother. She isn’t feeling well.”
He hesitates.
Then he looks at me.
“You don’t think she’s cheating, do you?”
I nearly smile.
Brandon Rochefort is one of the most openly affectionate men I know. When he cares about someone, he gives them everything.
Unfortunately, that has allowed more than one woman to break his heart.
But Cassie is different.
At least, I believe she is.
I point my bottle at him. “Do you think she’s cheating?”
“No.”
The answer comes quickly.
Then his confidence falters.
“I mean, I hope not. I don’t know what women are doing these days.”
“Stop.”
I tap one finger against his temple.
“Keep it quiet in there. She loves you. You love her. And you trust her, correct?”
“Of course.”
“Then relax.”
“You have a peculiar way of comforting people.”
“That’s what your therapist is for.”
An hour later, we’re gathered around the formal dining table.
Bran is eating.
I’m mostly moving food around my plate.
After my father died, I forgot how to enjoy dinner with the Rocheforts.
Francis invited me tonight, and under normal circumstances, I might have refused. But I wasn’t there to protect him when the gala was attacked.
It doesn’t matter that I was off duty.
It doesn’t matter that Bran ordered me to take Simone.
I still feel responsible.
That’s what I do.
I assume responsibility for everything, then punish myself when the world refuses to remain under my control.
The table is crowded with enough food to serve three times the number of people seated around it.
Lobster. Steak. Sushi. Truffle macaroni. Salads. Fresh bread. An array of desserts waiting on the sideboard.
The Rocheforts call this dinner.
Anyone else would call it a banquet.
Francis sits at the head of the table with his injured shoulder concealed beneath a loose shirt. He uses his left hand awkwardly but refuses help whenever it’s offered.
Simone sits beside him with her hair piled into a messy bun.
She has changed into a cropped tank top and green leggings that mold themselves around her thighs.
I drag my attention back to my plate.
Even after all these years, I feel out of place here.
Part of me knows how ungrateful that is.
Francis has never treated me as merely an employee. This family once made space for me at its table without hesitation.
But belonging here used to be easier.
Simone clears her throat and points her fork at me.
“Tonight’s entertainment is Luca, who has decided that a twenty-three-year-old woman needs a curfew.”
Francis looks toward me.
To Simone’s obvious displeasure, he appears impressed.
“Excellent. You anticipated exactly what I was going to suggest.”
Her fork freezes in midair.
“What?”
“It’s part of the increased security.”
Francis sets down his glass.
“For the time being, none of us should be moving around at night without an escort. Predictable schedules make the team’s work easier.”
“I think I’m losing my mind.”
“He’s doing his job,” Bran says. “I told you to cooperate.”
“I am cooperating.”
Simone places her fork on the plate.
“I’m simply fascinated by how quickly everyone decided my opinion about my own life no longer matters.”
Bran sighs. “And now you’re being difficult.”
“Luca is being an ass.”
“Language,” Francis says, though there’s no real bite in the warning. “You made me a promise.”
“I wouldn’t have promised if I knew it meant surrendering my basic rights.”
“It’s for your—”
“Safety. I know.”
Her voice sharpens.
“You’ve all said it so many times that I’m beginning to think I was the one who took a bullet.”