Chapter Twelve
She rested the next few days, until her cut started to itch.
Max’s ex-army friend came to the apartment and changed her bandages, pleased she was healing well.
He warned her it would be nearly impossible to not have a scar from diaphragmatic breathing, but he would be by in a couple more days to take out the stitches.
One morning, Max ran a finger down her nose to wake her up. She blinked sleepily, and smiled at him as he leaned down and left a lingering kiss on her lips.
“We’ve been summoned,” he said.
“By whom?”
“My boss wants to meet you.”
Oh no. “Am I in trouble?”
Confusion creased his brow. “Why would you be in trouble?”
“Because I’m not one of you.”
“But you are because you’re going to be my wife.”
“Oh.” That’s right, she was marrying him. “Of course. What should I wear?”
“Clothes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Such a guy thing to say.”
He grinned, and then just stared at her.
His gaze traveled over her face with a curious intensity, as if seeing her for the first time.
So, she studied him in return. Before, she hadn’t known Max.
Didn’t know the real him. Secrets had lurked in his unfathomable eyes, with an air of mystery that was part of his allure.
Now, the enigma of Max Chevalier lay untangled and she saw his soul.
Saw what had shaped the powerful man who currently studied her.
Saw his brief flash of vulnerability that only made him more real.
More ... everything. Specifically, her everything.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured.
“I’m thinking...” She could not tell him what was streaming through her head. “I want to see the Mona Lisa.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do I have the impression that’s not what you’re really thinking?”
She shrugged. “Paranoia is caused from a delusional disorder, you know.”
Now his eyes lit up with mirth. “Delusional?”
“Delusions of grandeur.”
“I see I’m going to have to stay on my toes around you.”
“You had to do that anyway.”
“I like this sassy Quinn.”
“Good, ‘cause she’s here to stay.”
He leaned over and kissed her. A light, almost delicate brushing of his lips that was more sensual than sexual. It hit her again. This man would soon be her husband. Her life was about to change.
****
Max drove them out of the Paris city limits to a town named Pontoise.
Actually, according to him, it was called a commune, which wasn’t the same as a commune in the States.
In France, it was an incorporated municipality.
The Ca?d lived in a very beautiful, very old chateau, which was a more or less a fortified castle.
Four stories high, the place was huge. Built with white limestone, and offset with black granite, the place took her breath away.
“This is amazing,” she whispered in awe. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“If you’re impressed by the outside, wait till you see inside.”
Max placed a hand on her lower back to guide her.
She couldn’t help but notice the two guards at the door and another four standing at attention on the surrounding perimeter.
Who knew how many were hiding from sight.
One of the men at the door nodded to him and opened it to admit them entrance, where she spotted two more guards.
Max took her hand and led her deeper into the chateau.
Opulence was the only way to describe what she was looking at.
Chandeliers, suits of armor, huge vases with foliage.
Rich mahogany and marble. Paintings of people in period attire.
Her mouth fell open and, for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to close it.
She stood in a place only seen on television or in a magazine.
“I think you’re drooling,” Max teased. He used his finger to close her mouth.
“This place is unreal.”
He chuckled and took hold of her hand, leading her down a wide corridor to a room. He knocked and the door opened, where a butler bowed his head at them. Inside, people mingled, and many greeted Max in French. He introduced her to many as they made their way to the front.
Finally, he stopped and waited as an older gentleman talked with some people. He was very distinguished, with grey hair and a chiseled jaw. His shrewd gaze swept over everyone and everything. When it landed on her, he raised an eyebrow, leaving the group of people he was with in mid-sentence.
“Maxence!”
Quinn knew, right then and there, who he was. Gaston Lemaire.
Max bowed his head in deference.
“And this must be your lovely fiancée.” His accent was beautiful.
“Oui,” Max said. “Quinn Varlet.”
Not knowing what to do, she curtsied.
Lemaire smiled. “No need for that, my dear. We’re all family here.”
The slight emphasis he put on the word family made her think he was telling her something.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Where are you planning the nuptials?”
“Oh, um, I’m not sure where Max—”
“I insist you have it here,” Gaston offered. “At Chateau de Famille.”
He waited for her answer.
“Married in this beautiful home? That’s a no-brainer.”
“I do love Americanisms.”
Quinn looked from him to Max and back. “Why doesn’t he have the same accent as you?”
The boss laughed. “He worked very hard to eliminate his accent so he could pose as an American.”
“Well, he did an amazing job of it. I never suspected a thing.”
“He is one of my best men.”
She saw the fondness on his face when he looked at Max.
Truthfully, Quinn hadn’t known what to expect when Max had told her about his real identity as well as the man he called boss.
Her preconceived ideas revolved around mafia movies like The Godfather and Scarface, so she didn’t have a good opinion about the lifestyle.
Now, however, she saw the love on Gaston’s face for a man he raised after his sons were killed.
Around the room was camaraderie. Smiles. Family. The chateau was aptly named.
Gaston’s face turned somber. “You were attacked by our enemy, and for that I’m deeply sorry.”
“You’re not responsible for his actions.” The words echoed through her head, and she realized she meant it. It wasn’t fair to blame Max for something someone else did. She looked up at Max. “I mean that.”
Max rubbed his hand up and down her back, in a comforting gesture and she knew that he understood.
Ruthless this family may be. Dangerous, probably.
After all, she didn’t know the extent of their criminal activities, and she probably never wanted to know.
But she couldn’t help but remember that she’d been attacked by a law-abiding good man, who turned out to be not so good at all.
So maybe, things were never black and white.
If people could be shades of grey, then so could perception.
Ideology. Family. If she married Max, this would be her life. These would be her people.
Digging deep, she pondered her own morals.
Her own beliefs. What did she care about?
What high ground did she walk upon? Could she cherry-pick what was right and what was wrong?
Again, black and white with areas in between.
Max admitted he wasn’t a good man, and maybe he wasn’t, but what did it matter? Everyone had bodies in the closet.
“This is what he did,” she said, and lowered her shirt only low enough to reveal the top of the S carved into her skin. Two stitches remained at the top, where the initial cut had been made, but the curvature was scabbed over.
“Mon Dieu!” Gaston muttered. “Ce sont des putains d’animaux.”
“They are fucking animals,” Max translated.
She nodded. “They are. Your enemies are now mine.”
Gaston took her hands and kissed the back of each one. “Welcome to the family. Now, let’s get you two married. Oui?”