Chapter 20 #3
"I'm staring at you."
"Same thing, apparently."
His thumb moves against the lock. The corner of his mouth shifts by a degree. On Sebastien, that's a standing ovation.
Margot stops at the booth. She looks at the collar. Looks at Sebastien. The expression on her face is complex: approval layered over residual anger layered over something that might be relief.
"Permanent?" she asks.
"Yes," Sebastien says.
"Good." She turns to me. "Welcome to the family, Natalie. The real one this time."
She walks away before either of us can respond, which is such a specifically Margot exit that I actually smile.
Across the room, Remy is at the far end of the bar with Isabella tucked against his side. She says something close to his ear and his hand tightens on the small of her back. He bends to answer, his mouth near her temple. The gesture is private enough that I look away.
Luc appears from somewhere behind the bar with a bourbon and the look of a man who has been counting the seconds until he's allowed to speak. Simone catches his sleeve as he passes her. She says something I can't hear. Luc grins without breaking stride, which tells me she told him to behave.
"So," Luc says, looking at the collar. "You finally emptied the drawer."
"Luc." Sebastien's voice carries the tone of a warning that knows it will be ignored.
"I'm just saying. That box has been in there since before I started coming to the townhouse. I was beginning to think it was decorative."
"It wasn't decorative."
"Clearly." Luc lifts his bourbon toward me. "Congratulations. He's impossible, but he's consistent."
Sebastien's hand tightens fractionally on my neck. "Leave."
Luc grins. Drinks. Doesn't leave. Because Luc Pascal has never once done what Sebastien told him to do on the first request, and the friendship lives in exactly that refusal.
Ezra passes the booth on his way to the stairs. He slows long enough to register the pearls, glances at Sebastien, and says two words: "About time."
Sebastien responds with one: "Go."
Ezra's grin is wide enough to light the stairwell. He grabs Luc’s sleeve, pulling him away as he goes.
At the bar, Andy is beside Renata, off-duty, Woodford Reserve in his hand. He catches my eye and lifts the glass an inch. The gesture is small, specific. A cop who helped build a case and is satisfied with where it landed.
Across the room, Sophie is watching the floor with the quiet, systematic attention of a woman whose old habits never fully retire. She catches me looking and tilts her chin. A greeting that needs no words. The room breathes around us.
The music sits below conversation. The scening areas beyond the archway are active. Dominion survived Gaudet. Not by luck. Because Margot built something strong enough to hold.
Sebastien's scotch sits on the table between us. The amber catches the low light. His hand is on my neck, warm and steady. The booth has the same sight lines it always has. The room does what it always does around us.
He lifts the glass. Drinks. Sets it back on the table closer to me than to him.
I pick it up without asking. The scotch is smooth and old and tastes like the first thing I've tasted in years.
I reach for the base of my throat. The collar is there. Four strands of black pearls, the ruby warm, the lock closed. I leave my hand on the pendant.
The gesture is Claire's and Sebastien's and mine. All three at once. No longer competing.
I lean against his leg. He lets me. Later, when I glance at the table, his scotch glass is empty. That’s something I’ve never seen before in this bar.
His fingers curl against the pearls at my nape. I lean into his hand and close my eyes. The room holds us. The music plays.
I'm not here for Claire anymore, or for the case, or for the cover. I'm here for him… and for me.