Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
My jaw drops as the car rolls up the steep and winding drive that leads to the chalet. I envisioned it being quaint and cozy—not a timber and glass mega McMansion construction.
Perched on the edge of a snow-covered cliff, and overlooking a near-frozen lake, it looks more like a resort than a family vacation home. The architecture is a stunning collection of peaked roofs, wooden beams, and grand archways. The double-doored entrance is so large an elephant could walk through it.
Despite my tiredness, my fingers itch to sketch the place. I determine that I will before we leave. Perhaps, in my next volume, I will have Zara assassinate someone in a chalet.
Parking the car, Noémie turns in her seat and smiles. “We’re finally here,” she says, sounding more exhausted than victorious. Stretching her arms over her head, she yawns. I yawn too.
Including the stop to recharge the Tesla and another stop to use the washroom, the drive from Toronto to the Laurentian Mountains of Québec took almost eight hours. We took turns driving. I did the first stretch of the trip, and Noémie took over the wheel when we arrived in Kingston.
I click out of my seat belt. “I have to admit, this is not what I pictured when you said family chalet.”
“A few years ago, they added on to the place. It wasn’t always this …”
“Over the top?” I offer.
She nods.
We exit the car. As we are grabbing our bags from the trunk, another vehicle pulls in behind us—a gleaming silver Mercedes G-Class.
“Callisse!” Noémie says. I don’t know what that word means, but the way she’s glaring at the car makes me think it’s a curse.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Seems like my brother extended invitations,” she replies.
The driver’s door of the G-Class swings open, and a man with a glorious red beard hops out. “Salut, Noémie, c’est bon de te voir,” he says. “Qui est ton ami?”
“Hey, Paul,” Noémie greets with a tight grin. “This is my roommate, Jordan. She doesn’t speak French.”
“Very nice to meet you, Jordan,” Paul greets. His accent is thick, and his brown eyes sparkle with what appears to be genuine interest.
The passenger door of the G-Class pops open and a fashionable blond woman slips out into the cold. Her expression is the exact opposite of Paul’s—dark and stormy. “Tabarnak! C’est froid,” she says, hugging her arms around her torso.
“This is Angel, my girlfriend,” Paul says, gesturing at the blond. “Angel, rencontrez Noémie, la soeur de Claude et Jordan, son ami.”
“Salut,” Angel says. Her blue eyes are as frosty as they are bright.
I feign a smile and wave at her. “Hello, nice to meet you.”
Noémie tugs on my arm. “It’s cold. We’ll continue this greeting inside, Paul,” she calls, pulling me towards the entrance of the chalet.
“He seems nice,” I say as we climb the steps leading to the palatial set of doors.
Noémie snorts. She seems annoyed.
I look at her inquisitively. “I sense there’s a story.”
“Not now. I’ll tell you later,” she says, motioning to slide her key into the lock. But before she can, the door is opened by an older man with a composed demeanour. He wears a tailored black suit complete with a black bowtie and waistcoat. The white shirt underneath it all is a crispiness I’ve never been able to achieve with an iron. The toes of his dress shoes are polished to shine.
All at once, Noémie’s expression becomes joyous. “Henri!” she exclaims, dropping her bags to the floor and throwing her arms around him.
For a split second, the man smiles before regaining his controlled countenance. “Bienvenue, Mademoiselle St. Pierre. Bienvenue, Mademoiselle Alexander,” he says, taking a step back and bowing slightly.
He takes our bags and ushers us inside. Setting our things down away from the entrance, he assists Noémie out of her coat, and before I know it, he’s at my side. “May I take your coat, Mademoiselle?” he asks. His English has the slightest accent.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, shrugging out of my jacket.
Henri flits away with the lightness of a butterfly to hang up the coats, and I take in my surroundings. My jaw hangs open for a second time. The foyer boasts soaring ceilings with exposed wooden beams. A giant chandelier glitters above my head. Intricate stonework makes up the floors and crawls halfway up the walls. Where there isn’t stone, the walls are panelled wood that adds warmth to the space.
“How did Claude manage to steal you away from our parents?” Noémie asks.
“Business sees Monsieur et Madame St. Pierre in the U.S.,” he replies.
Nodding, Noémie looks at me. “Henri is our butler—my parents’ butler,” she explains, before turning back to the older man. “That still doesn’t explain why you are here. Didn’t you want to take the holidays off?”
“There’s no place I’d rather be than here with you and Claude,” Henri says.
“Always the charmer,” Noémie says, shaking her head. “Where is my brother?”
“I believe he is in the study.”
“Of course, he is,” she mutters. “Claude never knows when to give work a break.”
If Henri agrees with Noémie’s statement, he gives no indication. Instead, he turns and says, “Follow me, I will show you both to your room.”
Noémie freezes. “You mean rooms?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Putain,” Noémie says, rubbing her temple with a hand. “Don’t tell me Claude invited all of his friends.”
“He did,” the butler confirms. “So you and Mademoiselle Alexander will be sharing your room.”
My pulse quickens. This is not good. I can’t share a room with Noémie. We can’t sleep in the same bed.
Noémie is suddenly very red. Her hands ball at her sides. She says nothing more though.
We are escorted down a hall, passing by a large living space with even higher vaulted ceilings and an open concept kitchen. My gaze darts everywhere as I try to map our steps, but I get a little distracted by the artwork lining the walls. There’s a small fortune worth of oil paint landscapes adorned in gilded frames.
Henri begins climbing a flight of stairs, and we follow. Upon reaching the second landing, I jump at the unexpected sight of a towering taxidermy bear.
Henri stops at a door, setting down our bags to open it. He waves for us to enter. I walk in after Noémie. Henri places our luggage down next to the dresser and makes to depart.
“Thank you, Henri,” Noémie says.
“Thank you,” I parrot.
Spinning slowly, my eyes drink in the magnificent room with its floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the waterfront. There’s a massive fireplace and seating area at the far end of the room. The bed looks made for a king, piled high with cushions. But even as large as the bed is, I fear it’s not big enough. According to Sarah, I’m a serial cuddler—what if I do something stupid in my sleep?
“Did you hear what I said?” Noémie asks.
Blinking, I shake my head. “Sorry, no.”
“I was just apologizing. It was just supposed to be me, you, my brother, and his fiancée.” Noémie sighs. “But Claude invited all his friends.”
I shrug. “It’s okay.” It’s not actually okay. Sharing a bed with Noémie might be disastrous.
“It really isn’t,” she says, echoing my thoughts. Noémie grits her teeth and makes her way to the door. “I’m going to go and give my brother a piece of my mind.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I really, really want to though,” Noémie says. “Make yourself comfy, I’ll be back in a bit.” She exits the room, leaving me alone.
Not really knowing what to do with myself, I begin unpacking my things. Then, I circle the room, inspecting the furnishings. I open a door that leads to a bathroom that looks as if it belongs in a Scandinavian spa.
I change into some fresh clothes—trading in my sweats for a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a black-and-grey plaid shirt.
Throwing myself down on the bed, I take out my phone with the intention of scrolling TikTok or Instagram. Unfortunately, the reception is horrible, and I don’t have the password to access the Wi-Fi.
Minutes tick away. I think about drawing on my tablet, but then think better of it. Noémie will be back soon, and I don’t want to get into a creative flow only for it to be interrupted.
Ten more minutes pass, and then another ten. I close my eyes, trying to take a nap. Unfortunately, despite feeling the exhaustion in my bones, my brain is wired.
I rise off the bed and begin to pace. I walk over to the windows and stare out of them, but there’s nothing to see. In the short time that elapsed since arriving, the sun set. It’s very dark outside. I wonder if I’ll be able to see the stars if I go outside later. In the city, only the brightest stars are visible.
Turning away from the windows, my eyes go to the bed. In a few hours, I’ll be sharing it with Noémie. The thought of laying next to Noémie sends a rush of blood and heat to my depths—not good. I’m worried about doing something stupid in my sleep. Or even worse, what if I say something?
Wayne already seems to think the worst of me—that I’m some kind of predatory lesbian. He’s been exceptionally terse towards me lately. I don’t want Noémie thinking the same. Sure, I might want her in the worst way, but I’d never do anything to purposefully jeopardize the friendship we’ve built over the last few months.
Fuck! I shouldn’t have come here.
I pace some more. Another ten minutes pass. When I can’t take it anymore, I crack the heavy bedroom door open and peer into the hallway. A symphony of chatter greets my ears.
Leaving the bedroom, I descend the staircase and follow the sound of voices and laughter. I’m brought to the large living space I spied earlier. I’m shocked to see that it’s now full of people. I spot Paul’s red beard and Angel’s cold face. There are five others—three men and two women. None of whom I recognize.
Paul is deep in conversation with a man wearing a trendy sports jacket and a flashy Rolex. Angel stands about a foot away from her boyfriend. She seems very uninspired by what an animated brunette is sputtering. As if to tolerate the woman better, Angel swallows back the last bits of her wine.
There’s a bald man with a goatee seated alone in an armchair. He scrolls through his phone. For some reason, he looks familiar—like I’ve seen his face before.
At the far end of the room, leaning against the kitchen counter is a man so pretty that he looks like he just left a shoot for GQ . He has black hair styled to look messy, and his piercing blue eyes have a hungry look as he sips from a glass holding amber liquid. He’s chatting up the last woman, who looks related to Noémie with her curly auburn hair and legs for days.
Where is Noémie? My eyes dart around the room again. I don’t see her or her brother.
“Mademoiselle St. Pierre is in the study.”
I jump. I hadn’t heard Henri’s approach. The butler stands on my right, holding a decanter of red wine.
“Is that it?” Angel says, strutting towards Henri and holding out her empty glass.
“I’ve only just opened it. We should give it at least thirty minutes to breathe,” he replies.
“I don’t care.” Angel thrusts her empty wine glass towards him.
Not one to argue, Henri fills the glass. “Did you want a drink, Mademoiselle Alexander? We have an assortment of wines, spirits, and refreshments.”
“I’m good. Thanks, Henri.”
The butler dips his head slightly and walks away.
Angel, surprisingly, doesn’t go back to Paul’s side. Instead, she focuses her gaze on me. She’s eyeing me like how I imagine mathematicians inspect complex equations. I wonder what she’s trying to figure out.
“So how do you know Noémie?” she asks, taking a sip of wine.
“We work together, and we’re roommates.”
“Roommates—interesting,” Angel says. “And where is it that you work? It’s my understanding Noémie quit her line cook position at that fancy establishment that just got a Michelin star. Why that girl chooses to work, I will never understand.”
I almost correct her. I almost say that Noémie isn’t choosing to work. But the truth is, I’m not entirely sure Noémie’s been super honest with me about her financial situation. Either she’s not as broke as she’s led me to believe or she is broke and stacking on debt.
A couple of days ago, I went with her to the butcher shop and watched her drop sixty-four bucks on two Berkshire bone-in pork chops. When I asked if she could afford it, she got all weird and refused to talk about it. While I get that her financials are none of my business, I wouldn’t want her to get into a situation where paying back her credit cards is an issue.
“We work at Grind That Bean. It’s a coffee shop in Toronto’s financial district,” I say, answering Angel’s question.
“Noémie serving coffee?” The woman snorts. “How dreadful.”
My jaw clenches. I don’t like Angel. I know her type—she’s just like my father’s side of the family. She’s the type to think less of me because I’m not a lawyer or a dentist or a fucking engineer.
“I will need to swing by one day and see it for myself,” Angel continues, either oblivious or uncaring that I’m scowling at her.
“Do you know where the study is?” I ask, changing the topic.
“Yes, down the hall and make a left,” Angel answers.
I don’t thank her, I just leave.
Angel’s directions take me down another lengthy corridor flanked by solid wood doors.
Behind the door at the end of the hallway, two people are arguing. One voice belongs to Noémie. The other I recognize as Claude’s. I don’t understand what they are screaming about. They are speaking in French, and my fluency in the language doesn’t extend past introducing myself or asking to go to the washroom.
It’s none of my business, but I wonder what Noémie is so pissed about. It can’t only be about her brother extending an invitation to his friends to come to the chalet. Then again, maybe that’s exactly what she’s angry about. Maybe Noémie is unnerved about sharing a bed with me. Or maybe I have it all wrong and her vehemence has more to do with the displeasure I saw etched on her face the moment Paul and Angel arrived.
What’s Noémie’s beef with Paul anyways? He seems nice enough.
Deciding that I over-extended my stay in the corridor, I pivot with the intention of heading back to the main room.
A door creaks open, and Noémie calls my name. “Jordan?”
Every muscle in my body tenses, and heat burns up the back my neck. I don’t want Noémie thinking that I was eavesdropping.
I stop walking and turn to face her. “Hey, I was looking for you.”
Noémie’s face is very red. Her grey are eyes glossy, like she’s on the verge of crying.
I go to her. “You okay?” I squeeze her shoulders.
At that exact moment, Claude steps out of the study. Unlike his sister, he doesn’t look perturbed. There’s a smug tug to his lips.
“Salut, Jordan, very nice to see you again.”
Noémie throws him a look of warning over her shoulder. I’m not sure what she’s warning him against, but he seems to understand. He smiles, but it’s more predatory than kind. Were they talking about me? I’m back to thinking that I’m the cause for their argument. My stomach boils with unease as the two siblings share a silent conversation with their eyes.
“Good seeing you as well,” I say.
Noémie grabs my wrist and pulls me away from her brother. I let her drag me away.
When we round the corner, I ask, “What was that about?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Your tight grip tells me that it is something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Noémie says, letting go. She runs a nervous hand through her loose auburn hair. My eyes follow the movement. I can’t help myself.
“It’s okay,” I say. “But I just want to let you know that you can talk to me. If you ever want to vent to me about your brother, I’m all ears.” I want her to talk to me. I want her to open up.
Noémie forces a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But seriously, it’s nothing. I’m just irritated that he invited all his friends without giving me a heads up.” She bites down on her lip. “Can you do something for me?”
“Yeah, sure. Anything.”
“Try not to be alone with my brother.”
I frown. “Is he dangerous or something?”
Noémie snorts. “No, no, he’s just a dick. And I don’t want him upsetting you. I invited you here to get away from it all, not to suffer through his bullshit,” she explains. “Anyways, have you had a chance to meet everyone yet?”
I shake my head.
“Let’s get these introductions over and done with then.”