Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RAPHAEL
Iarrive ten minutes early. Old habit. Scope the room, settle before anyone can read your nerves.
Madame Dubois's office hasn't changed. Same heavy desk, same framed certificates, same lavender diffuser that's meant to be calming but just makes the room feel like it's trying too hard.
But the atmosphere feels different. The folder on her desk is too thick. Her smile is too careful.
étienne arrives exactly on time. Not a minute early, not a minute late. He takes the chair to my left me without acknowledgment, crosses one leg over the other. His face reveals nothing, but I've known him long enough to read the tension in his shoulders.
We wait. Dubois checks her watch once, discreetly.
Bastien comes in two minutes late, coat still on, like he came straight from somewhere else. He doesn't sit, just leans against the windowsill, arms crossed, eyes moving immediately to the folder.
"Thank you for coming," Dubois says. "I know Monday mornings are busy."
"You said it was urgent." Etienne's voice is clipped. "What's this about?"
She opens the folder. Typed pages, handwritten notes. More than I expected.
"I'll be direct. The school has received formal complaints regarding your arrangement. About the role of your au pair, Mademoiselle Blake." She pauses. "And about her conduct during the school retreat."
"Her conduct," Etienne repeats flatly.
"One parent reported hearing sounds from Mademoiselle Blake's room late at night.
Sounds that suggested she was not alone.
" Dubois's voice remains even. "Other parents have raised concerns about physical proximity between Mademoiselle Blake and the three of you.
These complaints have been filed formally, which means I'm obligated to address them. "
No one speaks.
I think about that night at the chateau. Madeline's skin under my hands. Bastien's voice low and urgent. The way we tried to be quiet.
We weren't quiet enough.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Bastien's voice has sharpened. "That we've done something wrong?"
"I'm informing you of the situation." She closes the folder.
"The parents who filed these complaints feel that your arrangement has become something other than what was intended.
Something that raises questions about boundaries.
About judgment." Her eyes meet mine. "About whether Mademoiselle Blake's continued presence is in the best interest of the children. Yours or anyone else's."
"Madeline has done nothing but care for our children." I keep my voice steady. "She's been exceptional. Ask Emma. Ask any of them."
"I don't doubt her competence as a caregiver. But competence isn't the issue here."
"Then what is?"
Dubois folds her hands on the desk.
"The coordination has improved significantly. You communicate better. You share responsibilities more effectively. The children are thriving." A pause. "Which raises the question. Do you still need a shared au pair at all?"
Silence.
"You're suggesting we let her go," Etienne says. His voice is ice.
"I'm suggesting that each of you is capable of hiring your own childcare. From the school's point of view, the need for a single point of contact has diminished. And removing the source of these complaints would be the simplest way to resolve the situation."
"The source of the complaints," Bastien repeats slowly. "You mean Madeline."
"I mean the perception of impropriety. Whether or not anything occurred is not for me to judge. But perception matters, Monsieur Moreau. Especially in a school community."
"What if we refuse?" I ask.
She's quiet for a moment.
"Then the complaints remain on file. The parents who filed them may escalate. To the school board. To the press. There may be scrutiny of your households, your parenting, your fitness as guardians."
"Enough."
Etienne doesn't look at Bastien. Doesn't look at me. He looks at Dubois.
"Our children," he says evenly, "are thriving."
"Academically," Bastien adds, stepping forward. Jaw tight.
"Emotionally," I finish. I'm standing now.
Somewhere in the last thirty seconds, we've stopped being three men on opposite sides of a room. Bastien is at Etienne's left shoulder. I'm to his right. A line, facing her desk.
Dubois's gaze moves between us. Whatever fractures she expected to exploit, she's not finding them.
"That changed after Madeline arrived," Etienne continues. "Not before."
"If you're implying neglect," I say quietly, "be very careful."
The lavender diffuser hums in the silence.
"I'm not your enemy here," Dubois points out. "I'm trying to help you navigate a difficult position."
"By asking us to fire someone who's done nothing wrong."
"By suggesting a course of action that protects everyone involved. Including Mademoiselle Blake. A quiet departure now is very different from a public scandal later."
"We need time," I say. "To discuss this among ourselves."
"Of course. But I'd encourage you not to delay too long."
She stands. The meeting is over.
We file out in silence. Through the hallway, past reception, into the courtyard where parents are milling about, chatting in clusters.
Some of them look at us. Whisper to each other.
I wonder which ones wrote the letters.
We don't stop until we reach the street, out of sight of the school gates.
"We need to tell her," I say. "She deserves to know."
"She's at yours today, isn't she?" Etienne looks at me. "With Emma."
He's right.
"We should all be there," Bastien says. "She needs to hear it from all of us."
"And say what?" Etienne's jaw tightens. "That we've put her in an impossible position? That the school wants her gone because of something we did?"
"Because of something we all did," Bastien corrects quietly.
They stare at each other, three years of silence crackling between them.
"We tell her the truth," I say. "We tell her the school is pressuring us to end the arrangement. And we tell her we're not going to do it."
"And if she decides to leave anyway?" Bastien asks. "If she decides we're not worth the trouble?"
No one answers.
Because that's the fear none of us will say out loud.
I find Madeline in my kitchen when I get home, helping Emma with homework at the breakfast bar. She looks up when I walk in, and my face must give it away because her smile drops.
"Emma, why don't you finish that in your room?" she says.
"But I'm almost—"
"Please."
Emma looks between us, sensing something. But she gathers her books without argument and disappears down the hallway.
Madeline waits until the door clicks shut.
"What happened?"
I sit across from her. I don't know how to say this gently, so I don't try.
"The school wants us to let you go."
Her face doesn't change. Not at first. Then the light behind her eyes goes flat.
"The complaints," she says.
"Yes." I tell her everything. The letters, the accusations, the suggestion that we've outgrown the need for a shared au pair. That removing her would be the "simplest solution."
She listens without interrupting. When I finish, she's quiet for a long time.
"And what did you say?" she asks eventually.
"That we need time to discuss it."
"But you didn't say no."
"We didn't say yes either."
"That's not the same thing, Raphael."
She's right. And the way she says my name, flat, careful, makes my throat tight.
"We're not letting you go," I say. "None of us want that."
"What you want and what's best for your children might not be the same thing."
"Madeline—"
"I need to think." She stands, gathering her bag. "I need some time."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. A walk. Somewhere." She pauses at the door, not looking at me. "I'll be back for Emma's bedtime."
The front door clicks shut.
I stay where I am, listening to the silence she left behind.