Chapter Eighteen
“Have you considered that maybe you are just really bad at this?”
“Stop talking.” I gritted out. “I’m thinking.”
The youngest Dade smirked. “Don’t pull a muscle.”
Being away from the comforts of my own home and my office were getting the better of me. The house in New York was fine, quiet for the most part. Between the petit gray gremlin who followed me from room to room and demanded that I stroke her with constant headbutts, and Poppy singing at the top of her lungs as she busied herself cooking and cleaning, I longed to be back in Ontario.
Hell, I’d settle for Monaco.
So, when Olivier messaged me asking to come and meet him at a jazz bar after dinner—my idea of fucking torture—I jumped at the chance to get out of the house.
The bar used to be an old deli place, bought and converted by some new upcomer in the city. Deep, red velvet lined the walls, instantly bringing my thoughts to Evelyn and her sun-scorched hair. Thick dark carpets, an old-style wooden bar, and staff who were illuminated by candlelight. There were booths lined up against the wall, curving around overly comfortable cushioned seats giving each table their own privacy.
Mercifully, a live band wasn’t playing. Soft jazz music floated through the bar from overhead speakers, making it somewhat bearable.
“The pieces aren’t going to move themselves, you know.” Olivier sipped a mouthful of ’94 Buffalo Trace bourbon. “It’s okay to admit you’ve gotten rusty in your old age.”
The chessboard sat between us.
I was losing—pretty fucking badly.
“Maybe if they bothered to use actual lighting in here rather than candles, I might be able to see the board,” I grumbled between another hefty mouthful of bourbon. I was completely off my game, my mind preoccupied with trying to figure out the next move against Reynolds.
“Merde, you’re old.” Olivier’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Will I start measuring you up for a walking cane and some bi-focal glasses?”
“You’re hilarious,” I said, deadpan, finally making a move. “When did you start doing stand-up?”
Olivier was quick to counter the movement, settling back in the seat and nursing his glass with a hint of smugness. “It’s okay to admit you missed me. I bet life was frightfully dull being stuck with Freddie all the time.”
Dull was not quite the word I’d use to describe my time with our eldest brother.
Frederic, compared to the rest of us, was intense, unforgiving, and portrayed the exterior of blissful indifference. He truthfully was a machine whose cogs never stopped spinning.
When he decided to bring me in as his business partner, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do it alone, we were both so motivated to undo the wrongs of the past.
Our father’s mistakes were to be the steppingstones for our success.
The brutally long years spent climbing our way to the top, fighting tooth and nail to be the second largest diamond supplier, meant the relationship between Frederic and I changed along the way.
We were no longer kin, only business partners.
It was hard to remember a time when we laughed together or talked about anything other than business and revenge. It was why I enjoyed these moments with Olivier, he soothed that darker side of me.
“You and Evelyn, eh?” Olivier drummed his fingers on the table.
I didn’t bother answering. The simple mention of her name plummeted my thoughts straight into the green and red of her abyss. I tried to refocus, staring at the dimly lit chessboard, willing myself not to allow her to consume my thoughts—again.
My body still clung to the feel of her latched around me on the back of my bike, reliving the sounds of her moans and gasps of excitement.
“What did you do to secure that one?”
Another chess piece moved. “What do you mean?”
“She’s beautiful, confident, and an all-round nice person.” He pressed a button on the edge of the table, sending another order to the bar. “You, mon frère, were always pretty open about your lack of interest in marriage or relationships. It seems sudden for your opinions to change. Plus, you are frightfully grumpy and pretty much her exact opposite.”
Two more glasses appeared at the table.
“I know her brother.” Olivier studied the chessboard. “We study the same degree. He’s a year below me at NYU, but I’ve seen him around. He requested one on one study sessions come the start of the semester. Flynn is pretty well known, a bit of a partier, but a nice guy.”
A liability, more like.
Images of Evelyn sitting on the plastic seats in the police station, worry paling her exquisite face as she once again found herself bailing her younger brother out of trouble.
He walked out of jail without as much as a fine. The lawyers were able to weave their magic and kept Flynn out of harm’s way of his own stupid acts. I saw the flicker of disappointment in Evelyn’s eyes when he came home, celebrating that he once again walked away.
She did everything for others, putting herself at the bottom of her own priority list and willing to break herself apart to make others happy.
What about her happiness? What about her joy? Didn’t she realize she deserved to put herself first?
I watched him make another move closer to victory. “Your point?”
“Her and Flynn, they’re good people. Nice people.”
“And what are you trying to say, that I am not like them? I am not a nice person?”
He shook his head at my next move that allowed him to instantly call checkmate. “I hate to think that all these years, stuck beside Frederic and his bitterness, that he’s twisted you into thinking you don’t deserve to be happy. That he has some input in this whole marriage.”
Bourbon flamed my throat. “Olivier, you don’t need to concern yourself with any of it. Like I said before, all you need to focus on is finishing your studies.”
“Do you actually love her?” His face softened. “Or is this some sort of chess move Frederic played to benefit him?”
I saw little reason to lie to him when he and I both knew he was speaking the truth. A flicker of sadness passed his pale gray eyes, his lips rubbing together as he busied himself reassembling the chessboard. Olivier didn’t understand. He was shielded—I shielded him from our childhood.
Frederic sucked me into his war for revenge. I felt his anger, too. Though, perhaps my fire didn’t burn as bright as it used to, I still longed for a sense of justice.
A way to finally put the demons to rest.
Olivier and Elliott—I made sure they weren’t dragged in with us.
“It’s a shame,” Olivier finally spoke. “I think she might have actually been good for you.”
We didn’t say anything else, both focusing on the game at hand.
Finally giving up and calling it a night, my focus was unable to shift from the sweet and spiced scented red-head. Her touch on my body still echoed, the way her cunt pressed into my back, her moans filling my helmet—my cock hadn’t sat right since.
Before I left my brother, my whole body stilled, sensing her before I saw her.
Her divine laugh filled the bar, and the undertone of her vanilla and cinnamon scent sought me out like a missile. Standing at the bar in a silky black dress that sat perfectly below the crease of her supple ass and sent my blood pressure through the roof, was the temptress herself.
My wife.