7. The Answer
Alexander
I text Sam immediately.
Alexander: Are you free tonight? I need to talk to you.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Sam: Yes, of course. Is everything okay?
I stare at the screen, searching for the right words.
Alexander: Yes. I’ll pick you up at 7. I’m taking you to dinner.
The three dots appear, disappear, then return.
Sam: Okay. See you tonight.
*
Gilles picks me up at my brother’s place and drops me at the penthouse so I can change.
The apartment is silent. Kristel has left traces everywhere: a sweater draped over the back of the couch, a business strategy book on the coffee table, spare clothes in the bedroom, her beauty products in the bathroom.
I gather everything that belongs to her and stuff it into a garbage bag I’ll have dropped at her door tomorrow.
I’ve never understood the expression “from love to hate, there’s only one step” so clearly.
Because after the shock and the grief comes the rage.
Rage at having been manipulated.
Rage that she dares threaten me when she should be begging for forgiveness on her knees.
But no. She wants war.
Then war is exactly what she’ll get.
The hot shower loosens my knotted muscles. I close my eyes and, against my will, last night’s image forces itself on me.
Her. Grégoire.
That bed where I’d made love to her so many times.
I scrub my skin harshly, as if I could erase the memory of the woman I now despise. I will wipe every trace of her from my life.
*
For tonight, I choose a charcoal suit and a white shirt, no tie. I grab a coat and head out. The sun has already set when Gilles drives me to Sam’s building. I barely have time to step out before the door opens.
And my breath catches.
She’s stunning. A long, fitted wool coat that highlights the grace of her curves. Heels that sculpt her legs beautifully. A loose chignon lets a few black strands frame her face. Discreet makeup brings out her obsidian eyes and full mouth.
I kiss her cheek and open the car door for her. Her citrus scent warms me like a summer breeze. I join her in the back seat.
Her gaze wraps around me—warm, gentle, comforting.
“What did you want to—” she begins.
“Let me take you to dinner,” I interrupt softly. “We’ll talk afterward.”
She nods with a smile.
The drive to Faubourg Saint-Honoré passes in silence. Gilles drops us in front of the H?tel de Crillon. Sam lifts her eyes to the illuminated facade.
“Wow… this is—”
“Too much?” I ask suddenly, uneasy. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No. It’s perfect.”
Despite her words, I know this world intimidates her as much as it fascinates her. She walked away from all of this the day she chose an artist’s life, far from her family’s opulence.
The hostess leads us to the private salon I reserved. Soft lighting. Velvet drapes. The Place de la Concorde glitters beyond the windows. Sam’s eyes widen.
“You went all out,” she murmurs.
I smile and pull out her chair.
On the menu: Gruyère soufflé, pepper steak flambéed with cognac, floating island for dessert.
We eat while reminiscing about our childhood.
“Do you remember the time we went fishing together?” she asks.
“Do I remember? You were so happy when you caught the trout, and then you screamed like a maniac when we had to kill it to put it in the bucket.”
“That’s not my fault,” she protests. “It kept wriggling. I couldn’t hold it properly.”
“I think you let it go on purpose.”
“No!” she says, unconvincing. “It slipped.”
“Maybe. But because of that, no one ever believed you’d caught anything.”
“I don’t care what they think. You and I know I did.”
There’s such pride in her voice that my heart melts despite myself.
“Yes. You did, Sam.”
And suddenly, the enormity of what I’m about to ask her crashes down on me.
I have no right to drag her into this. Her soul is too pure to be pulled into my darkness.
“You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” she asks gently.
“I… I don’t know if this is a good idea anymore,” I admit.
She frowns.
“You brought me all the way here. The least you can do is explain, don’t you think?”
Put that way, I don’t really have a choice.
“The engagement thing… it was Kristel’s idea. A strategy for the IPO.”
I explain the rumors. The investors. The need for stability.
“So there’s no engagement anymore,” she says.
“No. But Kristel is threatening to talk.”
Sam freezes.
“She wouldn’t dare…”
“Look me in the eyes, Sam, and tell me she wouldn’t.”
A long silence stretches between us. She holds my gaze. I see the conflict inside her—the desire to give her sister the benefit of the doubt fighting against the truth.
She looks away.
“What do you want to do?” she asks, her voice uncertain.
I take a deep breath.
“I want to announce my engagement to someone else. Beat her to it.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“What?”
“I’m going to make it official. Photos. Press release. The whole thing. After that, anything she says loses credibility. But for that…”
I hesitate.
“I need you.”
She stares at me, confused at first. Then I see the exact moment she understands. Her eyes widen. Her lips part.
“No. Absolutely not. That’s completely twisted!”
“I know. But if I let her do this, I could lose everything. I need you, Sam. You’re the only person I trust.”
She doesn’t answer. Her gaze searches mine, trying to reach the core of who I am. My heart starts beating erratically. The waiting becomes unbearable. Every second stretches into eternity.
“How long?” she finally asks.
My heart jolts violently in my chest.
“A few months. Until the IPO stabilizes.”
“And concretely, what does that mean?”
“Public appearances. Photos. Gestures… and maybe…”
I hesitate.
“Kisses.”
A beat.
“Kisses?”
My throat tightens.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice rough.