Chapter 19
That charity event was nothing like the one at Club Montari, but even though it wasn’t a party, I was having a great time.
The money had already been raised. The formal photos had been taken.
And the press had been dismissed. All it took was a few more speeches from Laurent Dubois and the benefactor who organised the event, a countless number of waiters serving champagne left and right, and a group of wealthy drunks locked away in a room, for the fun to start. The party practically threw itself.
And by “party,” I mean disaster.
Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore danced at the centre of the room, surrounded by a group of girls our age.
Antoine and Joseph kept insisting I join them, claiming Elo?se would love it if I did.
But I knew better. The real reason, judging by their tipsy grins, was that they just wanted to watch me dance.
And let’s be real: this dress wasn’t made for any brisk moves.
Alex, who had also noticed, led me to a corner away from the two men that, coincidentally, was closer to a group of girls who seemed to be “daughters of” and glanced left and right with bored eyes.
“Do you think any of them will dance with me?” he asked, a rosy blush spreading across his cheeks.
I was beginning to doubt that my companion was even old enough to be in high school, let alone talk to twenty-year-old girls. But I could use a laugh.
“Go for it, champ.”
Finally alone, I glanced around for any sign that Laurent Dubois was still around. The host had disappeared after the pictures, rushing outside with a woman. His new wife, I suppose. I feared the worst. What if they had left? What if I had missed my chance? What if…?
“What if you tell me what you’re really doing here, Vera?”
Bastian. His lips brushed my ear, his calm voice carrying an edge of aggression.
I turned around and looked him in the eyes. The thick-rimmed glasses didn’t hide his gaze. Dark, intense. Ready to put me in my place, to drag me down to the ground if necessary.
Luckily for me, I knew better than anyone what my place was.
I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the centre of the room, which had transformed into an impromptu dance floor. With a quick motion, I guided his hands to my hips and began dancing to the beat.
“To dance,” I said. “And, unless you want to look like a complete novice, you’d better keep up.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, I thought he might pull away and escape. But then his hands settled more firmly on my hips, and he leaned in, pressing his body against mine.
“I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself,” he replied, his smile widening.
I couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a sudden light-headedness.
“Good to hear,” I said.
He glanced over at Alex, who was surrounded by a group of laughing girls. Whether they were laughing at him or with him, he seemed to be enjoying himself, and my concerns were bigger than a 13-year-old’s reputation.
“What about your friend?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.
My hips swayed to the rhythm of the music. Bastian repositioned his arms and turned me around, pressing my back against his chest as he lifted me again.
“He has plenty of entertainment.” I turned my head so the people around us wouldn’t hear, stretching my neck up. “What about Elo?se, won’t she get jealous?”
“You know that’s not how this thing between us works.”
“Right. I’m not interested in the details.”
Bastian cleared his throat, hastily changing the subject. He redirected the conversation to his territory.
“So, what are you doing here? You were in Cutnam last night. I don’t believe the story that your pre-teen buddy had an extra ticket and you flew over just to keep him company.”
“Oh, really? And why is that?”
I spun around on my feet. I placed my hands on his chest, while his returned to rest on my lower back.
“Just look at his clothes,” Bastian said with a dismissive wave. “A guy like that wouldn’t be able to afford two tickets to a place like this.”
I took a step back, irritation bubbling up inside me.
“He won them in a raffle,” I shot back, my tone sharper than I intended.
Bastian’s jaw tightened. “And he chose to give one to you instead of selling it? I don’t buy it.”
“Fine,” I said, bristling. “Then tell me what you think it is.”
Before he could respond, the speakers emitted a harsh screech, making me flinch.
The music abruptly shifted from a lively beat to a slow, melancholic ballad.
The sudden change in atmosphere felt like a jolt, and this time, Bastian took the initiative.
He pressed me against him with a roughness that made me instinctively wrap my arms around his neck.
We were pressed together again, his mouth brushing my ear, my hands grazing the bare skin of his neck.
“I think… you’re the one who bought the tickets. I have no idea how or why.”
His eyes scanned my face as if reading the truth there. I was a blank page.
His words made my heart race, though I managed to maintain a relaxed expression. Did Bastian know something about the money? Did he know I had half a million pounds that belonged to Club Montari?
It was impossible. Bastian couldn’t be involved… He was just, like me, a born investigator. He knew something smelled fishy.
“If that’s what you think…” I said, challenging him. “Take a guess. Why did I come? Why did I buy the tickets?”
If Bastian had reached any important conclusion, I needed to know. If he had made the connection between finding me at Club Montari last night and in Bordeaux today, he should know I was tracking the Dubois family.
I raised my eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
Bastian moved even closer to me. I could feel his breath and heartbeat, his glasses almost bumping against my hair.
“Because of Julian Garros.”
“What?”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. I had Julian Garros’s trial in less than two days, and the case had been on my mind the entire time since it came into my hands… except in the last few hours. I had relegated my work almost completely to the background.
“Come on, Vera. Rumor has it the Dubois were clients of Garros.” He frowned. “You know that, right?”
No. No one had told me. But I couldn’t let Bastian know that.
“So that’s what you’re doing here? Is that why you’re with Elo?se?” I asked, balancing the scale in my favour.
Bastian gave me a half-smile.
“Now you get it. And I wouldn’t want you to tell André what you saw last night.”
Son of a bitch. I pushed him away, separating myself from him.
“You’re trying to steal the case from me!”
Now it was clear to me. André had trusted me, but if his dear nephew showed up on Monday with a stellar defence, no matter how much it had been me who helped him prepare for the trial… it would destroy all the trust I had fought to earn.
And maybe I deserved it. How could I have been so foolish as not to see what was right in front of me? The Dubois had had some kind of connection to Julian Garros, and I didn’t even know.
“It’s nothing personal.”
“Oh, come on. Eat my ass.”
Bastian made a face.
“If André had given you any other case, I wouldn’t have minded, but… the Counterfeiter! I don’t know if you realize how important that trial is for Saidi.”
Of course, I knew. I brushed my hair from my neck, tossing it over my back. Bastian put his hands in his pockets, watching my panic as if it were amusing.
I was about to give him something to laugh about.
“Does Elo?se know you’re using her to dig up dirt on her family?” I said.
His glasses gleamed with the reflection of the lights on the lenses, hiding his gaze. His forehead wrinkled.
“What…?”
I cut off his words by throwing myself into his arms. I kissed him in the dirtiest way I could: all teeth and saliva, and to my surprise, Bastian responded with even more aggression.
He bit my lower lip and let out a surprised groan at his own actions. My hands lifted his jaw, while his gripped my back tightly.
Then I took a step back.
My pink lipstick had marked him like a pig in a slaughterhouse.
“What…?” Bastian tried to articulate again. His expression was one of total confusion, and I admit I felt the same. Confused by how easily he had reciprocated the kiss. Confused at the way my chest pounded. But, at the same time, satisfied with what I had achieved with my little display of PDA.
Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore stormed toward us, as if Medusa had stepped off a Greek temple and into our reality. The intensity of her glare could have sliced through steel.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Bastian, his face smeared with traces of my makeup, clumsily tried to wipe it away with the heel of his hand. He turned to face her.
“This…”
My brief moment of satisfaction evaporated quickly.
Sure, I had enjoyed throwing Bastian off balance, but the consequences of my prank were beginning to sink in.
A crowd had gathered, and the eyes of the charity event’s guests were now firmly fixed on the three of us.
They watched Elo?se with the kind of pity reserved for someone of her rank, while I was scrutinized with a mix of disdain and morbid curiosity.
The contrast was striking, and it was clear whose social standing carried the most weight in that room.
They didn’t see us as any more than a trope.
The cool girl versus the dumb blonde. Versus the girl who loves pink.
Versus the woman who has nothing to offer but her appearance.
She’s the villain of the story. She’s everything people despise in a woman: excessive femininity, confidence in her own skin, and determination.
I knew that’s what the party guests were seeing. A big-breasted blonde in a tiny pink dress who had just put on a show. And I knew that’s what everyone expected from me. What else was this poor walking stereotype supposed to do but create tension around a man?
But I was much more than that.
I stood up, regaining my composure.
Fortunately, Laurent Dubois still hadn’t shown up anywhere. I didn’t think causing a scene would help me achieve my goal with him.
“Not here,” Elo?se interjected, her voice shifting to a sickly-sweet tone as she relaxed her stance and pulled Bastian’s elbow towards her. “Let’s save this for later.”
Despite the change in her demeanour, her eyes glimmered with something bordering on madness.
I wished Gina had been there with me. I know she’s into that kind of thing.
“Can someone let me finish…?”
“Shh!” she snapped. “Vera, I suggest you…”
Someone put a hand on my shoulder, startling me.
A firm, masculine hand. Oh, no, I’m screwed, I thought, believing it was the security guard.
It had been a nice experience while it lasted.
Then, seeing that the hand was slender, I thought of Alex.
Maybe my pre-teen friend was going to get me out of this mess.
The hand moved from my shoulder to my arm, gently stroking my skin.
“Is everything okay?” he said.
Except that voice wasn’t Alex’s. There wasn’t a trace of a French accent, and it sounded much more mature, rougher, more…
Like the voice that had accompanied me for most of the day.
My head spun like a gazelle in a lion’s jaws. Was I hallucinating? Having some bizarre, lemon sorbet-induced vision? This couldn’t be real.
“Vera?” he said, his smile faltering for a moment with concern. “Are you feeling alright?”
I was stunned. I couldn’t respond.
Enzo Woods didn’t lose his smile. Instead, he gave a nod to Elo?se and dragged me through the room toward the exit.