Chapter 20
I didn’t pay attention to the route Enzo led me through.
We brushed past Elo?se and Bastian, who were wrapped in an uncomfortable silence.
I followed Enzo in silence, the sound of heels clicking on the ground echoing in my head.
We stopped by a door guarded by burly, suited men who stepped aside with a solemn air upon seeing us—well, seeing Enzo—, and stepped inside.
Enzo Woods was here in Bordeaux, not in London, as he had led me to believe.
Enzo Woods had seen me kiss Bastian.
“Chéri, what are you doing here? Has the party ended?” a woman around my mother’s age, dressed in white from head to toe, asked Enzo.
She had interrupted a conversation she was having with another man. I didn’t know who he was, but she…
She was the woman hanging on Laurent Dubois’s arm during the gala.
His current wife. The other man, holding a champagne flute, stayed a step behind her, keeping his distance from us.
It looked like we were in a meeting room.
I hadn’t known stadiums had places like this.
I realised that at some point, we had left Elo?se and Bastian behind.
It was just Enzo and me, that woman and that man.
“No, we just needed to catch some air,” Enzo replied.
The woman softened her expression. Wrinkles hung from her cheeks like two fabric sacks. She looked at us—well, looked at me in the most blatant way possible—and added, “We’ll leave you some privacy.” She nodded at the man. “Come on, Norman.”
“Thank you,” Enzo said.
She seemed to weigh something in her mind. Then, before leaving, she planted a kiss on his cheek.
“I’m going to find your father. Let me know if you need anything, alright, Laurent?”
Enzo gave a single nod in affirmation.
We were left alone.
The woman’s voice echoed in my ears. It could have been the extra sorbets, the whirlwind of the moment, the rush of blood to my head from the kiss, or the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on me, but the word spun in my head faster each time. Laurent, Laurent, Laurent, Laurent.
I swear I’m not that dumb. This weekend wasn’t my best, that’s all. Oh, come on. How did I not notice sooner that Enzo Woods is just a translation of “Laurent Dubois”?
Damn it, Vera. Damn. It.
Enzo Woods is Laurent Dubois. Not the Laurent Dubois who was married to Antonia, of course, but his son. The other Laurent Dubois on the list I found in André’s office. Their son.
How had I been so easily deceived?
“I want to know what’s going on,” I declared, trying to summon every ounce of courage I had. A brave act, considering how much restraint it took to keep myself from just slapping him across the face.
Enzo lounged against the back of a black sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still dressed in the same suit I’d seen him wear during our video call; his hair neatly combed over his forehead.
His eyes were slightly puffy, as though he had just woken from a nap moments ago rather than hours earlier when I had called.
“I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry.”
“Who are you?” was all I said.
Enzo tilted his head, hesitant.
“Laurent Dubois is my father.”
I let out a nearly guttural growl, like a dog at the sight of an intruder. It’s funny. There, in Bordeaux, at the elitist Dubois party, the only intruder was me.
“I had already guessed that.”
“Alright… So, why don’t we try another way?” he suggested, his voice maintaining its caution, though he relaxed his shoulders a bit. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to know?”
I circled Enzo. I sat on the sofa, feeling like I needed some kind of support. My legs threatened to give out at any moment, my head still spinning.
I couldn’t organise my thoughts. I took a deep breath.
“What does all this mean?”
“Vera,” he whispered, turning to face me. Or perhaps to make it harder for me to keep my composure. Oh, how well my fist would look against his cheek. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know?”
No, you idiot. And even though I felt fooled, I didn’t say that.
What I said was, “You took me to the Club Montari knowing the money came from your family.” I was starting to clarify my own thoughts. “I want to know why.”
Enzo squatted down in front of me.
“I’ve never used Laurent Dubois Jr. as my real name. I didn’t want anyone to link me to my family, okay? I wanted to make a living on my own. I wanted to…” he said, measuring his words, “win you over on my own. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth before.”
I raised my chin, ready to interrupt, but Enzo stopped me.
“Let me finish. I’ve been after you for a long time, and when I finally get a date with you, you show up with a mystery. A mystery that somehow involves the family I’ve been trying to separate my name from for years. I took you there because I wanted to know what was going on.”
I raised an eyebrow. Enzo’s gaze seemed sincere, searching mine and speaking directly to my heart.
Gina would have called it a sixth sense. Yes, my sixth sense told me Enzo was telling the truth.
“Did you find out anything?”
Without breaking eye contact, he shook his head. I tried to gather the facts. Enzo was trying to help me. Trying to solve the mystery. How had his family’s money ended up with me?
“You know,” he said, with a touch of bitterness, “the downside of distancing yourself from your family is that when you try to come back, no one trusts your motives.”
I found myself absentmindedly tracing the lines of Enzo’s palm with my fingertips.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Before making the whole scene of flying to Bordeaux. Before making a fool of myself in front of…
Oh, God. If Enzo was the son of Antonia and Laurent Dubois, the stepson of Timotheo Larousse, Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore was his sister.
He could have told me before I made a scene in front of his sister!
Of course, he wasn’t entirely to blame for that. And neither was I. When things go sideways, it’s always easier to pin the fault on Bastian.
“I didn’t know how. Besides… I didn’t know you were going to be here today,” Enzo shrugged. “I had no reason to hide that Laurent is my father, but…”
“You had no reason to tell me either,” I finished.
“That’s right.”
He smiled at me with those pearly teeth and full lips, and I felt like I could forgive him anything. It was a smile I knew well. I had been seeing it for months. That smile had accompanied me from afar in my eight o’clock classes, where I was late, in those nights out when I went home early.
That smile had the name Enzo, not Laurent Dubois.
My hands left his. I pursed my lips.
“And you didn’t know my boss is handling the case of your mother’s murder?”
Enzo shifted his weight, leaning forward on his toes. Squatting, his face was below mine. He rested his chin on his hand, thoughtful, looking up at me.
“Saidi… I heard something about the case, yes. From the news.”
“And not even that prompted you to come clean?” Sharpness clung to my every word.
“I told you I have no relationship with my family. Not even with mum. I found out she had died when a journalist tried to get in touch with me for an exclusive. Dubois never told me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He tilted his head, moving his neck from side to side. Tension built up in his shoulders.
“Why did you come to the party?” he asked, curiosity in his voice. “You didn’t mention anything last night.”
“I didn’t know I was coming.”
“What?”
I bit my lip.
“I wanted to talk to Laurent… your father,” I corrected. “Elo?se said something at the Club Montari that made me think Mr Dubois might know something about the money.”
Enzo’s eyes widened in surprise, and I felt compelled to add, “Ridiculous, I know.”
If his own son couldn’t figure anything out… What could I do?
“No, no…” he said, barely giving me time to finish the sentence.
“I’ll tell him to talk to you. Even if it’s just to put your mind at ease.
” Enzo stood up, offering me a hand to help me off the sofa.
“Let’s go, we have to say goodbye to the guests before they leave,” he said, avoiding looking me in the face.
I knew what he was thinking. The last thing the guests had seen was the two siblings separating two foreigners making out on the dance floor. It didn’t seem like a very elegant way to end the evening.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “About what happened earlier. When I…” Now he was looking at my face, and I didn’t look away. “I kissed Bastian. It was the last thing I intended to do.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Vera.”
Then why did I feel like I did?
What had it been… what? 30 hours since Friday morning?
Since I had gotten the money? A day and a half.
In a day and a half, my life had lost all structure.
I was supposed to be at home or having a drink with Gina, talking about my date with Enzo, trying to shake off my nerves about Monday’s trial.
But instead, I was in France. I had just messed up whatever had happened the night before between Enzo and me. I had made a fool of myself and…
And the trip had been for nothing. What the hell was I going to say to Enzo’s father, if even he hadn’t been able to find anything out?
I tasted bile in my throat. The greenish lights created a uniform blur of colour in my eyes.
Before I could stop myself, regain my composure, tears flooded my eyes.
Before I could realise how ridiculous the situation was, Enzo’s arms were tight around me.
All I could do was lean my forehead against his shoulder and cry.
I don’t remember how long I cried. Little by little, my body stopped trembling.
My shoulders felt heavy. Enzo had covered me with his coat, and I realised that it was cold.
Very cold, and I was only wearing a lovely, expensive, and pathetic little pink dress.
I hugged the coat around my body with my arms. Noticing the gesture, Enzo cupped my face in both hands, cradling my chin between his thumbs.
“Hey,” he spoke softly. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll find a solution.”
I opened my mouth to speak. A wet, salty tear slipped into my mouth. Enzo took the opportunity to wipe my cheeks with his fingertips, erasing the trace of water on my skin.
“I don’t want a solution,” I mumbled. “I want an answer.”
“Then we’ll find an answer.”
His tone was firm. A promise. An extension of the help he had given me so far. It hadn’t been fate, or Saidi, or Mars in retrograde. It had been Enzo who had guided me to this moment.
I was closer to the truth than I had been a day before.
I pressed my lips together.
“Thank you.”
And just as Enzo was about to respond, the door swung open, and the noise from the charity event—shrill voices, loud music—spilt into the room. Enzo let his hands fall from my face, adopting a relaxed pose at his sides.
His expression turned neutral.
“Dad,” he said, greeting the man who had just entered. Then he leaned down toward me, whispering in my ear, “Just go along with me.”
“Laurie,” the man had tired eyes. The nickname made me shudder. I had almost forgotten Enzo’s real name. Almost. “Say goodbye to the guests for me with your sister, please,” he said in French. “I’m exhausted.”
“Right away.” Enzo nodded. He placed a hand on my back, gently pushing me forward. “This is Vera,” he said in English.
Laurent Dubois blinked twice and extended his hand to me. I shook it without any strength.
“Did she come with you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The man scrutinised me from head to toe. It was a look that seemed to ask, What on earth is this tearful girl doing with my son?
Not the best way to start.
But almost immediately, Laurent Dubois’ face lit up with a radiant smile. I noticed the resemblance between him and his son in that expression; Enzo’s eyes crinkled in the same way.
“Well, Vera,” Laurent said, “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.”
I couldn’t tell if he was poking fun at my dishevelled appearance or if he genuinely meant it. Either way, I managed a smile, brushing it off.
“I loved the dinner,” I replied.
Laurent Dubois laughed.
“The fish wasn’t very popular… I’ve gotten into the habit of letting Elo?se choose these things. I don’t know why, since she never eats! Most people filled up during the match. A waste…”
“Vera came all the way here just to talk to you, Dad,” Enzo cut in.
“Oh, really? To see me, you say?” The man scrutinised his son’s face. “How do you know each other, if I may ask?”
“I study at Cutnam,” I said.
As if that explained the situation. Nice one, Vera.
“Colleagues, then?”
“You could say that,” Enzo muttered. “Vera won the Chance Program scholarship. She works at Saidi now.”
There it was. Recognition spread across Laurent Dubois’ features like fog settling over the night. Then, caution.
“I see.”
Enzo filled the awkward silence.
“How about I leave you two to talk?” He first addressed his father. “I’ll take care of the party.” Then he turned to me. “See you… later.”
And with that, he left me alone with Laurent Dubois.