24. CHAPTER 22 #2
“Good evening, Monsieur Kade,” she said, stepping back as I shrugged out of my jacket.
“Evening.” I handed her the jacket, loosening my cufflinks. “Where’s my wife?”
She smiled widely, then hesitated. “Madame is with Lady Kade, sir. In Lady Kade’s salon.”
My mother never summons anyone without an agenda. What did she want today?
I walked the length of the hall, passing the dark silhouette of my mother’s garden before crossing into her wing. Voices floated out before I reached the doorway—my mother’s, smooth and demanding; Léonie’s, lighter and lower suggesting she was holding herself back from saying anything offensive.
My mother had a way of making her point heard, while trying to drown everyone else’s voice.
“—and it’s this Saturday,” my mother was saying. “Lady Pierre’s tea is not optional, ma chérie. You must be seen. You can’t dominate by hiding. The wives of this circle respect presence and consistency. It is time they see you as Madame Kade.”
Through the open French doors, I could see them reflected in the glass.
My mother sat with the posture of a queen, her wrists relaxed over the arms of her chair. The picture of perfect control. Léonie sat opposite her with her thumb and index finger rubbing the fabric of her dress.
Her long-suffering stance.
She was wearing a sundress today. No beige, or camel, or any of the obedient neutrals she always wore.
The dress had a variety of colors—blue, orange, pink, running through the fabric, accentuating her figure without crossing into anything my mother would consider scandalous.
The thin straps bared her shoulders, exposing the elegant line of her collarbone.
Her hair loose, falling in waves over her brown skin.
She looked so beautiful… and tense.
Her entire body was rigid and her mouth fixed in a polite smile that was painful to watch. Her eyes told a different story.
“I just thought-” I heard her say, “that since we haven’t made an official announcement yet—”
“All the more reason,” my mother cut in gently. “Soft launches are best, dear. The right people will be there. They will see you, and we expect them to talk. By the time any press hear, you will already be established.”
My mother was already planning to feed the rumours to her advantage, to push an official announcement sooner.
On second thought, maybe that was what we needed. The original plan had been to wait until the alliance stabilised. As it stood, we were already on track.
The urge to show off my wife in public, to make it clear she was mine hit me hard—far harder than I'd ever admit. I wasn’t proud of how much I wanted that.
A public move might nudge her closer to me, and I could use every inch she was willing to give.
I watched the movement of Léonie’s throat as she swallowed.
She always hated these events.
I stepped into the room before my mother could say anything else.
“Mother,” I announced.
Esmé ’s head snapped up. Her face melted. “Rion.” She inclined her head toward me, and I kissed her cheek.
I turned to Léonie.
She looked startled to see me, vaguely cornered, like a bird who had flown into the wrong room and realised too late the windows didn’t open.
“Léa,” I bent to brush a kiss on her cheek. She went very still.
It was the first time I’d come close to touching her in the past 3 months.
It was also the first time I’d used a nickname aloud.
It had come to me weeks ago, while I watched her pacing the library on a feed, all restless energy and I thought to walk in and calm her down.
The first words that itched to leave my mouth was “You okay, Léa?”
And I’ve wanted to use it since then. Thankfully today presented the perfect opportunity.
Her fingers twisted a little more at the hem of her dress.
“Orion,” she said, that false smile still on her face. Only the faintest flare of her nostrils betrayed anything.
My mother watched us with predatory satisfaction. Showing affection meant that things were going well in the bedroom. My mother’s maths.
“We were just speaking of Saturday,” she said. “I have invited Léonie to Lady Pierre’s tea. It is time she begins to take her place among the wives of the other families. There will be questions, of course, about the delay in your public appearance, but—”
“Did you tell my mother we already have plans this weekend, Léa?” I looked down at my wife. “Or did you forget as usual?”
Her eyes cut to mine. The glare she gave me would have passed unnoticed by Esmé, but I could practically hear her thoughts.
Her expression signaled what plans?
Her eyes said I’m going to kill you once we leave here.
There were obviously no plans. Not that she knew of. At least not yet.
A smile almost incredulous touched her lips, then she leaned closer on the settee and placed her hand on my thigh. The touch so lazy and casual that heat sipped in through the fabric of my trousers.
“Yes, I remember now,” she said sweetly, never breaking eye contact with me. “I’m sorry, babe. I completely forgot.”
Babe.
My mother’s eyes widened in surprise, then delight.
Mine narrowed.
I hadn’t expected her to play along. I certainly hadn’t expected her to improvise with that much ease, or to touch me like that. And the way she looked at me with that defiant little smile that made me want to devour her—for fuck’s sake.
My pulse spiked, sudden and irritating. I smiled like nothing had happened.
“What plans?” Esmé asked, frowning. “Your schedules can be adjusted. Everyone makes room for Lady Pierre.”
Yes. Everyone in high society knew you couldn’t say no to events organized by either Lady Pierre or my mother.
They were the ultimate arenas of status, places where reputations were made or executed.
I found the formalities tedious; I have no interest in proving my standing to people I already owned. Neither does my wife.
I refuse to subject Léonie to a room full of womb-watchers and social vultures, all circling and waiting to devour the newcomer. They’d pick at her history and dissect what she wasn’t saying in a bid to look for a weakness to exploit. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
“It’s the first time we’ll be doing something together since the wedding,” I said smoothly, keeping my gaze on my mother. “Just the two of us. I planned it weeks ago. I’m not inclined to move it now. Perhaps next time, Mother.”
Her lips thinned. The look she gave me was one I’d been receiving since childhood. It appeared whenever she disapproved of one of my decisions.
“This is important, Orion,” she insisted.
“So is my wife,” I replied. “And I prefer she understands that my word to her isn’t flexible.”
That seemed to hit exactly where I wanted it to.
Esmé exhaled, then composed herself. “Very well. I will send your apologies to Lady Pierre. But next time—”
“Next time,” I agreed. Even though there would be no next time.
I squeezed Léonie’s knee then stood. “On that note, I’ll steal my wife, if you don’t mind.”
I didn’t wait for permission. I took Léonie’s hand and led her out, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers as we left my mother’s salon and stepped back into the cooler corridor of our own wing.
Once the door shut behind us, she yanked her hand from mine. As expected.
“I didn’t need you to save me from your mother,” she asserted, turning on me the second we were alone. “I was doing fine on my own.”
Always fighting, no matter what I did.
“You were drowning,” I replied, loosening my tie. “I thought as a good husband, I’d step in.”
She scoffed. “I could have found a way out without you swooping in to play hero.”
I was tired. My shoulder ached from tennis and the meetings I'd returned to afterward. The day had dragged on for hours. Anyone else would have been dismissed with a nod and a closed door. But I rarely got this much of her at once.
These moments—these pieces of her temper flaring to life—perversely, were the most direct conversations I got out of her. I wasn't inclined to cut this short.
Also, there was something about her defiance that did things to me it absolutely shouldn’t.
“You played along,” I said, letting my voice drop a notch as I stepped toward her.
She instinctively stepped back, her spine nearly brushing the wall.
“You called me babe.” My mouth titled.
“I had no choice,” she shot back. “You manipulated me.”
“No,” I murmured, taking one more step into her space. “You played the good wife for the perfect audience. And you were very convincing, Léa.”
Her eyes ignited, the bright outer ring of her irises hitting the light like a warning. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice dropping lower “You don’t like it?”