29. CHAPTER 26
Léonie
Days after we returned to Paris, everything went back to normal, or so I thought.
I found out quickly that normal was nothing more than a delusion I’d set for myself.
Before, normal meant pretending my husband was a distant, practical stranger. A man I merely shared a roof and a last name with.
Now, I was aware of him. Constantly.
I’d suddenly become aware of how he always seemed to find a reason to be in my proximity. I noticed the way his gaze would find me from across a room and linger for a second too long.
Then there was the intimate shift in the air every time we passed each other in the corridor. Brief, heavy glances that carried far too much of that night at the ranch house, and everything that had followed it.
Over the next few weeks, our families decided it was time to formally introduce us to the world as a couple. My father agreed it was perfect timing since the alliance had taken full effect, and Lady Kade simply wanted another excuse to parade me through society gatherings for visibility.
I was nervous. I knew that being formally recognized as Mrs. Kade meant more than just a title.
The Kades weren't merely wealthy; they were a spectacle.
Orion was a fixture on magazine covers and in financial journals, and Lady Kade moved through Paris with the gravity of a queen.
If something happened within their walls, the world knew.
They were like the royal family, but with less ceremony and more calculated power.
Official meant press. It meant us being seen together—in front of cameras.
Being seen outside, shaking hands, and performing a level of intimacy I wasn't ready for.
Even as the heiress of an influential family, I'd always preferred to go unnoticed.
Occasional photos were fine, but this was different.
This was an invitation for the world to pry into my life and dissect my business, all to answer one question: Who is the new Mrs. Kade?
I wasn't ready, but voicing it felt selfish. And even if the dates were pushed back, I still wouldn't be prepared. So, I embraced it with a sense of inward dread.
There were charity events, private dinners, and society functions where we were expected to be seen.
Orion performed the part perfectly. His hand was always steady at the small of my back when we entered a room. He would press a kiss to my cheek that looked effortless for the cameras, his fingers linked with mine as he guided me through clusters of people.
We never stayed long.
I learned very quickly that he hated those events almost as much as I did. We would arrive, perform the bare minimum—three polite conversations, a few rounds of photos, give strategic smiles—and then slip out through a side entrance before the evening really started.
Once, we had to duck through a service corridor to avoid a pack of photographers outside the main doors. He’d signaled his security to hold back—just go—and the two of us slipped away before they could catch up.
I was half-running in three inch heels, laughing under my breath, and he was right beside me, his hand closed around mine.
When we finally emerged into the cool night air, he looked at me, breathless and amused, and actually smiled.
Not the usual polite smile I knew or the calculated one he gave the crowd or the press.
A real one. It lit his face in a way that made him look younger.
Less like the dangerous, ruthless heir everyone whispered about and more like a man who knew how to enjoy something as simple as escaping a room full of people.
I hated how much I liked that smile.
Hated the warmth I felt in my heart every time I pulled it out of him.
No matter how I felt about us, I still followed through on the vow I’d made at the start of this charade: I’d play the part of the perfect teammate.
He was making an effort, in his own way. The least I could do was try to meet him somewhere in the middle, reminding myself that this only worked if we functioned as a unit. Husband. Wife. A united front.
I was holding my breath, hoping silently that the other player would keep playing fair.
As I watched him navigate the room, I couldn't help but feel that Orion Kade didn't know how to play fair. He only played to win.
He constantly put up an us against the world front, pulling me across the finish line with him.
He didn't just want me to be Mrs. Kade; he wanted me to be the most formidable woman in Paris. Every time he stepped back to let me take the lead in a conversation, his hand stayed hovering just inches from my back, offering a safety net I hadn’t asked for but was starting to rely on anyway.
Before we even stepped out of the car, he'd angle himself toward me, his voice a velvety, cool rumble.
“The woman in emerald is Julianne Leclair. She’s looking for an excuse to pull her funding from one of your father’s rivals. Mention the London gallery opening we discussed last night.” He winked, wicked and pleased with himself. “She’ll be yours in five minutes.”
The conversation had barely lasted a minute during one of Orion’s late-night briefings.
I’d made a passing comment about the London gallery opening after hearing his assistant mention investor tensions linking the gallery to one of the events we were slated to attend.
Orion, apparently, remembered everything. As always.
It didn’t take long to understand what he was doing. He wasn’t just giving me information, he was handing me a weapon and waiting to see how I’d use it.
And when I succeeded, the pride in his eyes was terrifyingly intense, as though we'd won something.
There were times when I got bored and decided to pick up a thing or two out of habit.
Like the night I watched Orion charm the Prime Minister, his smile perfect and utterly hollow.
While he played the part of the powerful heir, I reached out and slipped the heavy, gold-monogrammed fountain pen from the table into my evening clutch.
“Léa?” Orion’s voice was a low murmur in my ear.
I froze, my heart racing. “Yes?”
“You're holding your purse like it contains a live grenade.”
I feigned a smile. “Just making sure I don't lose my lipstick, Orion. Carry on.”
I watched him work the room, his attention seemingly locked on the Prime Minister, yet I could feel the weight of his awareness tethered to me.
He didn't look back, but he adjusted his stance, his large frame subtly blocking the line of sight from the security detail near the doors.
He thought he was shielding a nervous wife from the crowd; he had no idea he was providing the perfect tactical cover for a fountain pen thief.
Orion was a masterclass in calculated charm, and I had played my part so well I’d almost forgotten I was supposed to be pretending.
Once we escaped the rest of the night and reached the closed doors of our wing, he immediately dropped the calm, controlled act he’d worn all night.
He didn't head for his office, or pour himself a drink.
He just stood in the foyer, shedding his tuxedo jacket and tossing it onto the velvet settee.
The night had visibly drained him. He began unbuttoning his cuffs, his movements jerky, his eyes locked on me as I stood by the foot of the stairs, still pinned under the weight of my gown and the night's success.
“You were perfect tonight,” he said, his voice carrying more weight than usual, echoing off the walls. He sounded hollowed out, as though being Monsieur Kade tonight had taken more from him than usual.
He took a step toward me, his tie hanging loose around his neck. “Watching you handle the minister, seeing you stay composed even when you were clearly overwhelmed… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”
I could still remember the minister’s questions and the pressure of the conversation, but none of it unsettled me as much as the look in Orion’s eyes now. His words lit up my veins and sent adrenaline racing through my pulse. I schooled my features as though I felt nothing.
I bit my lip, feeling the thrill of the pen and the rush of his praise mingle inside me. He probably thought I was fragile, that he had to protect me as we performed our way through our world.
What he didn’t realise was that I’d already found my own ways to survive it—sketching rude caricatures on tissue paper during dull events or pocketing shiny little things when no one was looking, for my own amusement. And to be honest, because on one expected me to.
“I was a team player,” I countered, the defiance failing to reach my voice. “Just like I promised.”
He crossed the distance between us in three predatory strides. He didn't stop until he was deep in my personal space, the scent of expensive gin and the clean musk of his skin surrounding me.
“You were more than that,” he murmured, reaching out to trace the line where my hair met my neck. His skin was hot, a stark contrast to mine. “You didn't just play the game. You owned it. Do you have any idea how it felt to watch you navigate the room?”
My breath hitched. This wasn't the strategist talking. This was the man from our weekend getaway at the ranch house.
“I did it for the alliance, Orion. For our families.”
“You’re such a bad liar.” He stepped closer, his chest brushing mine, forcing me to tilt my head back. “You did it because you liked the power."
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
“Admit you liked doing it for me.” He lowered his head, his mouth hovering an inch from mine, his breathing as uneven as my own.
“We did this together…we owned that room, we won—" His hand found my waist, the touch sending a tremor through my veins. "—didn’t we?"
"So tell me… what do winners get?”
What do winners get? My heart pushed against my ribs, hard. He was too close. The heat coming off him was palpable, making it hard to remember the walls I’d spent all day—all week—reinforcing.
He wanted me to melt. He wanted the team player to surrender the victory to the captain.