Chapter 10
“Brooke? Are you all right?”
I blink away the past to find Lyam staring at me with concern.
“Fine,” I say, pulling myself back to the here and now.
Ric’s hand still rests on my waist, and I fight the urge to reach back and twist a finger. Sudden fury is not like me, and violence is not in my nature, but a wildfire of rage heats up my chest.
Holding myself together, I rein in the emotion. I clench my teeth and reorder my features into a pleasant mask. A handy skill. I am an actress after all, and this isn’t the first social event I’ve faked my way through.
“Ready?” This time I take the initiative, looping my arms through both Lyam’s and Ric’s, one brother on each side. “Such gallantry,” I add with a smile, trying to keep the peace between us all.
Warmth from Ric’s skin radiates through his shirt. Touching him turns my stomach and sours my mouth, but I don’t let my revulsion show.
There’s a point when people-pleasing crosses a line, to a place where you’re giving away a part of yourself. But I haven’t crossed it with Ric. Not yet. And I can’t risk upsetting anyone in the family.
I need to stay in Maison Marteau until I’ve submitted my audition. Time spent relocating would be time taken away from preparation.
So I’ll handle Ric and his groping hands. I’ll navigate this evening with all the grace I possess, cloaked in manners and shielded by lies.
Not so different from Hollywood and its sordid games. Games my mother taught me to play, for my own protection.
The brothers guide me down another hallway, Ric stiff and silent on my left, while Lyam sends me the occasional grin and points out interesting aspects of the mansion.
The dining room boasts as much elegance as the rest of the home, with enough glitz and glamor to host royal guests. And it probably has. A crystal chandelier glistens above the table, and the chair Ric pulls out for me is an intricate marriage of gold and velvet.
As I sit, he touches me again under the guise of chivalry, trailing his fingers down my back. He moves low enough to make me flinch.
I instantly regret my reaction. He’s toying with me, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. I recognize the performance for what it is, an assertion of dominance. Ric’s the kind of man who feels entitled—to wealth, deference, pleasure, women.
And now I understand Noah’s warning.
Dora sits regally at the head of the table, catching Ric’s eye for a split second. Just a flash, but the message is clear. Ric huffs through his nose and glowers as he takes a seat across from me.
Luci sits in the chair next to mine, and I relax with warm relief. At least I won’t have to worry about Ric’s stray hands under the table.
Soon the butler begins the dinner service. He and the uniformed woman who took my wine pour drinks and bring the first course, mushroom bisque in a delicate bowl. Once the female servant leaves, the butler takes up position near the door.
Spoon poised over her bowl, Dora fixes me with a look. “Brooke, I hope you’re finding your way around the city and the apartment suits your needs.”
Caught off-guard, I quick-swallow the soup. “I am, and the apartment is perfect.”
“Noah lives in the other one,” Luci says before adding in a dreamy voice, “our handsome American cousin.”
Across from her, Lyam rolls his eyes.
“My brother’s grandson.” Dora presses her lips together, but the ghost of a frown remains.
Lyam glances at his grandmother before steering the small talk in another direction. “I saw you with some people outside the gate yesterday. I hope they didn’t bother you, but with the park trails so close, we tend to get a lot of tourists.”
I swallow and clear my throat. “They were taking pictures of your home, actually, and had tickets to see part of the catacombs.”
Chantal scoffs. “Naturally. Americans and their love for the macabre.” She sips her wine and makes a face, silently giving her opinion of my gift.
“You’re right,” I tell her, getting a look of surprise in response, as if she’d expected me to ignore her sly insult. “They called themselves dark tourists.”
At this, Luci laughs, the sound high-pitched and strangled at the same time. “Of course they were. And of course they had Maison Marteau on their list. We’re mentioned on a lot of those websites.”
I glance around the table, and no one seems surprised their home and history are internet fodder.
“Memento mori,” Vincent mutters from the other end of the table. Somewhere along the way, his tumbler has been refilled, and he tosses back half of the brown liquor.
Dora angles her head to him. She wears a smile sharp enough to slice, but her tone is carefree as she offers a vague explanation.
“What Luci and my son are referring to is an unfortunate accident from years ago. Sadly, when you combine a building like Maison Marteau and any hint of mystery, well, you know how people are. And it always fuels the fire if it involves families in our position.”
“Rich families.” Luci turns to me, wiggling her blonde brows. “Especially those who live in Maison de la Morte.”
With my wine glass halfway to my mouth, I pause and do a quick translation. Did she just call this place the house of the dead?
Dora shakes her head at Luci but doesn’t scold. She apparently has a soft spot for her granddaughter, letting her get away with more than her male cousins.
Lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug, Luci sits back in her chair as the servants remove the soup bowls and bring the main course. “Anytime someone dies in our arrondissement, the rumors start up again.”
Chantal glares at Luci before transferring her baleful expression to me, as if I’m somehow to blame for her chatty niece.
“That must be difficult,” I say, “having a family tragedy turned into gossip and entertainment.”
“Oh, it wasn’t family.” Luci shifts toward me. “It was a little girl.”
Chantal slams her hand on the table and speaks angrily to Luci in French.
“Maman.” Lyam puts a hand on his mother’s arm to calm her.
Tension crackles around the table. Even Ric wiggles in his seat.
I’m not sure what to say, so I play it safe and stay silent. This is not what I read about online, not a marriage gone wrong and a husband turned murderer.
Luci’s talking about the death of a child. But why would that stir up rumors about the family?
Dora sighs. “Such a terrible accident.” She nods slowly, shadows of sadness on her face. “A young girl who lived in the neighborhood. Missing for weeks.”
“How awful.” I grip my utensils but keep my attention on the people at the table.
“They eventually found her in the catacombs.” Lyam delivers the news in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes, in the catacombs.” Ric huffs. “She wasn’t found here.”
I can’t tell if he’s bored by the topic. Or agitated.
The morose conversation weighs heavy in the air, and I’m grateful when Luci asks if I’ve tried the family chocolate yet. I tell her I haven’t had the chance, and she promises to bring me some tomorrow.
The topic of chocolate turns to chit-chat about the history of the company and seventeenth-century Paris. The lighter subject matter carries us through the rest of the meal, but an air of tension remains.
When dessert is finished, Vincent stands abruptly and leaves. Dora ignores his rude behavior as she rolls back from the table. “Care for a nightcap, Brooke?”
“Thank you, but I should probably go. Jetlag isn’t quite done with me yet.” The others stand, so I follow suit, speaking directly to Dora. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Dora glances to her granddaughter. “Luci, please, see our guest out.”
Luci nods and meets me in the doorway. Only Ric and Lyam walk with us to the foyer, Chantal disappearing without saying a word.
Luci opens the front doors to a damp wind and the sound of pouring rain. “Uh-oh.”
Ric grabs my hand and tugs. “I’ll take care of you, Brooke. We’ll go through the house, so you won’t get wet.” He licks his lips and rubs his thumb in the center of my palm.
My skin tightens, and I feel dirty all over.
Thankfully, Lyam intercedes. Frowning at his brother, he points to the courtyard. “The covered walk will keep you dry for the most part. And you can take this with you.” He opens the door to a huge wardrobe and retrieves a black umbrella.
Pulling free of Ric, I accept the umbrella, resisting the urge to wipe my palm on my thigh.
Suddenly stone-faced, Luci gives me air kisses on both cheeks again. “Good night.”
She puts an arm around my shoulders and guides me out the door. I say my last goodbyes and leave.
Rain batters the cobblestones, drops splattering the legs of my pantsuit. But the cool breeze cleanses the last ickiness of Ric.
Careful in my heels, I hurry to the covered walk, my mind already on my laptop and my next internet search. The uncomfortable dinner and Ric’s handsy behavior have already taken a backseat to Luci’s announcement.
If the missing girl was found in the catacombs, why did Dora instantly link her to the dark tourists’ interest in Maison Marteau? And why is the mansion called the house of death?
At the end of the walkway, I lift the umbrella again and make another short dash around the corner of the building. With the umbrella up and my head down, I don’t notice the visitor at my door until the last minute.
Stopping short, I stare at my unexpected guest. “What are you doing here?”