Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
A handful of tense seconds pass before anyone moves.
Then, like the crack of a whip, Graham’s expression turns from shock to rapture. He spreads his arms wide and advances until he’s wrapped her in a tight hug that’s mechanically reciprocated.
Something unpleasant and sharp needles in my skull. I slap myself internally and pull my shoulders back.
My name is Poppy Ashcroft.
My name is Poppy Ashcroft.
The woman pushes Graham’s chest and props a hand on her hip with evident displeasure.
“You cannot distract me like that.” Her dark eyes sweep to me, trailing from my boots, to the new leather pants and sweater Nathalie convinced me to wear out of the store.
I’m suddenly grateful she did. “Did I hear correctly? You’re married?
” she questions, raising an eyebrow at him.
He swallows. “Yes, that’s correct.” By my side now, he grabs my left hand in between both of his. “This is Poppy.”
I realize neither of us are wearing rings. Because we’re not supposed to be married.
Of course, I was right from the start. This assignment is unraveling into chaos.
“Please, mon coeur, meet my beloved older sister—Manon.”
There’s a slight nervous waver in his voice that I wonder if she catches. Pulling a smile on, I extend my free hand and try to make up for Graham’s thinly veiled panic. “My name is Poppy Ashcroft. It’s a pleasure to finally meet,” I say. “He’s told me so much about you.”
We shake hands, and I’m struck by the strangeness of meeting the woman I’d only recently impersonated. That doesn’t happen too often.
She adjusts the elegant, heavily gilded cane at her side and studies us both for a moment.
A cane, I think. I can’t believe the agency didn’t know she walks with a cane.
“So that is where he ran off to,” Manon finally says. Her Parisian accent has faded, as if she spent a lot of time abroad in her youth. “He disappears for nearly an entire year, and resurfaces with a wife.” Her voice is shockingly devoid of any discernable emotion.
I’m unsure if she’s elated or annoyed or entirely indifferent.
“It was a whirlwind romance,” I offer, testing the waters.
“And it is no longer a romance?”
Manon’s gaze finally shows a spark of teasing. But it’s sharp, precise—like the talons of a hawk while it’s swooping in for the kill. I let out a small laugh and lean into Graham, attempting to signal that he needs to save us.
He clears his throat. “Couldn’t be further from the truth.” Tugging my left arm, he pulls it around his back and nestles me into his side, interlocking our fingers. He smells heady. Like cedarwood and leather. “We are still firmly situated in the honeymoon period.”
“Many félicitations.”
The conversation comes to a grinding halt. A silence stretches between us and I struggle with another improvisation.
“How long will you be in Paris?” Manon asks right when I open my mouth.
Graham’s expression doesn’t shift a fraction. “It’s indefinite at the moment. We have business to attend to.”
“Where are you staying?”
“La Réserve.”
She nods. “I assume you were the one that ordered the fumigation at the estate?”
“It’s an old house,” he replies easily. “Where are you staying?”
“Klaus and I share a home in Villa Montmorency now.”
Graham begins to stiffen beside me. Manon tips her chin in challenge, and I sense a hundred unsaid grievances thicken the air between them.
“Then why were you at the estate?”
Her gaze narrows nearly imperceptibly. “If you recall, brother, it was left to me as well.”
“Yes, but not everything inside it.”
“You disappeared. I feared you may be dead,” Manon snaps in icy French, “I thought it might coax you to resurface if you were not—and I was correct.” Her lips curl into a triumphant grin.
Graham’s doing an admirable job of not appearing upset, but I can tell the frustration is beginning to simmer. The tips of his ears have turned a shade of pink, sharp puffs of breath are shooting from his nose, and, most notably, he’s squeezing my hand like he’s trying to keep himself focused.
“What did you do?” he replies in English, voice taut.
Manon’s hand flicks lazily. “I simply made you a rather large patron of the Grand Palais.”
That did it.
His jaw tightens, and I swear I can hear his teeth grinding together. Whatever she donated to the renowned exhibition hall, it must’ve been something valuable—sentimental, maybe. Possibly the thing he snuck out of the hotel to find.
Although I have to admit my curiosity is thoroughly piqued, it’s sweltering in here and I could use some fresh air. Family reunions aren’t high on my list of priorities at this juncture. Or ever.
I clear my throat and draw on a smile. “It was such a pleasure to meet you, Manon, truly. Unfortunately we have an appointment to keep, and we’re already running quite late.”
“Yes,” Graham seamlessly picks up where I left off. “We can’t keep Alban waiting too long.”
Manon frowns and rattles off, “You can’t avoid me forever, little brother,” in French. I glance between them with a convincingly oblivious look on my face. When he doesn’t reply, she turns to me with a grin. “Poppy, was it? You both must come to tea before you leave France, oui?”
Of course Poppy Ashcroft, Graham’s new bride, would be thrilled by the prospect. Which is exactly how I respond.
“That sounds incredible, thank you!”
Her eyes narrow for a split second before she seems to accept my reaction. “I will send a formal invitation to La Réserve.”
Graham and I walk in a stunned quiet, hands still clasped together, all the way from the threshold of the boutique to the sidewalk outside.
The crisp breeze whistling through the trees quickly knocks me to my senses.
When we dip into a small alley, I wrench his hand from mine and press him against the wall with a forearm to his chest. He doesn’t even flinch.
“And they say the honeymoon period won’t last,” he muses.
“Shut up!” I hiss. “Actually no, keep talking—I’d love a good reason to punch you in the throat right now.”
Graham makes a zipping closed motion with his lips.
Hyper aware of the pedestrians passing by in clear view, I push off him. “This whole assignment was already doomed,” I say, spinning away from him and coming back with a steely glare. “And now we’re… we’re… married?”
He grimaces. “The situation got away from me.”
“Understatement of the century,” I reply, “Why even say that to Nathalie in the first place? What was the point? It doesn’t help this mission at all.” Then, letting out a long breath, I slump against the opposite wall.
“Not everything is about the mission,” Graham quips.
“It is when we are currently on one.” I shoot him a glare across the alley. “At least we’ll only have to keep the charade up around your sister.”
Graham begins to rub the back of his neck. “Of course, only…”
“What now?”
“The man Manon married?—”
“Klaus.”
He blinks. “Yes, Klaus—he’s a… well-connected man. And by that I mean, you cannot simply be my partner anymore.”
“There’s an obvious solution,” I reply, feeling as if the bones have been sucked from my body as I sink further onto the wall. “You just tell your sister the truth, and we avoid this entire mess.”
“I can’t.”
“And why not? Do you like being fake-married to me?”
Graham waves a hand at me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Agent.”
I watch him stare off into the distance for a long moment, the darkening shadows and golden hues of the afternoon cutting sharp angles on his profile. “It’s because it’ll make Klaus suspicious, won’t it?” I say. “Admitting that we… you lied.”
“What you need to understand is—” He takes a step forward, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
Nowhere to run. “—my disappearing act already made everyone I know quite suspicious. Even my sister noticed I was gone.” Graham lowers his voice as his eyes dip to mine.
“All of my former contacts, the people I’ve hired—they’re on high alert.
In my field of work, if someone vanishes for ten months, it’s because they’re dead. ”
I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling as if we might be rapidly approaching a familiarity I’m uncomfortable with accepting. “And you pop up in Paris with a partner…”
“And I don’t work with partners.”
“You could’ve told Raffaele all of this.”
He gives me a sad smile. “I did.”
My skin goes cold as a gust of wind whistles into the alley.
His gaze flicks out to the street for a second, darting back to mine with a darker shade of brown.
Throat bobbing, he braces his hand beside my head and lowers his lips to my ear.
I don’t react fast enough. My senses are muddled, too preoccupied by the implications of what he said.
Raffaele knew, my brain screams.
He knew we’d be raising suspicions, cover story or not. And he… didn’t care? Shot me in the leg before the assignment even began?
It’s more than likely that Raffaele chose to trust his own intel, rather than the word of a convicted criminal.
Similar to formulating the perfect lie, simple can be the best explanation—digging any further into this is verging on paranoia.
I’m alive and well-fed because of Raffaele.
So what if it’s not the life he promised when I was fourteen?
Complaining won’t change anything. I’ve got to… pivot. Except that’s not exactly common in my line of work.
“Don’t look now,” Graham whispers, “Manon’s driver has parked right outside.”
The cogs in my brain quickly begin moving again. I nod and pretend to pick some fuzz from his shoulder. “I take it we can expect similar company for the foreseeable future?”
“Oui.” He trails a finger down my jaw, which feels unnecessary, but that’s beside the point. Selling this—selling our marriage—is the new objective. He starts to hum something under his breath, his eyes studying every inch of my face. “What do you think about that, my dear Lady wife?” he asks.
I heave a sigh that I hope comes off as more of a love-struck shudder. “I think you need to buy me a ring.”
Graham laughs, no doubt for the sake of our audience.
“And make it huge,” I add.