Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
My heart aches.
I’ve only met Avril once, when she came to Corsica to visit her sons. They never take her to Le Luxe and she likes to pretend it doesn’t exist, but she sometimes comes on holiday. Even though I worked for Thayer, I was friends with his sister-in-law Nicolette first and I’ve known Nicolette’s husband Fabien for years.
Avril was at once kind and welcoming. Once, Avril, Nicolette, and I went for a visit to one of Corsica’s many natural springs. She asked about college, our plans, and listened with rapt attention to everything we said. She brought a wicker basket of little sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, ripe fruit, and chilled wine. It was a simple meal, but with her welcoming presence and ready smile, it felt like a feast meant for royalty.
I wonder what it’s like for her being alone. If I survive this—and I have no reason to believe I will—I wonder if I’ll be as graceful being alone as she is. Is it lonely? Or does she like having full autonomy over her life?
I wish I could talk to Avril now.
Nicolette spoke highly of her before I met her, and when I did, I wished I could spend more time with her.
My mother battled demons her whole life. She was coarse and abrasive and rarely showed kindness. But she was the only family I ever had, and she loved me in her own way.
I still miss her.
I blink in surprise when Avril turns to face Lyam’s house before she gets into her car. She’s strength and grace personified.
I watch as she kisses her fingertips and waves her hand toward the house.
Or is it… toward me?
Does she know, then?
Was that on purpose?
I pretend to catch the kiss in the air and place it onto my damp cheek.
I hate that I’m crying.
I hate the position I’m in.
I hate that I felt as if I had no choice.
The only warning I get is a series of clicks and sliding bolts that tell me he’s coming in. Ice pulses through my veins.
I stand with my back to him, still gazing down at the pathway. Pretending that my whole body doesn’t go rigid and my heart begin to pound when I feel him enter the room. I still don’t turn to look at him.
“Tears won’t sway me, you know.”
I close my eyes and steel myself to face him. To face whatever it is that comes next.
I wasn’t trying to gain his sympathy. I wasn’t even thinking about him.
But do I ever really stop thinking about Lyam?
“Look at me.”
I flinch at the sound of his voice. So cold. So harsh.
This isn’t a hill to die on. We’ll get there.
So I draw a deep breath and turn to face him.
Lyam stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. The dim lighting makes it harder to see his eyes, but I know every crease and contour of his face. The harsh slash of his brow drawn over brooding eyes. The aristocratic turn of his nose, and his sensual mouth. He’s beautiful and cruel, like an angry god. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, handsome, and fucking pissed off.
Behind him, I hear the vague chatter of staff, footsteps, and the barely audible, faint sound of glasses clinking. I doubt he’s invited anyone to the house, so it makes me wonder how many members of staff he has here.
“Nicolette thought it smart to tell my mother you were here.”
Oh, did she? I’m surprised by this. My betrayal of their family put Nicolette’s sister in danger.
“Why?”
“I have no idea. Misplaced sympathy? Mercy?”
I don’t reply. I don’t know what to say to something like that anyway. If he thinks he needs to emphasize how little sympathy he has for me, he’s woefully mistaken.
“Nothing to say?”
“Did you ask me a question?”
I watch as he strokes his chin thoughtfully, as if contemplating how he wants to begin to torture me.
“I did. I asked you lots of questions on the way here and you didn’t want to answer them.” Shrugging, he begins to push up his sleeves. He wears a long-sleeved navy tee that fits him well, molded to his muscular body. Back at Le Luxe, I’d have gotten excited to see him roll up his sleeves. It was almost foreplay. Now, it’s a different story.
When both sleeves are rolled up, he anchors his hands on his hips. I swallow hard. God, why does he have to be the absolute picture of masculine perfection? “Let’s see if you want to tell me the truth now.”
My pulse quickens when he steps into the room and slams the door behind him. The series of locks click. Ominous silence fills the room.
I know what Lyam is capable of. He’s told me as much, and I’ve heard stories. Way back when I was first hired to work for the Gerard family, before we’d even moved to Le Luxe, a few of us—Nicolette, Gwen, and I—worked at La Maison, essentially a high-end brothel. Gwen told me the first day I met Fabien Gerard, head of this family and owner of La Maison, that I should tread carefully.