Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(10)

The name does nothing to her. She doesn’t know me. I feel a well of relief inside.

“I have a right to be terribly suspicious after what just happened to me,” she says after a moment.

I sigh, my hands squeezing the steering wheel. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

“But I am choosing to trust you,” she adds quietly.

I glance at her. Her eyes are heavy lidded, her smile weak.

She’s passing out.

Luckily, the drive to Antibes is only thirty minutes, especially in this car and on a near-empty motorway. It’s not long before I’m pulling up to the H?tel du Cap-Eden-Roc. I park the car right in front of the doors and run around to her side.

“Mr. Dumont,” Felix, the valet, says to me as he trots down the stairs. He pauses once he sees me attempting to get a very drugged Sadie out of the car.

“Can I help?” he asks.

I get her arm around my shoulder, her head lolling from side to side like a rag doll. This isn’t going to work if she can’t walk.

“Just get the backpack and crutches,” I tell him. “I’m taking her to my room.”

As Felix does that, I stoop and pick Sadie up in my arms, climbing the stairs to the hotel with her. I stride through the lobby, glad that no one is about—not that anyone here would dare report on anything about the guests. Absolute discretion—along with luxury amenities and the sea—is the reason why so many celebrities and politicians stay here.

“Marie,” I say to the night receptionist as I pass by her, “do you have any of the villas available tonight?”

She stares at the passed-out girl in my arms for a moment before remembering her manners, shaking sense into herself. “Let me check.” As I wait for the lift, she does a quick search in the system. “Villa Eleana is free. That K-pop band left this morning.” She trails off, staring again, this time at Sadie’s bandaged foot. “Is she . . . okay?”

“She’s fine. Just a sprain, and the doctor gave her drugs,” I say quickly, not wanting her to pry any more.

“And the villa is for . . . ?”

“It’s for me,” I tell her as the lift doors open and I step in. “This is Sadie. She’ll be staying in my room.”

She makes an O motion with her mouth just as the doors close. It’s the first time Marie has seen me bring a girl to the hotel only to get her a separate room.

There’s a first time for everything.





CHAPTER THREE

SADIE

Pain invades my dreams.

Then light behind my lids.

In the moments before I open my eyes, I try to figure out where I am. There’s a bit of a delay to my thoughts, and for that I’m grateful. I know normally I would be panicking because— Wait.

Wait.

I should be panicking.

Flashes of last night come back like a hailstorm.

Walking to the train station.

The man following.

The wild look in his eyes as he attacked me.

The pain from my ankle, my shoulder striking the ground.

Then . . .

Olivier.

Swooping in to beat the shit out of that man.

Did that really happen?

Did he really . . . save me?

Who is Olivier, really?

Where am I?

I open my eyes and blink hard at the light streaming in through gauzy curtains. The light is soft, and there’s a breeze coming through the French doors. It smells mineral-fresh. The sea.

I slowly lift my head and see the Mediterranean glinting blue in the distance, the surface shimmering like diamonds. But closer still is a large terrace with lounge chairs and a giant, round hot tub built right into the teak floor. It almost looks like I’m on a ship.

I glance down at myself and, with some relief, see that I’m still in the same clothes as last night: bateau-necked tank top, linen pants—both shredded in places and looking worse for wear, but at least I’m clothed.

Not that I suspected Olivier would do anything. I know I really shouldn’t trust anyone at the moment, but at least until we part ways later today when I get the next train, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Besides, it seems like he’s put me up in a wildly expensive hotel. I gingerly turn my head and look around the room, which is about three times the size of the last dorm room I stayed in that housed six bunk beds.

I let out a whistle under my breath as I take it all in. From the four-poster king bed to the embroidered chairs and the chandeliers, it looks like I’ve been holing up in some luxurious seaside chateau.

Jeez Louise.

For a split second, it feels like getting attacked was the best thing that could have happened to me—until the slightest movement brings shooting pain back to my ankle.

Shit. Ow, ow, ow.

I roll up my pant leg and stare at the bandages. I don’t remember what the doctor said about them. Do I change them? Tighten them? How long do I stay off my foot? I don’t even remember using crutches.

And yet there they are, looking woefully out of place, resting against an antique white wardrobe across from the bed.

“Okay,” I say out loud, taking in a deep breath. “Think, Sadie. What did the doctor say?”

But I’ve got nothing. I’m just crippled and talking to myself and cursing myself for not understanding French. I should have asked more questions. Now Olivier is probably gone and I’m alone and— A knock at the door.