Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(15)

But I don’t want to come on stronger than I already have. After she agreed to stay, I decided to let her have some time alone while I took care of some business.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t my usual business. It was a text from my sister, Seraphine, wondering if I wanted to meet for a drink in Paris tonight. I’m fairly close with her and see her at least once a week when I’m in town, but I know tonight she would be talking about business. Our father’s business. With Paris Fashion Week around the corner and the fall releases coming up, she does everything she can to try to rope me into that side of things.

I wasn’t lying when I told Sadie that I wasn’t interested in that part of the Dumont brand. I’m quite happy being a hotelier, rather than worrying about the changes that happen with the label several times a year. It’s cutthroat, stressful, and far too complicated when you combine everyone in my family who has their fingers in the pie.

I also know that I would be good at it. I would be very good at it. I know that my father wishes for nothing more than for me to follow in his footsteps, and I’ve spent the last ten years trying to distance myself in every single way possible. Not because I necessarily want to—because I have to.

What puts me in even more of a tough spot is that I know Seraphine needs me on her side. It’s always been her and my father versus Pascal, Blaise, and Gautier. It’s been more unbalanced than it should be, and I only have myself to blame.

But my sister and father don’t know the truth. They don’t know what I did; they don’t know what I signed. They don’t know that the end is coming near, and I’ll have to give up my shares of the company to Gautier, or the world will know of my indiscretion. They only know the lie, and I’ve got to do everything in my power to keep that lie alive.

It’s almost noon when I return to the villa to check on Sadie. Naturally, I’m not empty-handed—I’ve got two cold bottles of Dumont champagne nestled in a gilded ice bucket. Even though neither of us has had lunch yet, I think we both deserve a little something to ease into the day.

I knock on her door and call her name softly, and when she doesn’t answer, I use my key card to unlock it. I have to admit, I do feel like I’m overstepping my boundaries a little by doing this.

“Sadie,” I call out, slowly opening the door. I peer inside and see her bed neatly made, the trays of food stacked beside the door. I should have reminded her that she could call Marcel at any time, and he would have dealt with it.

One of the doors to the deck is open, and I can see Sadie outside, sitting on one of the lounge chairs. She’s wearing a plain black tank top and denim shorts, her hair pulled back into a messy bun as she leans over and fidgets with the bandages around her ankle.

“Good afternoon,” I say to her, and she jumps a little at the sound of my voice, her eyes landing on me. She smiles when she meets my gaze, and her demeanor grows more impressed when she sees the champagne.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she says sheepishly.

I cross the deck and pull up the lounge chair beside her, placing the bucket on the small teak table between us.

“I guess I’m used to sneaking around,” I tell her.

“I bet you are,” she comments, but despite the knowing tone of her voice, there’s no malice in her eyes.

“I’m the youngest,” I explain. “While my father was always occupied with my brother or sister, I was the one climbing out of my window. Sometimes I’d go right through the front door. No one would notice.”

“Oh, see, I would have thought that maybe you would have had to sneak your women around,” she says.

I cock my brow. “Women?”

The corner of her lips twist into a smile, making something in her eyes dance mischievously. It’s a look I want to see more of. “I may have spent the last few hours Googling the hell out of you.”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Mon Dieu.” There’s no telling what information she’s managed to unearth in that time. I hardly know what’s being said about me. Even with my public persona of being a serial dater, I still manage to keep things about my personal life fairly discreet. If I’m photographed with a different girl every week—or every night—that doesn’t matter much to me. I know people will never know just how I feel about any of them. The only thing I really talk about with the press is my hotels. I don’t comment on the Dumont line at all, leaving all that to my sister and father.

But the more private I am, the more the press tends to run wild with rumors. They have to print something, after all, and if any of my cousins happen to have a slow news day, the media often turns on me.

“Well, rest assured, I don’t believe everything that people say,” Sadie says. “Especially when it contradicts what I’ve seen so far.”

“It comes with the territory,” I admit and then gesture to the champagne. “I guess me bringing you some champagne is no surprise.”

“Oh, believe me, everything is still a giant surprise,” she says, looking around with big eyes. “I’ve wanted to pinch myself a few times to find out if I’m dreaming or not. Luckily, my ankle has taken on that role quite well.”

I glance down at it. “Does it hurt? Did you take off the bandage?”

She shakes her head. “I attempted to, and then I worried I wouldn’t know how to wrap it up perfectly.”