Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(17)

She has no idea. “You’re right. They are more progressive,” I admit. “My father has always believed in running everything Dumont the same way that our grandfather did. He sees only harm in changing things to fit with the times.”

She stares at me inquisitively, which makes me want to drink. I quickly finish my glass. “And what do you believe?” she asks. “Do you agree with your father?”

I nod. “I do. I adapt in my own way when it comes to my side of the business. My hotels will always have an old-world feel about them in terms of service and location, the things people think of when they think of a place like this. But obviously I adapt, like all hotels do. The online marketing world to individuals is everything. Using Instagram, social media. If I didn’t adapt and utilize them, I couldn’t sustain the momentum.”

“And your father? He doesn’t even have an online store.”

“Well, the products are online. He just doesn’t let you buy them that way. You have to go into a store.”

“You don’t think that’s inconvenient?”

I’ve heard this argument so many times, and I know every way it can pan out. “It may be inconvenient, but it keeps the brand from becoming cheap and fast fashion.”

She bursts out laughing. “Cheap? I looked at your handbags. They’re five thousand dollars.”

“So is Chanel, and you don’t see anyone balking at the price.”

“Oh, I’m balking at that too. It’s ridiculous. My whole trip here cost half that much.”

She’s got a point. For once I’m at a loss for words.

“Look,” she says after a moment. “I don’t mean to, you know, insult you or your father. I’m sure it’s all worth it. It’s just a totally different world, and it’s one I doubt I’ll ever understand. Our worlds couldn’t be further apart.”

“And yet here we are. You and me. Sitting on the deck of my villa at the H?tel du Cap-Eden-Roc, drinking champagne. It looks like our worlds have collided very well.”

“It’s temporary,” she says. “And it’s only because of your generosity.”

“I guess I should be flattered you didn’t call it charity, for once.”

“I’m trying to mind my manners,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m doing a good job.”

I reach out and put my hand on her knee, feeling her warm skin beneath my palm, conscious of how close we’re still sitting with each other, her legs up on my thighs, exuding a familiarity that probably shouldn’t exist yet. “You’re doing a good job. You’re being honest. We all need honest people in our lives, otherwise we’re going to keep on making the same mistakes. And whether you think the bags are overpriced or not—even with the labor and materials that go into them—we could definitely be more progressive. But I also see great value in holding on to the past. It keeps us accountable. Sure, maybe my uncle would be happier if we could go online and start cutting corners to turn a greater profit, but I admire my father for sticking to his guns.”

And now I think I’ve said too much. I can’t remember the last time I really opened up about my family or the business, even for a minute. My family is so complex and layered as it is, it’s like opening a can of worms, and that’s a lid that needs to be permanently sealed.

I clear my throat. “But I don’t want to bore you with my business. How about we talk about lunch instead?”

“Honestly, it’s not boring at all,” she says, just as her stomach erupts into a loud growl.

I laugh, finding it particularly cute how embarrassed she seems by it. “I think your stomach would beg to differ.”

“I thought I ate too much at breakfast, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Well, having an appetite is a good sign. Would you like to go into Cannes for dinner? Antibes? We could also eat at the restaurant here or order room service.”

“Aren’t I supposed to stay off my feet?”

“I can assure you, you won’t be walking anywhere. We could even have lunch on the boat.”

“Of course you have a boat,” she says dryly, but she’s smiling. And the more she’s smiling, the more I find myself wanting to keep that smile going, no matter what it takes. Don’t get me wrong, I always show a woman a good time, something to be remembered, but I can’t recall the last time I even had the urge to pull out all the stops like this. The funny thing is, it takes almost nothing to impress Sadie.

Actually, that’s the wrong way of looking at it. It’s not that she’s easy to impress, more that the things that impress her come from a different, more sincere kind of place.

Once again, a challenge.

But as much as Sadie is a challenge to me, when it comes to lunch, she doesn’t put up that much of a fight. She thinks she’s terribly underdressed for being seen in public, but even though she’s wrong, I can tell the idea makes her uncomfortable. So we decide to order in room service for lunch, and I have the chef craft her something off the menu, anything her heart desires.

Her heart’s desire is a simple American hamburger, which she scarfs down in a second. Sure, it was made with Wagyu beef, but I don’t need to tell her that. We follow with more champagne, this time mixed with cassis liqueur to make Kir Royales, and soon we are stuffed and tipsy and feeling pretty good.