Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(30)

He goes on, though I see a flicker of anger in his eyes, like something just starting to simmer on low heat. “Remember one day, you and I were building sandcastles, trying to outdo each other. A contest. You would go higher; I would build mine higher. Up and up they went, until yours started to collapse. Your structure at the base wasn’t sound. Mine was. I knew I had beaten you, so I called our mothers to come by and judge us. Do you remember what happened then?”

I shake my head, even though I do. It’s all coming back to me, though I’m not sure why Pascal is talking about it now, of all times.

“I’m sure you do. It’s fine. The truth is, I knew I won and mine was better. But your mother insisted that we both won. She gave you pity points—said you won for creativity, while I won for engineering. But then my mother had to give her verdict. She said that mine lacked vision and my father would be displeased. I don’t know why it bothered me, since she was always like that, but it did. I guess it bothered me even more that your mother tried to make me feel better afterward. She insisted that I did a great job, that I was talented. Like your mother knew what my mother lacked. Compassion, I suppose. And it was then that I realized: you’ll always think you’re better than me.”

I stare at him openly. This admission has caught me off guard. Pascal has always been surprising and slightly unhinged, but this is something else.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I’m not, and I curse myself for saying it.

His gaze turns wicked; his posture stiffens. “There’s nothing to apologize for, cousin. My whole point is that you come from a mother who loves and believes not only in her own children, but in others as well. You come from a line of the kind and selfless and good. And yet you’re anything but. You pretend and pretend and pretend to be the good son, the one meant for greater things. But it’s just pretending. It’s all a lie. And, perhaps, the world will come to know the lie. Know who you really are and what you really did. And what it will cost your family.”

He’s not threatening me, is he?

Then he grins and slaps me on the shoulder.

“I’ll let you get to your meeting. Just so you know, I might still be here when you get back. I’ll be in the suite across from the villa.”

The way he says “villa” tells me everything I need to know.

The villa where Sadie is.

I can hardly get air into my lungs, and yet I have to act like everything is normal. If I say anything at all, if I even react the way I want to react—protectively—that will tell Pascal everything he needs to know.

It will tell Pascal to go there while I’m gone.

Even if I get Marcel stationed outside of her door, I can’t quite trust what might happen.

It sounds like my imagination is getting the best of me.

Who cares if my cousin knows I’m screwing Sadie?

But the thing is, he wouldn’t care if she was just one of the run-of-the-mill models that I normally fuck for a night.

He would care if she were something more than that.

That was part of the deal.

That was the thing that I didn’t even think about.

I have to play this so fucking right, or else I’m going to lose everything.

And until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much that is.

“Okay,” I tell him. “Maybe I’ll see you then.”

Then I turn and walk off.

Out of the lobby and down the steps.

To my car waiting below.

The entire time, my heart is crawling up my throat with every single beat, but I’m keeping up the facade until I’ve pulled out of the hotel driveway and am headed toward the motorway.

I quickly call the direct line to the villa and hold my breath for the first few rings, even though I know Sadie couldn’t have gone anywhere.

“Bon . . . jour?” she answers, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Very good, you’re getting better all the time,” I tell her.

“Yeah right. So, uh, you just left. Checking on me already?”

I clear my throat, trying to figure out the best way to put this. “Call me paranoid, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Especially since the police haven’t caught the man who attacked you yet.”

A pause. “Gee, great, thanks for reminding me. Why did you leave again?”

“Duty calls,” I say. “Isn’t that what you say in America?”

“Mmm, in America we have a better saying. It goes, ‘Don’t leave a needy naked chick in your bed alone.’”

I laugh. “I like that saying. Pity you didn’t teach it to me earlier.”

“Oh no, this isn’t my fault.”

“Well, anyway. I’d feel better if you made sure that your doors are locked, the front and the deck. And don’t ever answer the door unless you look through the peephole first, even if you just called room service.”

Silence fills the air. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just care about my guests, and one in particular.”

“Do you normally get break-ins here?”

“Just be careful, that’s all. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, and I can hear her grunt, as if she’s getting out of bed. “You know, after what happened to me the other night, you don’t have to tell me twice. I guess all the sex distracted me from everything ugly and cruel out there in the world.”