Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(44)

At least, I hope that’s what he wants, because that’s what I’m wearing right now as I stride as confidently as possible toward the elevators. I feel like everyone can tell I’m practically naked underneath and am going up to have a wild tryst with someone.

But if they can tell, they certainly don’t care. That’s the French for you—they’re pretty good at minding their own business, especially when it comes to sex, and I have no doubt that this hotel, with its use of red satin curtains and velvet sofas and black marble floors, is a total fuckfest location.

The thought of that sends a thrill through me as I step inside the tiny elevator and ride it to the fifth floor. The old Sadie thought blow jobs were the ultimate in dirty sex. The new Sadie thinks nothing of wearing lingerie under a trench coat to meet her secret French lover for a forbidden tryst.

Okay, I don’t think nothing of it.

Actually, I’m kind of nervous.

As intimate as we have been every night, this is still all so new to me, and Olivier is always full of surprises. It speaks volumes about how I’ve changed that I’m willing to go along with whatever he has planned.

When I get to the fifth floor, I walk slowly down the velvet-lined hallways, marveling at how lucky I am to be here, that the man I’m meeting for hot sex is the same man who owns this hotel. The same man who picked out my lingerie.

The same man who put me in these horrible shoes.

Ouch. Even though they’re kitten heels, and I’m sure he thought he was being sensible not putting me in high heels, thinking about my ankle and all, the truth is Christian Louboutins may look pretty, but they hurt like hell.

No pain, no gain, I remind myself as I step to the door of his hotel room and take a deep breath before I knock.

A few seconds go by before the door opens.

I gasp.

For one, the hotel room is huge, with big glass windows and candles lit up absolutely everywhere.

For two, Olivier is holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and a rose in the other.

For three, he’s wearing a suit.

And a mask.

Like a theatrical mask you’d find in Venice.

“Wow,” I say. Even with the mask covering his eyes, he is disarmingly beautiful. “Are you auditioning for Phantom of the Opera?”

He grins at me. “Why, yes. Do you think I’ll get the part?”

“I think you’ll get every part you go for,” I tell him as I step inside and look around. “Do you own any shitty hotels, or are they all fit for kings and queens?”

He laughs and hands me the rose. “This is for you.”

“Thank you,” I tell him and bring the flower to my nose. For some reason I don’t expect it to smell, but it does. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled a rose like this.”

“That’s because most roses are bred to be long lasting, in order to be shipped around the world like they are. It comes at the cost of scent. But these roses are from my mother’s garden.”

“Your mother’s?” I ask him as he opens the bottle of champagne.

“My mother used to grow them. She was obsessed with her garden, and her roses especially.” He pauses before he pops the cork. “Now it’s kept up by the gardener. I’m sure if my mother were still here, she’d complain about what a disarray they’re in, but I think they look and smell just as good as they did before.”

He gives me a quick smile before he pours the champagne into the flutes, but even with the mask I can see the hint of sadness in his eyes. “Must be nice, in a way, to have her legacy keep growing on like that, even after she’s gone.”

He nods, chewing on his lip for a moment before he brings the glass over. “Memories aren’t erased easily, no matter what people say. Here.” He raises his glass to me. “Here’s to making new memories.”

I clink my glass against his and keep eye contact as I take a sip. I’m not about to risk seven years of bad sex, or whatever the superstition is. I have too much at stake right now.

“So, about the mask,” I say. “Not that I’m judging, I mean, I’m wearing pretty much nothing underneath this, so you know I’m game for whatever.”

He slips it off, and I see his wonderful face again. “I was trying it on when I answered the door. I have one for you too. And, no, I didn’t get them for tonight, unless you want to try it out.”

He disappears around the corner into the bedroom and comes out holding a white-and-gold mask with plumes of pastel feathers coming off the eyes.

“This is for you,” he says.

I take it and stroke the feathers admiringly. “This is beautiful.”

“I was hoping you’d wear it this weekend, at the ball.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Ball? He really does think he’s the Phantom.

“I told you. The Dumont Masquerade Ball that happens this time every year.”

“Well, to be fair, I’ve been hearing a lot of Dumont this and Dumont that—it’s hard to keep up. And anyway, if I did hear you mention a party, I would have assumed I wasn’t invited. Because of the whole you-being-ashamed-to-be-seen-with-me thing.”

I expect him to roll his eyes, but instead he grips my face in his hands, his eyes intensely searching my face. “I am not ashamed to be seen with you. I just . . . this is a very complicated matter. You have to understand. But, please, I wish I could show you off to the world. I wish everyone could see you, see how happy you make me.”