Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(47)

“Is what true?” he says.

“That invites are being sold on the black market.” The thought of it makes my stomach sink. I know that I added Sadie to the list myself, having sent it to the room at the H?tel Rouge Royale, and that it would have come straight from Seraphine’s assistant. But even then, I don’t want Blaise questioning her. I don’t want anyone questioning her.

“Oh, no, I made that up,” he says. “Gives Blaise something to do, makes him feel important.”

I should feel more relieved than I do. I guess the whole idea of Sadie showing up here is messing me up more than I thought. I just want her to be here with me, to see my family—even if from afar—to know this part of my life. Even if it’s a part I don’t always like.

At least, I used to like it more. But ever since meeting her, the whole life in the fast lane with the glitz and the glamor, it doesn’t have the same weight anymore, doesn’t have the same value. Now that she’s in my life, the real value is in her.

And she’s leaving you in a week, I remind myself. Back to her real life, and you’ll have to go back to yours.

I’ve been trying not to dwell on it, and it’s certainly helped that I’ve been so busy with work and with this party. But now that the night is here, the truth is starting to sink in.

The clock is ticking.

“Are you all right?” my father asks me as we pause by the willow tree, out of earshot of the party. We’ve been walking across the back lawn, which was carefully scoured for goose poop earlier, but that doesn’t stop me from watching every patch of grass in front of us.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I tell him.

He squints at me from beneath his mask. “I’m not sure about that,” he says. “I know you, my son. I know when there’s something on your mind, and your mind has been elsewhere this last week. I’m not sure it’s been anywhere good.”

I try to smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

“I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me.”

I raise my hands in innocence. “There are no secrets.”

“Women make terrible secrets,” he says in a low voice, and for one terrible moment I fear he might know. I fear he might be talking about Marine. About my betrayal and failure all those years ago.

But then I think he might be talking about Sadie, which isn’t good either.

“Look, Olivier,” he says after I haven’t said anything. I pretty much just incriminated myself. “All I’ve ever wanted for you is to be happy. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve wanted you to take over my position. But perhaps you wouldn’t be happy doing my job.”

I swallow, wishing I could just confess. Wishing I could tell him the truth about his own brother, wishing I could warn him.

But my father has always seen the best in people, and that includes family and that includes the wrong people. He’s seen the best in me when he has no idea what I’ve done. How I don’t deserve it. And he sees the best in his brother, my uncle, who has no good in him at all.

And yet I can’t tell him that. I can’t shake his belief in me like that, especially after so long. It might even be that my father has a good idea of just how rotten Gautier can be, and yet he stubbornly loves him anyway.

He’s good like that. Such a better man than I will ever be.

“I think Seraphine would be much better at your job,” I tell him, the same old thing I always say.

“You always say that,” he points out. “And Seraphine always says that too. But—and this might be the old traditionalist in me—but . . . you’re my son, Olivier. And from such a young age, you were always the one interested in taking over the brand. In continuing the name. You were always learning from me; you’d spend all your days in my office. Do you remember that? You wanted to be me so badly. It was touching, truly. And it was right. You were meant for this job, always were, and you knew it. And then one day, one day you just . . . poof. You went away for a few months, traveled the world, and you changed.”

“People always change when they travel,” I say under my breath, watching the breeze whip the willow branches around.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, hands behind his back as he paces around me. “No, that was not the case with you. You went traveling because you were running away from something. That much I know. When you came back, whatever you ran away from, it was still there. It’s still here, Olivier.” He presses his finger into my chest. “I can see it in your eyes. It’s always there, this ghost, this guilt. This fear. You live in fear, never getting close to anyone except your own family. Why is that?”

I have a hard time swallowing, wanting to look away. Even through the narrow slits of the mask, I can see my father’s honest and loving eyes, and, God, I just want to be a good son to him. I know how badly he wants me to take over, and he’ll never know why I can’t.

I hate having to live with the fact that I’m disappointing him.

That’s what’s in my eyes, along with the guilt and the fear.

Because of my mistakes, I’ll never truly be the man he needs me to be.

I’m a failure.

“Hey,” he says to me, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. “I am your father, and I love you. I will always accept you and always forgive you, no matter what you’ve done, no matter what you do. Your mother always used to say that you were the child with the most potential, not just for greatness in success but greatness of the heart. You have a good one. I wish one day you’d stop pretending you don’t. I wish you’d own your golden heart and wear it with pride. Do good, be good, be proud of who you are. I am. I am so proud of you.”