Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(48)

Fuck. Now that lump in my throat is growing wider. I have no words except “Thank you.” The words come out garbled and hushed, but I can only hope he knows how much it means to me. He has faith in someone he shouldn’t, but it’s his faith all the same. And I’ll hold on to it as tight as I can, for as long as I can, even if I don’t believe it.

He leans in and embraces me in a tight hug, patting me on the back.

“Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman,” he says to me.

I pull back and laugh. “She? I told you—there’s no one.”

He smiles at me. “Oh, Olivier.” Then he turns and heads back to the party, with me following.

Of course, now I’m extra paranoid that something is going to go wrong tonight. If my father has deduced that I’ve fallen for someone, what about everyone else? I know my father and even Seraphine wouldn’t really care all that much—they’d just be happy for me—but it’s the others that I have to worry about. And I know that when my uncle makes a threat, it’s a threat that sticks for life. It’s never forgotten about. It’s never wiped away.

We go back inside, and the party slowly starts to fill with more and more guests. The costumes this time seem even more elaborate. The actual dress code for the party is just to wear a mask, but because this is in a castle, a lot of people have gone full-on Renaissance, medieval, and every other time period. I’ve seen a few ladies already who could pass for Marie Antoinette.

It isn’t until another hour has passed and I’m starting to get worried that I see Sadie coming over the drawbridge. I’m looking out the upstairs window, the sun having already gone down, and there she is, lit up like an angel.

I didn’t tell her what to wear. I’d only given her the mask, but she’d played up the feathers by wearing a simple white summer dress and a pair of flat sandals, her hair spread across her shoulders in shimmering waves.

I hold my breath as she gets to Blaise and hands him the invitation. He scrutinizes it like he’s been doing to all of them, looking her over and then holding it up to the light. But then after a moment, he lets her pass, not giving her a second glance.

At least that went smoothly. Because she had to take the train from Paris, which, thankfully, is only two hours, and then get in the hired car from Bordeaux to the estate, there’s a lot that could have gone wrong. I texted her once or twice but can’t be sure if she got them or not. Her phone’s service has been rather weak—maybe because her phone itself is a relic.

For a split second I tell myself I should buy her a brand-new one, but then I realize how silly that is. It’s not like she’s staying here forever.

I try to push my heavy heart to the side and stride through the crowd of partygoers. I grab a glass of champagne from one of the waiter’s trays and head down the stairs, hoping to grab her without anyone noticing.

I see her in the corner of the armor room, peering into the caged mouth of one of the helmets. My eyes do a quick sweep, and I wonder if there’s anyone who would take notice of me. Blaise is still outside, though he’ll probably come in soon since most guests are here. I haven’t seen Pascal yet—I haven’t seen him all week, in fact—but that doesn’t mean he won’t show up. I last saw my father talking to Seraphine upstairs, and I caught a glimpse of Gautier, but he pretended not to see me and vice versa.

I take my chances.

I approach her, holding out the glass of champagne. “Madame,” I say, and her eyes widen underneath her mask. “Allow me to welcome you to the masked ball. Champagne?”

“Is it the Dumont label?” she says stiffly, raising her nose. “Because that’s the only brand I drink. The only brand I wear.”

“Oh, is that so,” I say, enjoying our acting. I lean in and reach behind her, pulling the back of her dress away from her skin, glancing at the tag. “Is that why this is from H&M?”

“Mmm,” she says, stepping away, eyes darting, catching my paranoia. “I know better than to flaunt my wealth.”

I’m getting hard just looking at her. “You know, you do this role-playing so well,” I murmur, taking a step toward her until she’s against the wall.

“Careful,” she says, placing her glass between us. “We don’t know each other. We’ve never met.”

“That’s true. You arrived here all right?”

She clears her throat, looking sheepish. “I may have missed the first train, but yes.”

“Fashionably late. Good thing the crowd here feels the same way.”

She smiles at me, and then her eyes go over my shoulder to the front door, where Pascal steps in. My heart thuds in my ears like a drum. We’re enough in the shadows that we’re mostly out of sight, and he doesn’t even glance this way, only toward the back doors, where two giggling girls in mounds of tulle and lace come out clutching their petticoats.

I watch him carefully, holding my breath. Pascal loses interest in the girls, even though they certainly know who he is. His mask might disguise his eyes—even his nose, in this case, since his is elaborately Venetian—but they recognize his chin. He gives them just a smug smile and heads up the staircase with them trailing behind, like ducks picking up bread crumbs.

I exhale slowly and glance at Sadie. She is also watching Pascal and has the most puzzled look on her face.