Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(49)

“What?” I ask her.

“Who was that?” she asks.

I groan. Why does everyone want to know Pascal? “That was my cousin. Pascal Dumont.”

“Oh,” she says, and I can tell she’s frowning underneath the mask. “I thought maybe I knew him from somewhere.”

“Well, you did say you had been stalking my family online. He’s definitely one of the so-called bad boys the press likes to cover.”

She gives me a sharp look. “So-called? Isn’t he the one your father and sister are always battling against?”

“Yes,” I say reluctantly. “He and my uncle. And the man who examined your ticket, that was my cousin Blaise.”

“The bad side of the family,” she muses softly.

Normally I would correct her, but I’ve pretty much been talking shit about them this whole time. And to be honest, it’s a little dicey with her not knowing the whole truth.

I want to tell her.

I just don’t know if I should do so here and now.

I’ve already been talking to her for too long.

“Can you make me a promise tonight?” I ask her, searching her eyes.

She nods and stares at me in such a way that I know she’ll keep any promise to me.

“Can you stay away from them? They aren’t good people, and I don’t trust them around you.”

“But they don’t know who I am,” she says. “Right?” Her words come out harsh, fearful.

“They don’t,” I assure her. “I just want to keep it that way. I’ve already been talking to you for too long as it is, and I need to get back to my father and the guests. Just promise me that you’ll stay away, and if for some reason they talk to you, give them nothing, and if you have to give them something, make it a lie. Okay? Make it a lie.”

“What’s going on, Olivier?” Her voice is quiet, almost trembling.

“I’ll explain later. That’s my promise to you. D’accord?”

She nods. “D’accord,” she whispers.

It takes everything in me to not kiss her on the cheek. “Enjoy the party, mon lapin. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Then I turn.

And I leave her.

The angel in the room of armor.

I wish I could encase her in all of it.





CHAPTER TWELVE

SADIE

I’ve never been to a masquerade ball before.

Or any ball, actually.

I went to my homecoming and my prom, but that doesn’t really count.

This is the type of ball you read about in historical novels and watch in sexy movies. It always looks so opulent and cool and fun.

And, well, it’s certainly the first two.

I mean, this is held in an actual legit castle.

And seeing all the costumes and everyone mingling with their masks on and the waiters coming around with drinks and tasty little weird things on silver trays, it’s definitely cool.

But fun? Well. This isn’t so much.

It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I don’t know anyone here except for Olivier, and he has to pretend to not know me. When I first accepted the chance to come here, I knew that was going to be part of the deal. That I would have to pretend to not know him, that I would remain an anonymous person. I thought I wouldn’t mind.

But I do. It sucks. I can’t help but watch his every move; my eyes are drawn to his movements like a moth to a flame. I watch as he talks to every guest, always charming, always smiling, always laughing as if the person he’s talking to said something hilarious, and I’m quite certain they didn’t.

He’s mine. That’s all I can think. He’s mine and no one else’s, and yet I’m kept in the shadows, a girl behind a mask, wishing she could remove it, wishing she could remove his. Wishing we could just be together. No secrets, no shame.

But he has secrets, if not shame.

And they all come down to his cousins and uncle.

I know that’s the cause.

I know that’s why he doesn’t want to be seen with me.

I’ve seen his father; he’s even come and said hello to me. It was brief but very kind. I’ve seen his sister too. Absolutely the most fucking gorgeous woman I’ve ever encountered. I was nearly drooling on myself. They both seem like the good people I’ve been told about. They exude it.

And then there’s Blaise and Pascal and Gautier.

Gautier has to be the worst of them.

He’s younger than his brother and yet somehow looks older. Thankfully, I haven’t made eye contact with him, even when I felt him staring at me for a really long time. But from the glimpses I’ve seen of his eyes when looking around the room or talking to other people, they seem to glow with malice. I’m not even exaggerating. There’s a coolness to him, a confidence that doesn’t come from knowing who you are, but rather from knowing that you’ll do anything to stay at the top. He’s a snake on two legs, and even if Olivier hadn’t warned me to stay away from him, I would have naturally.

Oh, and here’s another reason why masquerade balls aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

They’re creepy as fuck.

I’m going downstairs to head to the back terrace to get some fresh air since it’s still so damn hot inside, when I literally run into some man with a mask that has three sets of eyes.