Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(52)

Not good at all.

I can’t even breathe.

This can’t be happening. His father was doing fine earlier, at least he looked like he was.

Now Gautier is in the picture, barking at people and pointing. Seraphine comes running through the crowd, crying. It’s a mess, and I do my best to stay out of the way to let people help. Someone in the crowd seems to be a doctor and is doing CPR. It doesn’t look good; it doesn’t sound good.

Then sirens fill the air, and a fire truck shows up, followed shortly by paramedics, who take Ludovic away on a stretcher. Then the police, who order everyone to go.

I have to go too. We all do. I want to stay with Olivier, but he doesn’t even look for me. He doesn’t need to. His father is the only thing on his mind right now, and when Olivier rips off his mask and throws it to the ground, his eyes are wet and red with tears, and I know that his father is probably dead.

I break for him. I want to be there for him. I want to shoulder his grief and his burdens and be his shoulder to cry on.

But he has his sister, who is sobbing into his shoulder, beautiful even when she’s crying. And they follow the paramedics out, as do the rest of us, gathered at the front of the castle on this hot summer night, the air filled with cicadas and the sweet smells of the vineyards.

I don’t even know where to go. Everyone here seems to know each other, and they’re all staying at nearby hotels and wineries and Airbnbs. All I know is that I was supposed to stay with Olivier when all this was over, in one of the castle’s many bedrooms.

That won’t be happening.

For the first time in a while, I feel absolutely lost and unmoored, and I know that my feelings matter so little right now.

But that hurts too. Knowing they matter so little.

That I matter so little right now.

I’m alone, anonymous, a hidden girl, about to be abandoned in the countryside. I don’t know the language, and I don’t have much money to my name, and I’ve been depending on Olivier for everything so far, and I’ve only been kept in the dark.

And now his father is gone.

Now his world has completely turned over.

I have no idea where it will place me.

I sigh and try to recover some resilience. I do have my clutch purse with train tickets and a credit card, and I have my phone. I won’t bother Olivier, and for now I can at least figure something out.

I’m trying to Google what the local taxis are, since the car that took me here from the Bordeaux train station certainly won’t be arranged for me now, when I feel a presence beside me.

I glance up to see Pascal, mask off, smoking a cigarette. The fact that I’m just so brazenly staring at his face is momentarily jarring, like I’m seeing something I’m not supposed to see.

But just like he was with the mask, his expression now is unreadable.

“I’m sorry about your uncle,” I say softly, trying to find the words. I might think Pascal is a total creep, but I’m not heartless. “He was . . . that was horrible.”

Pascal nods slowly, taking a deliberate drag of his cigarette. “It was.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Pascal looks around him, the moonlight bouncing off his dark eyes. Then he shrugs. “Je ne sais pas.” He glances at me. “Where are you going?”

I can’t tell him the truth. “I was going to find a way back into town. To Bordeaux. Stay at a hotel.”

“You don’t have a ride,” he says.

I wave my phone at him. “My phone isn’t pulling up the driver I had earlier.”

He frowns. “You can have a ride with me.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Please. That’s okay.”

I’d rather walk.

He gives me a terse smile. “I meant a ride from me. I’ll call you one of my drivers. I’m staying here tonight.” He pauses. “Unless you want to stay here too? Don’t worry . . . I’m not hitting on you. You would know it if I were.”

I swear to God, sometimes he sounds so much like Olivier it’s uncanny. And yet the two of them couldn’t be further apart.

I remember his uncle, and I resist the urge to say something witty. “I would really appreciate it if you could call your driver for me.”

He nods and blows out smoke away from my face, and as he turns, he faces the lights from the castle, and I see his eyes. They aren’t dark at all, but the palest, iciest blue. He texts something on his phone and then puts it back in his pocket. “He’s just at the end of the driveway. He’ll be here in a minute. Black Mercedes.”

Then Pascal turns and slowly walks off back toward the castle, and it’s this view of his back again, the way he moves, that makes me think it really was him I saw on the street the other day.

He’d been following me.

Why?

How did he know about me or who I was?

Why is it his business who Olivier is with?

I can’t let him know that I know, but I can’t be complacent either.

“Wait,” I call out after him. “How do I know this driver isn’t going to murder me and dump my body on the side of the road somewhere?”

But the moment I say it, I realize it’s not exactly the best thing to say after we all pretty much witnessed someone dying.

He doesn’t even glance at me, just waves his hand, his cigarette making light trails. “There are a bunch of people heading to Bordeaux over there. I’m sure a few of them wouldn’t mind getting a ride with you.”