Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(59)

I shake my head, smiling just a little. “No, I’m not. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m staying, Olivier. In Paris. With you. Even if you think it’s too much and too soon, I can stay at a hostel for a while, maybe get work under the table. I mean, I think I’d have to.”

“No,” he says, flinching as if I’d slapped him.

Not exactly the reaction I’d hoped to get.

I swallow my burning pride and try to make him understand. “I don’t want to leave you. Not now. And really, not ever. I can defer my studies to next year, it’s not a big deal.”

His eyes pinch shut, and now my cheeks are flaming with embarrassment.

“I know you’re going through a lot, and I don’t want to add to your problems,” I say quickly. “I just want to stay with you.”

He leans back in his seat, eyes focused on the ceiling. They’re so wild and raw, and yet I can’t read any of the millions of emotions that are rushing through them.

Eventually the words croak out, “You can’t be here.”

“Is it because of the whole Schengen visa? Because I can figure something out.” But I know he’s not talking about overstaying the visa.

“Please, you have to trust me on this.”

I open my mouth to say okay and give him a free pass because he’s grieving, but on the other hand . . . no. I’m tired of being hidden and being kept in the dark. He never even told me what his deal was on the night of the ball. So many secrets are being kept from me, all the time, from him, from Pascal.

“I can’t trust you on it,” I tell him. “Because I don’t want to be lied to anymore. I want the truth. Why can’t I stay? Why have you kept me hidden? What do your cousins want with me?”

He takes in a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes darting to the driver who is paying us no attention; then he leans in close to me. His eyes are dancing with hope and pain and fear, latching on to mine, and I can’t look away.

“Sadie,” he says, in a very deep, low voice, the kind that gives me goose bumps, “I want you to stay here with me.” He takes my hand in both of his and squeezes it. “I do need you. More than you know. That isn’t the issue at all. The issue is . . . something I’ve never told anyone. Something I’m deeply, deeply ashamed of.”

This is a surprise. I squeeze his hand back. “You can tell me anything.”

His expression becomes strained. “You’ll think less of me.”

“I won’t. I wouldn’t. Please, Olivier, I want to trust you, and I want you to trust me, but I can’t, it can’t happen until we’re both honest. I’m being honest with you. I want to be with you because . . . I’m falling for you. In a bad way. And I can’t handle the idea of just leaving you, leaving us and all that we have a chance of becoming.”

He manages a small, sad smile and swallows. “I want to give us that chance too.”

“Then tell me your truth, please.”

He nods, his focus now on our intertwined hands. “When I was twenty years old, I made a foolish mistake.”

“We all make mistakes when we’re young. I think we’ll make them when we’re old too.”

“Yes, well. This was . . . bad. I fell in love.” I stiffen, not expecting that. “I fell in love with a woman who didn’t belong to me. We had an affair. I . . . I wasn’t thinking. She was older by five years, and she came on to me. She showed interest in me, and she made me feel special. And, of course, she was beautiful.”

I should be jealous about the way he’s talking about her, but there’s no love in his words, just bitterness, like he has a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t get rid of.

“But she wasn’t mine. She was someone else’s. She was Pascal’s wife.”

Oh. My. God.

This explains everything.

He glances at me anxiously, then looks away again. “Maybe I already hated Pascal, and I did it out of revenge. Our families had always been so at odds with each other growing up. Maybe I was just so taken with Marine and the way she came after me, doted on me, that it didn’t matter that she was his wife. They’d only been together for a short time, and she seemed so lonely that I figured . . . maybe I was doing her a favor. I was a fucking fool.”

“And Pascal knows,” I say.

“What makes you say that?” He frowns.

Because of everything that’s been happening.

“Because he must.” I give a little shrug, not wanting to get into it right now.

He studies me for a moment, then sighs. “I think so. Yes, he must. We’ve never discussed it. It was his father who caught us. He promised he’d never tell Pascal, that was all part of the deal, but who knows. So much time has passed.”

“What deal? You made a deal with your uncle?”

He closes his eyes. “Yes,” he whispers, “I made a deal. Signed with blood.”

“What was the deal? What did you agree to do? Isn’t that blackmail?”

“Yes, it’s blackmail. He’s been blackmailing me for ten years, and he’ll do it until the end of my life. Or, fuck, who knows now. I did it so that he’d never tell my father, and as far as I knew, he kept that end of the bargain. And now . . . my father is dead. Guess it doesn’t matter.”