Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(63)

“What’s your name?” she asks me, walking slowly around the room and poking at Olivier’s stuff.

“It’s Sadie,” I tell her.

“Sadie what?”

“Sadie Nobody Important.” She stops and stares at me, and I fiddle with the machine. “Sadie Reynolds.”

“I saw your name on the invites for the ball.”

“Yeah.”

And then she stops at the feathered white mask hanging off one of the shelves. “And you were there. Wearing this.”

“That was me,” I say brightly.

“I see,” she muses and then comes over to the kitchen island, leaning against it, her bright-gold bracelets jingling against the marble. “You’re the girl.”

“The girl?”

“Yes. The girl I’ve been badgering Olivier about. The secret one, the one he’s been denying exists. You’re that girl.”

“Well, I hope you’re right, or else I need to have a talk with him.”

She lets out a weak laugh. “Yes, well. I have to say, it’s a relief to know that I’m right. I just don’t understand why he would hide you.”

I freeze, and she quickly goes on. “Not to say there is anything to hide. I’m just not used to his denial, which is why I was suspicious anyway. Normally, if I ask about a girl, he’ll tell me. They never last long. Oh shit, I am making things worse, aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” I assure her as I get the machine going with a noisy clang. “Olivier had his reasons.”

“What?” she yells over the noise.

I motion for her to wait a moment, and then I finally get the espresso pouring out perfectly, with a light coating of crema on top, just like Olivier taught me.

“Here you go,” I tell her, placing the cup in front of her.

She picks it up daintily. “Impressive. So what were you saying about reasons?”

“Just that Olivier had his.” I wonder how much to tell her and then realize it’s not my place to tell her any of it. She can’t know, or else she’ll see how it all started in the first place. “I think he just wanted to know if we had a sure thing before the paparazzi got wind of us.”

“And are you a sure thing?”

I shrug. “I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I just missed my flight back home a few hours ago.”

“So that sounds serious,” she says, taking a sip. “This is very good. I have a feeling you’ll be a bona fide Parisian in no time.”

I laugh. “I have to learn French first. You know, we weren’t properly introduced.”

She sighs. “I know, how dreadful are my manners, just assuming everyone knows who I am? I’m Seraphine.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve only heard nice things from Olivier.”

“Olivier says nice things about everyone, I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“He’s a lot like your father.”

Her eyes grow noticeably teary, and she swallows loudly. “Yes, he is. I just . . . I don’t understand why Olivier is doing this.”

“Doing what?” I ask cautiously.

“You’ve seen the papers. It’s everywhere,” she cries out softly, looking both confused and disgusted. “He’s stepped aside. I mean, all this time he wanted as little to do with the company as possible, but we still thought—we still assumed that if it came to it, if father ever . . . died, that Olivier would take over. Out of love for our father, out of duty. But he’s just . . . he’s giving it up. Right into their fucking hands. It’s going to ruin everything.”

“It’s not his fault,” I tell her. I’m so automatically defensive over him that it takes me a moment to correct myself. “I’m sure he thinks your uncle would do a better job.”

Her nostrils flare. “My uncle. Oh, Olivier knows he won’t. He knows it. We all do. This is what my uncle wanted from the start. Now with everyone taking over . . . I don’t even know if I’ll have a job left. But that’s not even the point . . . this was all planned.”

“Planned?”

She finishes her espresso and pushes her bangs out of her face. “I don’t know. I’m upset. I’m not thinking right, I know this. And I’m so angry, I want someone to blame. I want to blame Olivier because it would be so easy for him to save us all, but he won’t, and that’s not like him at all.” She pauses and glances up at me, brows knit together. “Has he said anything to you?”

I try to keep my face blank. “About what?”

“About . . . Oh, this will sound ridiculous, keep that in mind, everything is so fucking ridiculous right now.” She taps her red nails along the table. “My father was in perfect health. He’d never had any health issues, let alone heart issues. He’d just had an annual checkup. And yet he had a heart attack, just like that, in front of everyone, and he just . . . I saw him, he was dead. So fast, it happened so fast, he was . . . gone. It didn’t seem right.”

“Death never seems right,” I offer feebly.

“It’s not that,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t know, maybe it is that. They ruled it as a heart attack right away, they didn’t question it. No one did. But I guess I do, and I wonder if Olivier does too.”