Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(77)

“Yeah. And if she’s not?”

“She will be.”

“It doesn’t mean we’ll be okay.”

I can tell she understands exactly what I mean.

This has become too much for any couple to weather, let alone a new one.

Thankfully, it’s not long before the car is screeching to a halt on the wet street outside my building. I run past the concierge, who does a double and then triple take as Blaise and Seraphine sprint through the lobby behind me. I’m actually amazed that Blaise is still here, but perhaps he’s trying to distance himself from Pascal and Gautier.

Or maybe it has something to do with Seraphine.

He does seem protective of her in a strange way. Maybe in a brother-sister way, which would still be quite strange, because they’re from different sides, and they’ve never gotten along. All I know is that if Blaise truly hates Pascal—and it sounds like he’s not too fond of his father either—maybe Seraphine isn’t alone in this game after all.

Once I get inside my apartment, it’s obvious that Sadie is gone.

Her bag is packed for one.

And there’s a note.

The note brings me a bit of relief, just to know that she’s okay.

Dear Olivier,

I am so sorry, but I have to leave. I have no time to explain, but I’ll be catching a flight out of Charles De Gal, or however you spell it, and I’ll be heading home. Please know that I’m okay and I’m fine and I’m not hurt, but I have to go home. Please understand that. It has nothing to do with you.

I’ll call you when I land. I love you.

I really, really love you.

I’d write it in French, but . . .

I love you.

Sadie



“Is she okay?” Seraphine asks, trying to look over my shoulder to read it.

I fold it up and put it in my pocket, away from her prying eyes. “She’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. She’s going home.”

“Home?”

“She caught a flight back to Seattle.”

“Which means Pascal bought it for her,” Blaise muses as he stares at a painting on my wall, hands clasped behind his back. “I figured as much.”

“How do you feel?” Seraphine asks me, rooting through my liquor cabinet for a bottle of something to drink.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

Because I don’t. She’s gone.

My love is gone.

And yet I know I won’t let her go so easily.

Seraphine selects a bottle of brandy and pulls the cork out with her teeth. “If you don’t mind, I feel like helping myself to this.”

I watch her absently as she takes several long gulps from the bottle.

“Impressive,” Blaise notes, his attention on her now, watching her swallow in a way that I don’t think is family friendly.

I frown at that, but my mind pushes on. “Why do you hate your brother?”

Blaise smirks. “Why do you hate him?”

“Because . . . he’s fucking dirt. Ruthless, classless dirt.”

“Oh, we’re all a little ruthless, Olivier,” Blaise says. “We all have our ways of climbing to the top. You did. Not with the Dumont brand, but with the hotels. And you did, too, Seraphine, to get to the position you have. If you could, you would be at the top. I see that ambition in you. It runs in our blood. I think my side of the family just fed it more.”

He walks over to Seraphine and takes the bottle from her hands, taking a swig himself, not breaking eye contact with her. When he’s done, he wipes his mouth and says, “Is this our label, or is it actually something good? It all tastes like fire to me.”

“You never answered the question,” I remind him.

He shrugs. “What does it matter why I hate him? Just because someone is your brother—family—doesn’t mean you have to like them. Let’s just say that I have lived a different life from you in a different house. But my aspirations, my goals, they’re all the same.”

To get to the top, I think. If he can get Pascal out of the picture somehow, then he can take his position. But I don’t know if Blaise realizes his father and Pascal are a united front he will never get past. There are favorites in that family.

“So what are you going to do?” Seraphine asks me as Blaise hands me the bottle.

I take it. Why not?

It does taste like fire, but the kind that baptizes you.

The kind that burns away the fog and brings a certain type of clarity to your head.

I know what I have to do as I’m saying it.

“I’m going to Seattle,” I say. “Tonight. And I don’t know if or when I’m ever coming back.”

I expect Seraphine to make a fuss. I expect her to tell me that I’m doing what they want, that they’ll win this way, that father would disapprove.

But the truth is, father only ever wanted me to be happy.

And I know what makes me happy.

It’s Sadie.

It’s Sadie and nothing else.

“Good,” Seraphine says, and even though they aren’t related by blood and don’t look at all the same, I can see my father in her, hear him in her voice. I know he’s speaking through her, or she’s speaking through him. “I think that’s the right thing to do. Maybe it’s the only thing to do.”