Vanquished (The Encounter #3)(33)

Even having sex with other women didn’t do anything to block out her memories, her infectious laugh, and the way she gazed at me with that certain look that would forever hold me captive. I loved the way she used to look at me, as if I was the only man in the world for her and nothing mattered.

Well, the joke was obviously on me. Her love was mercurial; it shifted like the sands, unstable and ever changeable.

Her betrayal hadn’t damaged me. It was beyond that. It had f*cking broken me, and I was on the verge of losing my mind.

Driving manically around at this time of the night in the countryside normally would calm my mind, but tonight wasn’t any other night. I drove mindlessly for two hours until I found myself parked right before my family’s private cemetery. It was on the same land my father had built the chateau for my mother, but the Xavier’s had owned this estate for centuries. In fact, the old villa that was rebuilt in the 1800s was still there, but was now used as a shop catered to wine tasting from the family-owned vineyard.

My ancestors had mostly married for money; hence, they acquired more land and fortune along the way, but as time went on, my forefathers somehow diverted most of their money into building hotels and casinos. Even though our brand of wine was beloved all over the world, it remained the same as before, uninventive, without wanting to discover new palettes and tastes. Therefore, we were dubbed old-fashioned in the industry.

My father had stated my great-grandfather had once told him the only way to market our kind of product was to keep it simple and without joining the bandwagon that would hire a slew of vintners to concoct a new breed of grapes. We didn’t want our name attached to something trendy. We wanted to be known for timelessness, and that was what our brand represented.

Since my sole focus was branching out the hotels and casinos, I had hired relatives to run the other businesses our family had acquired throughout the years. Although they were chosen to run different sectors, I still sat at the helm of it all, and I always got the last word when it came to making drastic decisions.

All the history, all the stories of success came to a screeching, devastating halt after my father’s brother died. In the light of that, I was always grateful my mother had died before any of that barbarity had happened. As much as I felt begrudged of my time with her, I wouldn’t want her to witness anything that had happened since then.

The stillness of the night consoled my troubled mind as I slipped out of the car without bothering to take out the car keys. It was another half a kilometer until I reached the entrance that had our family crest carved into the stone. I wasn’t really sure what had gotten into me, but for some reason, seeking my mother’s tomb felt like the right thing to do.

The fresh-scented air hit me as I trudged my way towards her resting place. When was the last time I had visited her? Far too long ago, it seemed. Although, I knew very well my father tried to visit once or twice a week.

Even though my father had moved on and had relationships, he said no woman could replace my mother, that no one came close. And I supposed it was just as well. The burden that came with loving someone was just too high a price. I had ingrained this in my mind, and even though I had denied it for so long, the plain fact remained the same, unchanged.

There was no future with me. I knew that all too well. And if I was any better, I would rejoice in this fact and the fact that Isobel was gone from my life. I could carry on as if I hadn’t met her until I died, along with my legacy and bloodline. My mind was quite aware of this tidbit, yet my heart didn’t fully comprehend what my brain was telling it. It remained in pain, in mourning of the woman who had wiggled her way into it and buried herself there. She persisted within me, thriving, the symbol of what once was and a future that never could be.

Approaching my mother’s tombstone, I took a moment to appreciate the smell that permeated the air around her, resting with her forever. My mother had loved pink roses, you see, so my father had planted them around her grave with his bare hands. Back then, I was confused and couldn’t understand why he would choose to do it himself when he could have hired someone else to do it.

Dwelling on that memory now, I understood that it was his way of mourning her and showing his love for her, that it was endless with each blooming bud that blossomed. Despite our absence at the chateau, my father still persisted that it be lavished with her roses that were freshly cut from the rose garden next to her grave. He had mentioned once that carrying on the tradition in Chateau Rose, rightfully named after the chosen flower and the beloved wife, was his way of making sure her beloved home was being taken care of.

“Maman,” I woefully whispered. “I’m quite a mess as of late …” I then proceeded to tell her about the sad tale that was my life.

A man like myself shouldn’t be engaged in such petty issues such as love, but here I was, so troubled that I was seeking some form of solace from my mother. For some unknown reason, it gave me comfort, and for a while, I felt somewhat at peace. She was here; I felt it. All I had to do was talk to her, and I could almost instantly feel her presence surrounding me. She never failed to deliver some tranquility whenever I needed it.

Still overwrought, I stayed for quite some time, appreciating the quiet solitude before I retreated back to my car and eventually drove back to the chateau. Seeing her again was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t stay away. As much as I loathed admitting it, I was still drawn to her, wanting to be close to her.