Chapter Twenty-Two

Antoine

Friday starts normally. Well, almost normally…aside from Maman sending me twenty-five texts before six a.m. to let me know Tante Nicole is having a party—which I apparently should boycott “just to show her”—and Tante Nicole calling at six ten to invite me to said party. She apparently managed to finagle access to a citrus grove owned by the Pryce family. She considers it a coup of sorts, since the Pryces are wealthy and influential. I don’t like it because they’re also Dominic’s in-laws. Tante Nicole never does anything without a good reason.

After my call with Tante Nicole, fifteen more texts arrive from Maman, all on the theme that Tante Nicole is so desperate to marry Nicolas off, she’ll do anything, including begging the Pryce family for the use of the grove. But she’ll lose. No woman wants a pretentious bore who writes books designed to treat insomnia. Maman adds ten smug emojis, in case I miss her glee.

The inane juvenility of the rivalry between Maman and Tante Nicole is just ridiculous. I read that people get over their embarrassment of their parents in their twenties, but I haven’t gotten over shit. If anything, Maman and Tante Nicole fight with more malice and pettiness now that they’re older.

When my assistant spots me, she hands me a mug of fresh coffee. “Are you all right?” she asks. Sarah’s been with me for a while, and she’s learned to tell my mood at a glance.

“Fine.” I’m not the sharing type, and she’s a professional colleague, not my confidante.

She arches an eyebrow. “If you need anything, let me know.”

I nod and shut the door behind me, then see the mug and sigh. It’s the one Kristen gave me two years ago for Christmas. She got it from Paris, and it has the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and You are what you drink in bright red cursive. I take a sip of the hot brew because it’s either that or sigh again.

Kristen didn’t text or call yesterday. I thought she would after seeing the news. And even if she didn’t see it, I know for a fact that Dominic let her know her name’s been cleared.

Not that I did all the work for Brownie points. But if it were two days ago, she would’ve called me, her voice breathless and full of joie de vie. And it would’ve put a big smile on my face because she’s such an infectious, sweet thing. Having her treat me like a non-entity while demanding I act like a total douche around her feels like somebody’s shaving my bones with a meat cleaver…but at the same time, it’s probably for the best.

“It is for the best,” I say, as though if I give voice to the idea it’ll become truer and I’ll feel good about it.

Nope. I still feel like crap.

My phone buzzes. I whip it out of my pocket, just in case. A text from Tolyan. Such a deflation. Then I frown. He’s supposed to be watching over Kristen.

What’s your cousin’s interest in Kristen?

Uh… What? I take another sip of my coffee and respond, What are you talking about?

She has a date with Nicolas Albert Augustus Saint-Tours. That’s your cousin, correct?

Yes.

He has a lunch date with Kristen today.

No fucking way. I told Nicolas to stay the hell away from her. She’s too good for the likes of us.

I call Tolyan. “Are you sure about this whole thing?” I say the second he answers.

“It’s my job to be sure. I also know about your grandfather Jonas’s proposition.”

What the hell? That isn’t public knowledge. Obviously, Tolyan has been spying on my family.

“Since you’re his cousin,” he continues, “I’ll let you take care of him. But if you don’t think you can put God’s fear into the boy, let me know and I will.”

“No need. Nicolas is my problem.”

“On that point we agree.” He hangs up.

I call Nicolas. The fucker ignores me, and it goes straight to voicemail. God damn it.

Pissed, I track his phone. One way or another, he’s going to stay the hell away from Kristen.