Chapter 18
Delacroix Headquarters, Paris, France
Elise sat on a Napoleon armchair in an office that could have very well been an Egyptian king’s tomb. The room was more like a vault of expensive antiques. Pierre had sponsored or led expeditions across the globe, discovering priceless antiques. An Aubusson rug decked the floors. Fabergé eggs were encased at focal areas.
“Papa, please!” Emerald eyes wide, she looked at her reflection in his gold nameplate.
Her jewels-for-eyes always worked like magic, yet his spine was rigid, and his expensive veneers gritted. “I won’t listen to you infer that Jonathan is a good man!”
“He’s in that house all alone and—” I’ve done awful things to my husband.
“That mansion I had built for you? I procured all of his clients. You need to appreciate the fact that he’s still breathing. I transferred a hundred million dollars in an account to get rid of Raven Shaw. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to strategize before attempting to take it. Sign the divorce papers. I’ve more pertinent issues to manage, because now she’s back!”
“Raven’s back?” Elise’s voice quivered. She hadn’t kept tabs on her son since he’d left for college. Her brain flashed to the last time she’d seen him. He was eighteen and stubborn.
“Raven’s back …” Then why hasn’t Liam called me. I don’t even have his phone number.
“Do not reiterate my words!” Chest deflated, he looked her in the eyes and in a calmer tone, said, “I love you more than life itself.”
Understanding how Pierre felt, despite the disappointment in his eyes, she nodded. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
“Jonathan is exactly where he’s meant to be at the moment—in his own personal hell. He’s got just enough funds to sit there and shut the fuck up. Or he has the option of signing his own death certificate by crossing me.”
Elise's lips trembled. Vincent. He loved her, that she knew of. But if Pierre gave the order, Vincent had to do his bidding. And Vincent was most efficient.
“My dear daughter, you must always think of Delacroix first. The disgrace of this scandal being exposed is irreparable … Jonathan being both of their fathers.”
“Yes, Papa.” Elise tried to keep her eyes on her Pierre’s to solidify the lie. Though her brain continued to think of Zane Anderson and how she’d tricked Jonathan.
Outside about twenty minutes later, Elise slipped into the back of the Maybach Landaulet. The car lurched forward as she noticed a letter with perfect script next to her. She read it. Her thin lips formed a hard line as she crumpled the paper in her fist, knowing exactly where the car was headed.
No, not as she suspected. The car turned down the wrong street. Her eyebrows rose as the driver pulled into Delacroix’s first hotel. It had been the only possession Papa owned before marrying Mama. For decades, the historic hotel had been in shambles. Pierre had put the failing money of his communications company, which was built around a fading newspaper business, into a historic hotel he purchased through a gamble.
No, Pierre got his hands on Estella’s money, restoring the hotel to its grand state and striking fortune in other endeavors. And then he redirected his family communication business to include television and magazines.
Her phone vibrated in her Prada, twill blazer. Her eyes widened and pooled with more tears at the text message.
Mother, call me at your convenience. Love, Liam.
Just then, the door opened. I’ll call back soon. Hands trembling, she placed the phone back in her pocket and slid out of the car. The message would pacify the annoyance of this unscheduled stop.
Strutting inside a marble-and-gold-trimmed lobby, Elise was greeted by name. Pulling on the pearl button of her blouse, she stood in the elevator, headed for the top floor. Walking down the hall of exclusive suites, she took in the carved moldings on the walls before knocking at the door. It opened, and Elise stared at a peridot-beaded gown that made her mama’s eyes twinkle.
“Took you long enough,” Estella said. Her popular Stellar perfume seized Elise’s lungs.
“Papa just told me you were staying here. And then I got the letter which ordered me here.” No affectionate greeting needed, she passed over the threshold. Her parents were separated. Usually Mama stayed at the Chateau de Estella in Burgundy, France. Why is Mama staying here? For years, she’s hated all things Delacroix.
“I thought that twit kept my name out of his mouth. Oh, I was obliged to send the letter. You wouldn't have visited, being that you’re on the same team as that turkey-stuffed, silicone man! And I didn't want you believing yourself important enough to be abducted if I forced you here without warning.” Estella poured a martini at the crystal mini bar.
“Where’s your staff? Surely you don’t serve yourself or open your own doors?” Elise matched her terseness, taking a sip of the drink that was curtly handed over. They got along in two-minute segments. She’d been there for a little over that; it was flight time. “Please refrain from enlightening me about how you must’ve learned to cleanse your own derrière.”
“Sit down!” Estella commanded, taking a seat across from her daughter. The floral bouquet on the coffee table lost the war against the Stellar fragrance. “You travel all around the world. Nevertheless, I have to send a note to get you to visit your own mama.”
“I would have gotten around to visiting … eventually.”
“Sure.” With a devilish smile, she added, “I suppose that’s where Liam gets it from. He can be so kindhearted, and then just like you, ready to throw family at the wayside. Everyone but Pierre.”
Elise rolled her eyes.
“Why must you be such a numbskull? We all suffer; Pierre walks around as king. I’m sure your Pa sends photos of their vacations and bonding. Now, I’ve something of the greatest importance to tell you.”
“What?” Elise brushed imaginary lint from her skirt.
“Raven Shaw and Royael—well, she’s a Shaw, but she should be …” Estella’s voice trailed off, as if in deep thought. Truthfully, she was smarter than most. “Oh, yes, she should be an Anderson. Yes, Royael Anderson. Then again, Liam should too, eh?”
Elise’s yacht-tanned skin turned white. “How do you know?”
“Tsk tsk. Your papa got his start in publications. Your posse was always in our enemy’s gossip columns; drinking, driving, etcetera. Do you honestly believe that we didn’t know?”
Elise rubbed her temple. If this was true, Pierre knew she’d just lied to his face. Royael should be an Anderson. Anderson blood courses through Liam’s veins. I should be a Delacroix-Anderson! But Zane Anderson was married!
“As a child, you’d ruined your papa’s reputation. It took a while for him to concede and have you followed. To think, Pierre was human when I met him. His family just had the one dilapidated newspaper stand. I was the one making money as a model, and my family was wise, old money.” Estella went to pour another martini. As if she could read body language—that yearning in Elise’s eyes—she handed her daughter a refreshed drink. She gracefully sat. “He’s no longer human. All he sees is the affluent. And you, my dear, were an awful adolescent. Nevertheless, he always loved you, always fixed your mistakes, until you met Zane Anderson. You see, he knew when you were pregnant and trying to convince him to dabble in altruism, by helping his old friend, Jonathan’s father, with his law firm. Pierre knew Jonathan was a dead ringer for Zane. Only, Zane didn’t want you. He wanted his wife. Being the man your papa is, he let you call the shots. Rich little girl that has only ever coveted what others have.”
“Mama, stop.” Elise shook her head.
“You’re but a pawn on a chessboard. Pierre sat back and watched, delighted in your manipulation. He’d never been more proud of you than the day you convinced Jonathan that you were having his child. Only you had the audacity to make our Liam a junior. I thought I’d never see the day when Pierre put anything above family. He treats all of his little bastard children with the utmost love and respect. They are all Delacroixs! Royael is a Delacroix, but Pierre allowed you to take the lead on this little scheme.”
Tears rolled down Elise’s cheeks as she tuned out Estella’s laughter. She’d reminisced about Zane for over twenty years. His beautiful face would be forever branded in her mind, all because of Jonathan Lemaître, the look-alike. Truth be told, that was the reason she hadn’t divorced him.
“Then there was that Charlene girl.” Estella winked. “Oh, we know the entire story. Jonathan’s kids fell in love … poppycock!”
Elise opened her eyes and looked around. Mama was gone. Minutes later, Estella returned with an embroidered book, placing it onto her lap. With trepidation, she opened it to find an album with baby photos. She’d never seen Royael before, hadn’t wanted to see her for guilt. Yet one look at the beautiful child’s face and she knew her first and only grandchild.
“You’ve ruined his life. Liam was in love. All you had to do was tell him that they weren’t related! But no, you had to allow Pious Pierre into the game, when he was just as content observing.”
Fingers shaking, she turned pages to a chronology of the child’s life. All photos were taken from a distance or side angle. She flipped until there were just empty pockets. Finally, she set the album on the table as a sob shook her slender body. “I tried.”
“I want to see my great-granddaughter. I want Liam to have the love of his life.” Estella shoved a picture of Raven and Liam holding hands in her daughter’s face. “Look at this! They’re in love, but they’ve denied themselves the choice to love freely because of you.”
Elise tried to slap the picture away.
“You always were an evil child.”
“Ma, no.” Elise scrambled to the floor, putting her head in her mama’s lap as she’d done when Mama used to rub her head and sing French lullabies. The look of hatred in Estella’s eyes scorched her skin. Her voice shook as she sung and unlike the past, Estella didn’t chime in. “Please, Ma. Liam left me a text, forgiving me for the letter. He wants to see me.”
“You have until the Santa Monica hotel grand opening at the beginning of summer.”
“Mama, I haven’t talked to him in years. Liam refused every phone call from me! Allow me more time to make amends.” Looking up from Estella’s lap, she entwined her hands. Her mama’s tense “no” clenched at her heart. Throat thick and heavy, she screamed, “I’ll tell Papa!”
“Good, let the ogre know I’m on his turf, too. Why else would I be at this gaudy hotel?” Estella looked down at her daughter like she didn’t deserve to adorn the floor beneath her feet.