was on a quest to reclaim his family’s leadership role after the fiasco with Amanda.
In Honorée’s silk pajamas, she looked like the little girl she must have been at the time of her father’s murder. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tousled at the back, as if she’d tossed and turned before coming downstairs. From his vantage point, he could see dark smears beneath her eyes, the remnants of makeup that had gotten smudged.
Now that he’d had time to calm down, he realized that everything he felt for her earlier was still there: the electric attraction, the unwilling sympathy, the begrudging admiration for her courage. But now, seeing how deeply the events of the past still affected her, he knew he’d underestimated her.
If her father’s death were still so raw and painful for her, it was incredible that she hadn’t caved completely and given into the soul-sucking grief. Instead, she was trying to do something about it. He had to respect that because it’s what he would have done.
Still, even though he could admit his feelings, there was no point. He knew it as surely as he knew this house belonged to him and always would. No matter how much he admired her or wanted to kiss her, she was from a different world.
As a test, he imagined replaying the horrible moment when Amanda had broken off their engagement, crying and shredding the pre-nup with both hands. Only this time, he imagined the woman was Ella. And he wasn’t convinced the ending would be any different. That look on Ella’s face, in the vault when she eyed his mother’s brooch…it meant she wanted one thing and only thing only from him.
Everything he’d experienced in life had taught him that people with money had to have thicker skins than anyone without a penny to their name. The attacks came from all angles, disguised beneath kisses and hugs and smiles. Everyone wanted what the Cherbourgs had and no one, especially not someone whose father was killed for his most valuable possessions, could understand that.
Let her go , he told himself. Don’t make more of this than it has to be. It’s okay to feel sorry for her because of what happened all those years ago. Just don’t think she’ll be different, not for one damn minute.
But the longer he stood there and watched her, the less convincing the voice in his head became. Her grief wracked her through and through and it would have taken a devil with internal organs of steel to stand there and watch her suffer. Every time she choked back a sob, he felt his gut twist and clench painfully.
Hell , he thought. I can’t do this.
He stepped forward from the shadows and said her name softly, quietly. “Ella.”
She gasped and spun around, wide eyes meeting his. “Sébastien!”
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. It was a reflex, obviously . S he wasn’t, not at all. “I’m fine,” she lied.
He moved closer to her, close enough to pry the glass from her grasp and pour another half-inch of whiskey. “People who are fine don’t sneak downstairs to drink and cry.”
Through the pain, a faint smile turned up the corners of her lips. “You’re fine too, I take it?”
He couldn’t lie to her, not after witnessing her pain. “Not tonight, Ella, no.”
“What’s wrong?”
Sébastien thought about telling her to ignore his remark and then realized he didn’t want to. It would be a relief to talk about it, just this once.
In the year since Amanda left him, he’d been planning how to regain his family’s trust. Never once had he felt the urge to talk about it. But here, with her, he felt like what he said could matter and would be taken seriously. It wasn’t like talking with his absent-minded mother or power-mad uncles. Ella couldn’t use what he said against him the way they could. For once, he could speak the truth. “It’s the exhibition,” he said.
She tilted her head, studying him
In Honorée’s silk pajamas, she looked like the little girl she must have been at the time of her father’s murder. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tousled at the back, as if she’d tossed and turned before coming downstairs. From his vantage point, he could see dark smears beneath her eyes, the remnants of makeup that had gotten smudged.
Now that he’d had time to calm down, he realized that everything he felt for her earlier was still there: the electric attraction, the unwilling sympathy, the begrudging admiration for her courage. But now, seeing how deeply the events of the past still affected her, he knew he’d underestimated her.
If her father’s death were still so raw and painful for her, it was incredible that she hadn’t caved completely and given into the soul-sucking grief. Instead, she was trying to do something about it. He had to respect that because it’s what he would have done.
Still, even though he could admit his feelings, there was no point. He knew it as surely as he knew this house belonged to him and always would. No matter how much he admired her or wanted to kiss her, she was from a different world.
As a test, he imagined replaying the horrible moment when Amanda had broken off their engagement, crying and shredding the pre-nup with both hands. Only this time, he imagined the woman was Ella. And he wasn’t convinced the ending would be any different. That look on Ella’s face, in the vault when she eyed his mother’s brooch…it meant she wanted one thing and only thing only from him.
Everything he’d experienced in life had taught him that people with money had to have thicker skins than anyone without a penny to their name. The attacks came from all angles, disguised beneath kisses and hugs and smiles. Everyone wanted what the Cherbourgs had and no one, especially not someone whose father was killed for his most valuable possessions, could understand that.
Let her go , he told himself. Don’t make more of this than it has to be. It’s okay to feel sorry for her because of what happened all those years ago. Just don’t think she’ll be different, not for one damn minute.
But the longer he stood there and watched her, the less convincing the voice in his head became. Her grief wracked her through and through and it would have taken a devil with internal organs of steel to stand there and watch her suffer. Every time she choked back a sob, he felt his gut twist and clench painfully.
Hell , he thought. I can’t do this.
He stepped forward from the shadows and said her name softly, quietly. “Ella.”
She gasped and spun around, wide eyes meeting his. “Sébastien!”
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. It was a reflex, obviously . S he wasn’t, not at all. “I’m fine,” she lied.
He moved closer to her, close enough to pry the glass from her grasp and pour another half-inch of whiskey. “People who are fine don’t sneak downstairs to drink and cry.”
Through the pain, a faint smile turned up the corners of her lips. “You’re fine too, I take it?”
He couldn’t lie to her, not after witnessing her pain. “Not tonight, Ella, no.”
“What’s wrong?”
Sébastien thought about telling her to ignore his remark and then realized he didn’t want to. It would be a relief to talk about it, just this once.
In the year since Amanda left him, he’d been planning how to regain his family’s trust. Never once had he felt the urge to talk about it. But here, with her, he felt like what he said could matter and would be taken seriously. It wasn’t like talking with his absent-minded mother or power-mad uncles. Ella couldn’t use what he said against him the way they could. For once, he could speak the truth. “It’s the exhibition,” he said.
She tilted her head, studying him
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