Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
When I was a little girl, my mother once got a temporary job as a maid. During a day off from school, she took me with her to work. I still remember the home we cleaned. Four stories from top to bottom, two kitchens including an eat-in kitchen where the staff took their meals, a dining room, and an office. She let me explore the second floor while she cleaned the bathrooms—three in total on that floor alone.
I remember one of the guest rooms used to belong to one of the daughters who grew up and moved away. On a table in the corner of the room sat the most stunning dollhouse I’d ever seen with real tiles on the roof, real carpet on the floors, and when you flicked the tiny switch, real lights that lit the hallways and rooms. I spent hours just looking at every single detail, closing the doors, and imagining I lived in that house. To me, even now, I’ve always held that house in my mind as the pinnacle of luxurious homes.
Until now.
“Fabien,” I whisper as I hold his elbow and we make our entrance. “Your family home is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile. I don’t know why, until I see a tall, thin man with a ruddy complexion heading our way. Everything about him is hairy, from the top of his head to his knuckles. Unlike Fabien and Thayer, he wears a white suit that makes him look the part of stereotypical mob. I half expect him to talk like a thug and walk like an ape.
“Fabien, you made it,” he says when he’s within earshot. “And to whom do I owe this pleasure?” He gives me a smile that makes my skin crawl. Fabien holds me tighter.
“Chance,” Fabien growls without even pretending to be civil. “Meet Nicolette. Nicolette, my cousin Chance.” Chance reaches his hand out as if to shake mine.
“Touch her, and I’ll kill you,” Fabien snaps.
Chance grins, revealing yellowed teeth and a flash of gold. “Now, now, Fabien, let’s play nice.”
“I am playing nice. That’s why you’re in my home.”
Oh, my. I hope this isn’t the cousin we’ll be bribing.
“Always a jokester,” Chance says, though he narrows his eyes at me while his smile grows cold.
I give him a smile back. “Oh but he isn’t laughing.”
Fabien snorts and leads us toward the bar. Leaning in, he brushes my hair behind my ear. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I prefer beer,” I whisper back. “Wine isn’t bad, but beer is my absolute favorite.”
“Ah, that doesn’t surprise me.” He orders two drinks and hands me a frothy glass.
I take a long gulp and polish off half. The room seems to soften a little under the lights, the voices a bit less grating. There, that’s better.
The next thing I know, he’s introducing me to men that work for him, cousins, aunts, and uncles. I can hardly keep track of all of them as he introduces them one after the other. Some are pleasant and nice, others look at me warily, still others with downright animosity. I can’t help but be a little jealous. Some of his family might be crazy, but at least he has family. I only have Savannah.
Still, I breathe a sigh of relief when Thayer enters the room and announces the arrival of the bride and groom. I don’t recognize either of them. It’s a strange, vivid reminder that I don’t really belong here.
Since there are no groomsmen or bridesmaids for French weddings, only children that function like flower girls and boys, the rehearsal is a simple affair, a definite nod to the American bride. Soon, we’re sitting at a long table across from a portly woman with a pile of gray hair on top of her head that resembles a ferret.
“And you are?” she asks me.
“Nicolette.” I polish off my beer and realize I really need some food, and soon. Fabien holds my hand under the table.
I love how affectionate he is, as if he knows I need a little reassurance right about now. Again, my friends’ admonitions rear their ugly heads, and again I silence them. I’m not going to turn down affection from the man who’s not only paying me two million dollars, but supposedly pretending to be my date or something.
I’m going to lean into this role as best I can.
“Grand-mère, meet Nicolette. Nicolette, my grandmother.”
His grandmother lifts her chin and gives me a piercing look. “And how did you two meet?”
Avril turns to face me and smiles, curious as well. There’s something about the scrupulous look his grandmother’s giving me that gets under my skin. I decide to toss caution to the wind.
“We met at a modeling show,” I tell her with a smile. “Fabien was wearing a Speedo. I’ve never met a man so confident in his own skin. I was completely enamored and decided to make his acquaintance.”