Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
She quirks a brow. “Why does it not surprise me you had access to knives when you were a kid?”
I snort and pick up a piece. I still remember sitting by the fireplace in our family home. My father was still alive.
Funny how a little bit of soap can trigger such vivid memories.
I shake myself out of my reverie. We’re short on time, and Cosette’s pregnant. Who knows what she’ll need from me.
“I have a few things to do. Settle in and we’ll get something to eat.”
When I finally look up from my phone an hour later, all I know is that Montague’s press conference made him out to be some sort of a hometown hero, and his ratings are up. The head of one of our rival families has been taken into custody, so we aren’t the only ones under scrutiny. Fabien seems to think that means he won’t come after us, but I have a sneaking suspicion that’s only wishful thinking.
He won’t find us here. But he’s after us. I wouldn’t be surprised if the attack at Le Luxe was somehow tied back to Montague as well. We’re safe here while we hide, but I only hide to regroup.
Once I find out who’s behind the threats against us—once I know who threatened Cosette and now threatens the well-being of my entire family—we’ll leave the security of this fortress.
It will be time to attack.
We take a quick ride in the elevator so I can give her a brief tour. She grins when she sees the swimming pool, the state-of-the-art exercise equipment in the fitness room, and private movie theater. Most luxury hotels have concierge services and room service, fine dining and well-stocked bars, butlers and valets. Not every luxury hotel has private elevators, bulletproof windows and reinforced doors, private security, advanced air filtration, or a helipad on the roof next to the garden terrace.
“Wow, seriously, this is amazing.”
“Mmm.”
“You’re distracted, Lyam,” she says quietly as she threads her fingers through mine tentatively. It’s going to take time for us to get back to where we were before all this happened, but we’re getting there.
I breathe a little easier with her palm against mine.
“Fucking politics,” I mutter. I slide the phone into my pocket. Fucking Montague doesn’t even care about us or what we stand for but wants the ratings and votes.
Cosette blinks. “Politicians?”
I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to dwell. I’ll do what I have to and so will Thayer and Fabien, but for now, I want to revel in her. Relax right here, by her side. Make sure she’s alright. We’ve been through hell and we need some time to reconnect.
I step off the elevator and into the hallway.
She doesn’t follow.
I reach for Cosette’s hand and give her a little tug, only to notice she’s gone white as a sheet.
“Are you feeling sick again?” I ask curiously. “You okay?” I’ve got half a mind to scoop her up and carry her off the elevator. Her skin’s gone pale and clammy like she’s contracted something.
“Cosette. Are you alright? What’s going on?”
“I’m… I don’t feel so good,” she whispers. “I think I need that food after all.”
EIGHT
Cosette
I truly feel nauseous, and I’m not sure the pregnancy is helping at all, so when he leads me to the room under the assumption that I’m nauseous from pregnancy, I don’t correct him.
There’s no way… no.
I hate Paris because of my father.
He hates Paris because of politicians.
The man who got my mother pregnant—by all definitions, my father—lives in Paris.
François Montague will never admit that I’m his daughter. It looks good to the press that he has a wife he’s been married to for thirty years, two picture-perfect children at university, and a modest home in the suburbs. Montague would never recover from the admission that he cheated on his wife and had a child with her. Better for him to pretend it never happened.
Some politicians would’ve paid my mother off to keep her silent, but that was too good a choice for Montague. Maybe he feared she’d better herself or make a spectacle of him. So instead, he threatened to ruin her, to have her put in jail on trumped-up charges and have me taken away. Instead of providing for either of us, he chose to pretend it never happened. That we never existed. To Montague, we don’t exist.
For years, my mother wouldn’t tell me who he was. She said we were better off without him.
I’ve spent the past few years of my life trying to figure out who he was.
The irony of Lyam asking for a paternity test…
If Montague ever asked for one, it would be loud and clear.
I don’t want to know who it is that Lyam’s after.
I don’t want to know anything.
I can’t deal with that now. Not when I have a baby to bring to term. Not when I have my own life to worry about. Not when Lyam’s lack of trust runs so deep in his veins, it takes everything I’ve got to rebuild what we had.