The Cherbourg Jewels (12 page)

“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 quizzically.  “Anyone with a pulse can tell that it’s the most important thing in the world to you.  But why?”

He took a deep breath.  “I made some wrong decisions, and a man in my position can’t afford to do that.  Not in my professional life or my personal life.”

“What happened?”

“Because of a few bad decisions, I lost the trust of my own family, and the board of our foundation.  I’ve been out of the public eye for almost a year now, waiting for the right time to jump back in and prove that I’m still the right one to lead this family.  But it might be too late.”

Ella frowned, drawing perfectly arched eyebrows together.  “How could it be too late?” 

He took the empty glass from her, poured some more whiskey in it, and drank it himself.  “They’ve started to talk about replacing me as CEO of Cherbourg Enterprises.”

“Who else would they prefer?”

He shrugged.  “One of my uncles.  Believe me, they’d love to get their hands on this company.”

“Why are you so determined to stop them?  If you’re a Cherbourg and they’re Cherbourgs, the company would still be in your family.”

“It isn’t just that,” he said.  “My whole life, I’d been told this company was my legacy, my inheritance.  It’s what I dreamed of, every night when I went to sleep.  It was my chance to make a mark on the world.  To show everyone who I am.”

Ella put a hand on his arm.  Just the lightest touch from her fingers and he felt his blood begin to come alive.  It was both comforting and unsettling.  “Why are you talking about it in the past tense?” she asked.  

“Because I feel like it’s slipping away,” he answered honestly.  “I need this exhibition to prove I’m still in it, that I’ve still got it.”  He paused.  “That it’s still my destiny to lead this family and this company.  I don’t think anyone has two destinies.  If I screw up this one, what’s left for me?”

He thought briefly about describing Amanda and explaining that she was the reason his family didn’t trust him anymore.  But he wasn’t ready to share that part of the story yet—the pain was still there and somewhat raw.  The fact that his family had immediately pegged her as a
gold digger while he’d trotted after her like a lovest
r
uck puppy still made him feel like an idiot.  He wasn’t ready to let anyone see that part of him yet. 
Change the subject
, he ordered himself. 
Before this conversation gets too dangerous. 

“Let’s talk about you,” he said.  “What are you running from?”   

Ella let her hand slip off his arm.  She looked down at the counter, unable to meet his eyes.  “I thought the nightmares had finally gone away.  I haven’t had one in months.”

Even though he already knew what they were about, he wanted to give her the chance to unburden herself.  Return the favor she’d just done for him.  “Nightmares about what?” he asked.

“My father.”  Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her pajama top while she told him about the robbery and murder, confirming everything Jake’s file had said.  “I watched him die, Sébastien.  I saw it happen.  One minute he was there and then the next he was gone.  I felt his last breath on my face.  It was like his soul, flying up and away from me.  I can’t stop replaying it over and over again in my mind.” 

She bit her lip to hold back the tears.  “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d reached out to try and catch it.  Could I have held onto it?  If I had fought harder for him, could it have ended differently?  Maybe I should have left him and run to call 911.  Maybe I should never have followed him out the workshop.  I can’t help but feel that I did this to him, that it was all a huge mistake.” 

Finally, she looked up at him and met his gaze.  What he saw there took his breath away.  Despite the obvious pain, her eyes were luminous and open, hiding nothing.  “Sébastien,” she said, “what if it was really all my fault?”

Good God
, he thought. 
No child should have to deal with anything like this.

He reached out to touch her face, wiping away the smear of black makeup beneath her eyes with his thumb.  Next to her skin’s smooth paleness, his thumb looked dark and rough.  “It isn’t your fault,” he told her.  “How could it be?  You didn’t have anything to do with that robbery.”

“But what about the rest of it?  The ambulance I never called?”

“Ella, it happened.  You couldn’t have changed it, no matter what you did.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t know that.”

“I think you do,” he said.  “I think you use all the other possibilities to torture yourself.  You have to let yourself move on, Ella.  Is this really how your father would have wanted you to live your life?”

“No,” she whispered, lower lip quivering.  “He’d want me to be strong…and free.”

“Then that’s what you should be.  Come here,” he said, pulling her into the circle of his arms. 

He pressed her against his chest and held her head against him.  She fit perfectly, nestled against him as if she’d been created to be there.  He inhaled the scent of her hair, a light coconut fragrance left over from her shampoo.  The soft curves he felt beneath the pajamas made it hard to think about anything but covering her body with his.  But he made the effort to control himself.  She was in pain and what she needed wasn’t physical—at least not like that.  She needed to feel safe.  And, he realized, that was the one thing he could give her. 

“Let it go,” he said, stroking her hair.  “Cry as hard as you can.  Scream if you want to.  There’s no one to hear.” 

“But I’ve cried for years,” she said, the words muffled against his chest.  “It never does any good.”

“Crying isn’t meant to solve the problem, Ella.  It’s meant to clear your head so you can solve it.”

“I can’t solve it, Sébastien.  He’s dead!”  She balled her fists and pounded them into his chest, just once.

“
That’s it,” he said.  “Let it out.” 
She felt small and brittle in his arms, as if she would break if he squeezed her too hard.  He stroked her hair and kept soothing her, the same way his aunts and uncles had soothed his cousins when they were children.  His own parents had never done anything of the sort, but at least he knew what the process was supposed to look like.

He repeated the motion, hoping it would do her some good.  The feel of her hair beneath his fingers soothed him, too.  He began to think less about Amanda and his family.  The embarrassment, fear and resentment he’d felt all through the past year began to fall away from him and his mind felt clearer than it had in months.  Whether it was the shared confession or the intense need he felt to solve her problems instead of obsess over his own, Ella had brought him a temporary peace.

Suddenly, he remembered the words to an old French song he remembered his nanny singing to him as a child.  Something about a fountain and a boy who’d loved a girl for a very long time.  

As he began to whisper the words, he could feel her tension break.  Her muscles relaxed and he could feel the anger begin to flow away from her.  Finally, she began to let go and sob heavily against his chest.  He felt her body convulse with each sob and just kept singing the song, over and over until her sobs subsided. 

It took a great deal of willpower for him not to crush her in his arms; he wanted to wrap them around her so tightly the nightmares couldn’t find her again.  He closed his eyes and focused on the words and the warmth of her body against his. 

Eventually, she rested calmly and quietly in his arms.  He let her rest for a few minutes, making sure the storm had passed.  Then he whispered her name, just once.  She didn’t respond.

He bent his head down to see if her eyes were open, but they were shut.  Her breathing was slow and even.  He smiled as he realized she’d fallen asleep in his arms.  Apparently the song had worked a little too well. 

All the better, he thought.  As much as his lips ached for another taste of hers, it wasn’t meant to be.  She was exhausted by grief and he was still struggling to reconcile the two sides of her he’d experienced:  the cold, calculating woman who’d used him to gain access to his vault and the soft, vulnerable woman who’d fallen asleep in his arms. 

He wanted to believe the girl in his arms was the real Ella, but Amanda had taught him that the truth wasn’t the same as what he wanted to believe.  It was far better for them both if they slept and cleared their heads.  Surely the tension between them would ease without the lure of danger like that they’d experienced today. 

He picked her up in his arms, careful to jostle her as little as possible.  He carried her up the stairs and back to Honorée’s room.  The covers were still flung wide where she’d left them.  He laid her gently on the satin sheets and pulled them up over her shoulders, hoping the warmth would help keep her asleep.    

When she was tucked in and sleeping peacefully, he bent over her, intending to kiss her gently on the cheek.  But he drew himself back.  What if even that small amount of contact sent his blood back into the firestorm he felt earlier?  It couldn’t be allowed. 

Carrying her upstairs was one thing
.  S
he’d cried her heart out on his shoulder and he would have been an insensitive jerk to awaken her or leave her in the kitchen.  But if his lips woke her up…if he felt that same jolt of liquid electricity in his veins…if he couldn’t resist the temptation since
she was already lying in a bed.

No
, he ordered himself. 
Stay away from her, for both your sakes. 

He turned around and left the room as quickly as he could, closing the door behind him. 

Ella awoke slowly, dimly aware of the cocoon of warmth enveloping her.  She rolled over and realized how easy it was to move.  Usually, she awoke tangled in her flannel pajamas and cotton sheets, kicking to free herself and get out of bed.  But this was different.

She opened her eyes and blinked.  She was lying in an enormous bed covered in cream satin sheets, wearing silk pajamas.  Then she remembered again what had happened the previous day.  She felt her cheeks burn as her brain ran through a quick mental inventory:  the vault, the robbery, the car, the kiss, the crying. 

Oh God
, she thought. 
The crying.  I made an absolute fool of myself.

Still, no matter how much of a blubbering idiot she’d been last night, she felt better.  The crushing misery she’d felt last night wasn’t there anymore.  She still felt a little tired and confused, but the weight that pushed her down into despair was gone. 
Maybe Sébastien was right
, she thought. 
Maybe I did just need to let myself have a good cry.

She turned her head to look at the bedside clock.  It was 8:45 a.m.  Usually she got up about two hours earlier, in time for a morning Pilates workout before beginning the day’s work.  Not today.  It was time to shower and get dressed.  Sébastien’s press conference was happening at 11 a.m., she remembered, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Ella threw back the covers, wondering how she would get a hold of Frau Müller or Sébastien to ask for some clothes.  Then, once she sat up, she caught her breath.

At the foot of the bed there was a long, padded bench.  Laid out on the bench was a gorgeous turquoise silk shift dress, very Jackie O.  She could see the label
.  I
t was one of the most expensive French fashion houses.  She crawled over the bed to take a closer look. 

Lying next to the dress was a stack of underthings and a pair of strappy sandals, with a note resting on top of the stack.  She picked it up and began to read.

Miss Wilcox—

Sébastien asked me to find you something suitable to wear for the press conference this morning.  This was his mother’s, made for her when the Cherbourgs traveled with the Kennedys to Paris in 1961.  She never wore it past the last fitting session and I always felt that was a
shame.  I took the liberty of sending one of the maids out this morning for a few additional necessities.  Please take the liberty of using anything in Miss Honorée’s bathroom or dressing room.  When you’re ready, Sébastien would like you to meet him downstairs in the conservatory for breakfast.