The Boss (Chateau Book 3) Page 15

  “You think so?”

  He studied me for a while, inhaling a deep breath as he considered his response. “I know how he earns his money. I know he’s a criminal…and what kind of criminal he is. But I believe someone’s goodness is determined by more than just their sins. Every day I’ve worked for Fender, he’s been generous and kind, and even in his coldness, his loyalty is unquestionable. I’ve seen the softness beneath the hardness, seen the way he cares when no one else would. And with the kind of life he’s had, the kind of suffering he’s endured, the kind of revenge he possesses…I understand it. Whether it’s right or wrong, I understand it.”

  “What…what kind of life has he had?”

  He looked into his teacup and gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Melanie. A butler always keeps his master’s secrets. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  Gilbert visited me every day.

  Sometimes, he joined me for lunch. Sometimes, it was dinner. There was always this tension between us, because while Gilbert had dropped his hostility, he would never truly overcome his pain.

  I had the man he wanted—and that would always hurt.

  His love seemed so genuine that I actually felt guilty for being the one in Fender’s bed.

  Gilbert came into my room one night after dinner with a notebook and a book. He sat on the couch beside me, wearing a pajama set instead of his usual tuxedo.

  I’d never seen him in anything other than his butler’s uniform, so it made me stare at him longer than I usually would. He was lean and toned, a really handsome guy, probably Raven’s age. The V in the front of his shirt showed his hard chest and some hair.

  He opened the notebook and clicked his pen, crossing one leg and resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “Yes?”

  “Sorry. I’ve just never seen you dressed like that.”

  “I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem.” He lifted his chin and looked at me for confirmation.

  “No, not at all. Kinda nice, actually. Feels like we’re friends…”

  He looked back at his notebook—like we would never be friends. “Fender mentioned that you’d like to learn French.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to teach me—”

  “It’s no problem.” He opened the book he’d brought with him, which held translations for words from French to English.

  “Thanks. Sometimes Fender speaks to me in French, and I have no idea what he’s saying.” When he spoke to me in bed, it turned me on even though I didn’t know what a single word meant. If I did know, it would probably be even sexier. “And when he talks to people, it’d be nice to know what’s going on.”

  “What does he say?”

  I looked away, feeling too guilty to say it out loud.

  “It’s okay,” he said with a strong voice. “You don’t have to hide your relationship for my sake.”

  So, he’d already deduced why Fender was speaking to me in French. “Are you seeing anybody?”

  He turned to look at me, his pen in his hand.

  “I mean, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  His gaze remained stoic as he turned back to his notebook. “This moment? No. But I’ve had relationships on and off for the last few years. Sometimes serious. Sometimes not. When things are good, it does help my situation with Fender, but there’s nothing that will ever truly make those feelings go away.” He cleared his throat. “I trust that you won’t share these things with him.”

  “Never.”

  He made some notes with his pen, writing out some common words. “Were you the one who figured it out…or was it him?”

  I wanted to lie and spare his feelings, but I didn’t. “I told him when I noticed, but he said he’s known for years.”

  He inhaled a deep breath, and his pen steadied. After he recovered from the embarrassment, he continued to write.

  “Have you considered leaving?”

  He finished his notes then clicked the top of the pen. “I could never leave him. No one could ever run his life the way I do.”

  “I’m sure. But you have to think of yourself, Gilbert.”

  He gave a subtle shake of his head. “I would be miserable working for someone else besides him. With my other employers, there wasn’t the same level of satisfaction.”

  “Are you ever…scared? You know, because of what he does?”

  He shook his head again. “Fender is the most dangerous man in France. That also makes him the safest.”

  Whenever I looked out my bedroom windows, I could see the armed men near the gate, ready for the unexpected. At first, it was daunting, but I was getting more used to it now. Just as I got used to the faceless guards at the camp.

  “Here’s the basics. That way, you can at least greet people Fender introduces you to.” He handed me the notebook. I read through the list, trying to pronounce each one, but I’d never practiced French.

  “Americans butcher the French language.” He released an annoyed sigh and helped me with each syllable, the pronunciation of each word. It was hard to look at a letter I’ve stared at my entire life but say it differently.

  Together in front of the fire, we practiced.

  When I grasped it as well as I could, he took the notebook back. “And what does Fender say to you?” He grabbed his pen so he could write it out.

  “Um…” I tried to remember. When he spoke French to me, it was difficult to focus on the actual words because everything else drew my attention, like the look in his eyes, the deepness of his voice, what he was doing to my body with his. “Tu es mon… Something like that.”

  He wrote it down in his notebook. “You’re mine.”

  The flush crept into my cheeks when I pictured Fender saying that to me, rattling the headboard as he proved that physically.

  Gilbert had no reaction, keeping his feelings held inside like an uncorked bottle.

  “Tu es… moi… à moi… I’m not sure. He said the words a couple times.”

  “Mine.” He wrote it down.

  “Oh…” So, everything he said was romantic. It wasn’t dirty talk like I assumed. “Tu es vra… magnifico? I’m sorry, I’m probably not even close on that one.”

  Gilbert only needed a couple seconds to figure it out. His pen went to the page, and he wrote it out. “Tu es vraiment magnifique. You’re fucking beautiful.”

  Like a movie in my head, I could picture him saying that to me, his hand around my throat, one arm behind my knee. The look in his eyes matched his words. His affection matched his aggression.

  “I want you to memorize this and say it to him.” Gilbert added another line to the notebook. “Mon homme m’a manqué. Emmène-moi au lit. When he comes home, that should be the first thing you say to him.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Roughly translated, it means, ‘I missed my man, and now take me to bed.’”

  Yeah, he would love it if I said that.

  He closed the notebook and set it on the coffee table. “If my instruction isn’t enough, we can have a professional come to the house. While English is a second language to most of the French, you will integrate into Parisian society much easier if you’re fluent. Just because we speak English doesn’t mean we want to. French is a much more beautiful language. You’ll see.”

  A week had come and gone, and Fender didn’t return.

  I had no idea when he would.

  I put on a purple long-sleeved dress from Louis Vuitton with some matching pumps, along with a few pieces of jewelry Gilbert had placed in my room. When he first showed me the jewelry box, I didn’t touch anything because I’d never seen jewels like that in my entire life. Now, I put them on every day, always wearing something new because he had such a variety.

  I made my way downstairs and found Gilbert in the main living room, carefully dusting a teapot with a soft brush, like it was a fossil found in the desert that needed to be handled with care. “Gilbert?”

  He finished what
he was doing then carefully placed the lid on top before he rose to his feet, in his tuxedo with his shoes as shiny as the paint job on a brand-new car. “Is there something I can get you, Melanie?” He removed the white gloves he used to handle the tea set as he approached me.

  “Is that tea set really old or something?”

  He halted in front of me, giving me that look that clearly asked, “Did she just really say that?” After he recovered from his shock, he finished with his gloves and held them at his sides along with the brush. “Yes…very old. This estate has been restored as minimally as possible to protect its history. A lot of the items in the house date back to the sixteen and seventeen hundreds, when Parisian society was bustling with parties and gatherings.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that. Fender doesn’t…talk much.”

  Gilbert stared at me, his lips slightly pressed together in displeasure and his eyes a little dark. He didn’t beam at me the way he did with Fender, and I’d just have to accept the fact that he never would. “Did you have a request?”

  “Yes. Maybe the two of us could go shopping in Paris?” He was passionate about designers and fashion, the perfect colors on the right complexions, the accessories that elevated an outfit from simple to fantastic. “Then get lunch or something?” Raven and I never really had a chance to do those things because we went sight-seeing instead. My time with her had been short…before everything happened.

  Gilbert’s gaze dropped briefly before he found the words. “His Highness has requested that you don’t leave the premises in his absence.”

  I was a bit disappointed but unsurprised. Without him present, there wasn’t much for me to do. It was too cold to spend much time outside, and it’d been raining a lot. “Have you been in contact with him?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then how do you know when to prepare for his arrival?”

  “Because I’m always prepared for his arrival.” When his job was questioned, he was immediately defensive, like his occupation was the bread and butter of his life.

  “Do you ever leave the house?”

  “House?” he asked. “This is a palace, Melanie. Not a house.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “And yes. I have my time off to do what I wish. I would normally leave in his absence, but since you’re here, we both agreed I should stay put.”

  “Because you’re the only one who speaks English?” Whenever I tried to talk to the housekeepers, they looked at me blankly then continued to work.

  “Because the head butler is the only one who speaks to the master. Everyone else reports to me.”

  I didn’t understand the hierarchy in this house, but that made sense. The rest of the staff moved in and out of the background, doing their jobs but trying to remain unseen. If Fender had to give orders to every single one, his day would be spent running a house rather than working. “Well, how about lunch?”

  He gave a cut nod. “We can do lunch. Take a seat, and I’ll join you momentarily.” He turned to walk away.

  I turned back around to admire the tea set, realizing that it could be hundreds of years old, that Parisian socialites may have drunk out of it and smeared their lipstick along the rim.

  “And Melanie?” Gilbert turned back around.

  I faced him.

  “You look lovely in that dress. Purple is your color.” He gave a slight bow before he departed.

  “Practicing your French?” He sat across from me in the garden room, which was surrounded by French doors made of glass, showing the water drops on the green leaves, the slight bop of the plants as the rain came down and made everything move. When spring arrived, I was certain it would be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  I turned back to him. “Yes. That’s all I have to do…”

  “Good.” He delicately placed his spoon in the soup then dragged the bottom against the side of the bowl before placing it in his mouth. With his eyes down on his food, he spoke. “I wanted to thank you for what you did with Fender a few weeks ago…just never got around to saying it.”

  I watched him, unsure what he referred to.

  He lifted his chin and met my look. “When I restricted your food.”

  When that had happened, my actions were impulsive. I didn’t do it so Gilbert would like me. I just didn’t want Gilbert to get in trouble when he was a good servant in every other regard. I saw the way he breathed to serve Fender, and seeing how angry Fender was, I wanted to preserve that relationship. “You’re welcome.”

  “I know how this must sound, but…I did it because I want Fender to have the best of everything. I control every aspect of his personal life without him even realizing it, so it was natural for me to do that with you. I thought he would be displeased if you were bigger, so I wanted to address the problem without him even knowing.”

  “Why did you think he’d be displeased?”

  He looked at his soup again and glided his spoon inside. “I know his taste in women.”

  “And what kind of taste does he have?”

  “Tall, thin, model material. Perfection.”

  I wasn’t tall, and I didn’t find myself to be model material either.

  “But while you’re absolutely gorgeous, you don’t quite fit into those requirements, so I guess I don’t know everything about him…”

  I looked down at my salad and pushed a couple pieces around, thinking about every moment when Fender looked at me—like it was impossible to take his eyes off me. Just his gaze alone showed more dedication than any man had ever given me in my entire life. He made me feel like the most beautiful in the world without even saying it. I didn’t quite understand his fascination with me, because Gilbert was right. There were better options out there. “Can I ask you something?”

  He took a bite of his soup and regarded me.

  “What is it about him…that makes you feel this way?” This invisible divide between us always made us feel friendly but not friends. Maybe someday that would change. Maybe it never would.

  He cleaned off his spoon before setting it on the linen on the table. The question seemed to make him lose his appetite, because he moved on to his tea and abandoned his lunch. “I’m sure you can guess, Melanie. You can guess better than anyone…”

  I let the conversation die. If he wanted to answer, he could. If he didn’t, that was his business. My food was no longer appetizing either, so I pushed it away and grabbed my tea and cookies.

  “He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen…for one.” He drew a deep breath then let it out slowly, like he was getting these heavy feelings off his chest. “I’ve never told anyone about this before, so it’s both strange and cathartic to discuss.”

  “You don’t have to. I just…was curious.”

  Gilbert watched me dunk my cookies into the tea before he continued. “The way he carries himself. The way he orders me around but never scolds me. He’s a natural leader. He handles business like he’d been doing it for many lifetimes. He earns the respect of everyone around him without even trying. He says so much without saying anything at all. And his eyes…they’re so deep and beautiful. He looks mad most of the time, but that intensity…it’s so sexy. He’s a man, you know? He’s so…manly. I just love that. Strong. Powerful. Masculine. And while he’s not affectionate, he’s good to us. He’s good to the people who are loyal to him. He’s the most hardworking person I’ve ever been around. It’s all those things, everything about him, every little thing…”

  Sixteen

  All That’s Left

  Fender

  The sun was out.

  The sky was clear, revealing the French Alps in the distance, the powder gleaming under the sunlight. There wasn’t even a breeze, but the air was cold, absorbing the vapor that left my nostrils.

  My stay had been worse than usual. Melanie was waiting at home for me when she used to be the reason I looked forward to coming to the camp. She had been the reason I’d stayed longer than I should.

&
nbsp; But with her gone, my nights were lonely.

  My boots smashed the snow underneath me as I crossed the ground, spots of soil breaking up the solid white cover. My men flanked me on either side, armed under their jackets, in case the guards staged a coup or one of the women was angry enough to come for me.

  One woman in particular.

  My black horse was ready for my departure. He was mine exclusively, and I was the only one permitted to ride him. He was well trained and obedient with a black coat that rebelled against the white landscape. A gorgeous horse deserved the right rider, and I paid a sum greater than a car to be that rider.

  I always wanted the best in life.

  My eyes left the steed waiting for me and settled on Magnus.

  With his hood pushed back, he waited for me to approach.

  We hadn’t spoken after our tense conversation in the cabin. Wordlessly, he did his job, and I did mine. I didn’t wait for an apology or an admission of guilt, and even if it did happen, it wouldn’t change anything. The deep-seated loyalty I had for my brother was the reason he was still breathing right now.

  I stared him down as I took the reins from the guard. “Leave us.”

  They all obeyed immediately—the way Magnus should.

  Their footfalls died away as they entered deeper into the camp, moving through the cabins and approaching the clearing.

  I held the reins even though Horus remained still.

  Magnus stepped closer to me, my height but leaner in his arms and torso. His eyes remained guarded and cold, unapologetic about the last words he’d spoken to me. “I’ve had a few conversations with the Colombians about the increased production. We’re working on a solution to our problem.”

  “I want a solution. Not an update.”

  “Solutions take time, Fender.”

  “We are men who don’t try. We do. Remember the difference.” I expected every man who worked for me to bust his ass like his life depended on it. That was how we took over the entirety of France and claimed it as our territory. When a streetwalker got their hands on our drugs and started their own pitiful organization, they were taken out. We didn’t ignore them because their enterprise was laughable or because they were insignificant. We took on every single threat, no matter how small, just out of principle. Our business was run like a militia, with no exceptions. If you were going to bother to do something, do it the best. Something my father said when I was younger. The only advice I ever valued from that piece of shit.