Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,49
wasn’t listening. The sight of something in the distance distracted her.
“That’s Javier. I need to talk to him.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Think about what I said.”
Leah rushed off. Only after she disappeared into the darkness did Vivian realize she’d left behind the copy of Chances. She reached for it, opening to the first page.
Bitch. Child. Liberated lady. Temptress. Costa knew her as all of those things.
“So you see”—she fumbled in an oversized Gucci bag and produced a pack of cigarettes—“no way is it the right time for my father to come back into the country. No way. You must stop him.”
A simpler time, Leah had said. Well, simpler for her. She had just been a young girl. Vivian, however, had been an adult. An adult making adult mistakes.
She stood and began to pace in the darkness. The mention of cigarettes on the page made her yearn for one now. Decades after quitting, she still dreamed of smoking.
Yes, the book brought her back. She’d read it on the flight to France to see Natasha de Villard’s grand cru vineyard.
She could envision the Bordeaux countryside like it was yesterday even though it had been nearly forty years since her visit. Natasha sent a car to pick them up from the airport, and it had been from the back seat of that sleek Mercedes that she first caught sight of Château de Villard, rising in the distance like something out of a dream. When Vivian had embarked on renovating their own home, she had imagined something grand in French Renaissance tradition. But Château de Villard was the real deal, and her wildest imagination had failed to equal it. The château’s steeply pitched roof seemed to go on forever. With its gables and spires and turrets, it was like the skyline of a small city.
The driver whisked them up through an allée of linden trees, and closer proximity to the house only heightened its grandeur. The limestone building featured an entrance tower and several prominent wings. To the right of the entrance, an open loggia with pillars and topped with stone gargoyles.
Staff emerged from the house to take their luggage, and they were shown into a marble entrance hall. Glasses of champagne were pressed into their hands before a uniformed housekeeper led them up a spiral staircase. Vivian’s jaw dropped as she realized the stairs wrapped around a four-story chandelier.
The third-floor hallway was lined with paintings by Sargent and Boldini. They passed several rooms before the woman stopped and opened a door to a baroque extravaganza.
“Please, make yourself at home. The baron and baroness look forward to seeing you at dinner. I will return to bring you to the dining room at eight.”
Alone in the bedroom, Leonard walked around, silently admiring the walnut paneling, sixteenth-century tapestry, and Louis XV–style furniture. He finally turned to her and said, “What do you think all of this is about?”
“I have no idea,” Vivian said. “But I can’t wait for our luggage to get here so I can figure out what to wear when we find out.”
The housekeeper returned, as promised, to escort them down to the dining hall, a cavernous room with a seventy-foot-high ceiling and an oak table that could seat over sixty people. A triple fireplace spanned one end of the room, more antique tapestries on the walls.
Natasha de Villard rose to greet them. She was even prettier than Vivian remembered, the grand surroundings serving to heighten her beauty instead of dwarfing it. Dressed in a Chantilly lace suit with ribbon appliqué, she looked like she belonged in the pages of Vogue. She greeted Leonard and Vivian with a kiss on both cheeks.
“This is so much fun!” she said.
The baron rose from his seat at the head of the table. He was tall and lean, with sandy-colored hair, slate blue eyes under thick brows, and a long nose.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, approaching them. His smile was tight, but his voice was warm. He opened his arms to Vivian, and she dutifully stepped in for an embrace. As he kissed her once on each cheek, she felt an odd shiver.
“Thank you for the generous invitation,” Leonard said.
“My pleasure,” the baron replied. “I’m only sorry it took this long. We travel all summer, but as soon as we were back in residence, we were delighted to reach out.”
He wasn’t necessarily handsome—not with those cold eyes. But he had undeniable charisma, a sort of palpable energy that signaled he had power and ambition running through