him. “You must be tired from your first week at work.”
Run, run, run.
His smell, that awful cologne, fills my nose, and the flashbacks slam into my brain like bombs going off, like I’m reliving a war, a war that I lost.
His cruel, depraved touch.
The merciless glint in his eyes.
The way he got excited when I struggled.
The day I found out I was pregnant, knowing I couldn’t tell a soul.
Knowing I couldn’t keep his evil seed inside me.
The trip to the doctor, all alone, so alone, to get the abortion.
The shame.
So much fucking shame.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them loose.
I look away from his awful stare and let the shame run its course and the anger come back to fuel me.
Anger has been my friend for so long now.
“She is tired,” my mother fills in quickly when I don’t say anything, and she pours him his tea. “She’s not only cleaning up after Pascal, but she’s organizing his life for him too. I don’t know how you manage, Gabby; that’s a lot of work for one person. Always going above and beyond.”
I glance at her curiously, since this is the first time she’s said anything complimentary.
“Yes,” he says slowly, his eyes skimming over my face and then resting on my cleavage. “I was so surprised to hear what Pascal had you doing.” His eyes become more lustful, and then when he finally looks up at me, I see a smirk on his face, a smirk that tells me he thinks this is something we have, like this is some kind of secret.
This delusional motherfucker.
It’s enough to bring the marrow back into my bones and let the feeling return to my skin.
I move over on the couch as far as I can go and give him a hard look. “I was surprised too,” I tell him, and to my relief my voice is coming out clear and strong. “But I didn’t want to waste my business degree.”
And just like that, he seems bored. His eyes roam about the room. “Yes, I had heard from your mother that you were studying business. Seems to me quite a waste. You’re far too pretty for that.”
“Looks don’t last forever,” I tell him, hoping he feels the knife in that comment.
His eyes become slits for a second. Oh, he feels it.
“No, I suppose they don’t,” he says. Then he looks me over again. “Lucky for you, you’re holding up very well. Such a pretty, pretty thing you are. I’m almost jealous that my son gets to have you all to himself.”
My mother clears her throat, bringing our attention over to her. “Pascal needs her,” she says. There’s a hint of jealousy in her voice that devastates me. “If you ever need Gabby’s services, I’m sure I could—”
He raises his hand. “It’s fine, Jolie. Stick to making tea,” he says dismissively.
The way her face falls breaks my heart and scares me to the bone, because she’s that invested and in love with this monster, and the fact that he’s paying attention to me like this is making her hate me.
“Now, Gabrielle,” Gautier says, turning back to me with a sly smile, “we have so much catching up to do.” I am so tired of these Dumont men and their need to catch up. “When are your days off? Is Pascal more selfish than I am when it comes to the help?”
“Sundays,” I say quietly, pressing myself hard into the arm of the couch, as far away from him as possible, not liking where this question is going.
“Only one day?” he asks in mock surprise. “I should have a talk with my son. Sometimes I think he’s a bit of a bad seed, you know.” He picks up his tea and has a sip. “Perfect tea, as always, Jolie.”
Then, when it feels like I’ve been holding my breath forever, he gets to his feet. “Well, I better get unpacked. I came to see you right away, you know. I couldn’t wait. The moment I was able to take an earlier flight, I did, because honestly, Gabrielle, I didn’t believe you were here until I saw it with my own eyes.”
“But your tea,” my mother protests feebly.
“It’ll only keep me up,” he says to her. “You drink it.” He smiles down at me, and I swear I see fangs. “Keep your Sunday free. We need to talk. Perhaps a drive in the country. You’ve probably forgotten how lovely France is in