I never tried a single one of them on.
CHAPTER 51
PAIGE
We arrive at the Artemis factory forty minutes behind schedule, with three beautiful dresses in the back of the car. Rafe doesn’t seem to mind that we’re late, which shocks me almost as much as how good I feel. There are still residual tingles through my body and I feel warm. My throat is still a bit sore, but it has been for days.
It’s not like I have the time to be sick.
Rafe parks behind a large stone building. It’s protected by high fences, and it looks nondescript, like it might be an old storage unit. The Artemis logo is nowhere to be seen.
Few people have ever seen the insides of Artemis. It’s one of the world’s most legendary watch brands and has been located in this valley for over a century. Rafe’s father inherited it and turned what it offered into Maison Valmont and a wider luxury empire.
But this? It’s where it started.
I keep tapping my hand against my thigh. He notices, of course. He notices everything. “I thought you’d be calmer after that,” he says.
“It’ll take more than a half-good orgasm to calm medown,” I say. I haven’t been in a factory in weeks. I love ours, and I’m so excited to see this place.
Rafe scoffs. “Half-good, she says. Like I didn’t have to kiss you to quiet the moans. And you cametwice.”
“I’m loud. You already know I’m loud.”
“Well aware,” he says. He’s got that crooked smirk on his face, the one that used to drive me insane. It’s becoming hard to remember that.
“I want to make it clear,” I say, “that this makes us even. It didn’t give you an additional point or anything.”
His smile widens. “Again, I’m well aware, Wilde.”
“Good.”
“Great,” he says. He holds the door for me and we walk into a lobby. “As fascinating as this conversation is, we’ll have to table it for now.”
The receptionist welcomes us warmly, and we’re soon joined by a middle-aged woman who is head of the factory. She speaks to Rafe in French, and he answers it in a warm tone.
The next hour is one of the most fascinating of my life.
I feel lightheaded with all the things I see. It’s not a factory floor so much as many large factory rooms. Dozens of craftsmen and craftswomen wearing white robes work at individual stations.
Rafe greets people by their names. In one of the rooms where watches are made, he stops behind a man in round glasses with graying hair. Opposite him is a woman in her forties, focused intently on a watch. Both have an array of tools on their workstations. Micro-screwdrivers, fine-tipped tweezers, miniature brushes and loupes.
“Bonjour, Hugo. Ça va?” Rafe asks. I recognize the words. How are you?
Hugo answers in a warm tone, and soon the entire table is looking up from their work. Rafe talks to them all at the same time.
This place bears such a striking similarity to Mather & Wilde that it makes my heart ache. I’m hit with homesickness, here in a Swiss valley, as far away from the ocean and Gloucester as I can be.
But this place is filled with people who take pride in their work. Filled with expertise, and precision, and friendly conversation.
They’re all polite to me, and curious, judging from the gazes thrown my way while Rafe talks. Hugo tells me in a thick German accent that he’s trained all his life to do this job. German, because Switzerland has three official languages, and the master watchmakers here come from every corner of the country.
I worked my way up, Hugo tells me.
When I ask the woman opposite him, Yvette, how long she’s worked here, she tells me that her mother was a master watchmaker too. She’s the second generation working here in Lausanne.
“Your mother worked for Artemis?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yes. Hired by Raphaël’s own father.”
