CHAPTER 15
PAIGE
I wake up with a headache the next morning.
After my shower, I push open the doors to my small balcony on the second floor of the villa. I sit in my fluffy robe, feet up against the wrought iron, and look out over the gardens, the lake, and the mountains.
And the fountain.
I can’t believe I did that. Sylvie and Leelyn lovedthat little stunt. Rafe, not so much. After he dropped me off in the guest bathroom, I showered and changed, and then I found the party mostly over.
He was nowhere to be found.
So I went to bed and ignored the way it felt to stand in nothing but my underwear in front of him. I’m going to ignore it today, too. Some things belong to the night.
I wonder what he thought of my little gift. It was so very impulsive, and I’d already had a bit to drink when I did it. Sneaking into his bedroom, I put the male sex toy on the center of his made-up bed alongside a newly bought red thong and an unopened bottle of my perfume.
Ridiculous, of course. I mostly bought all of it to spend more of his money, but the idea was too good to resist.
A happy-celibacy present.
Now, a good corner section of my bedroom is filled with decadent bags. The spoils of war. I bought some truly outrageous things, but some are beautiful. Pieces I’ve never been able to afford before.
But it’s too much. I can’t keep it all. I just don’t want to return it and give him the victory.
Maybe I can sell it all and donate the money to a charity.
Spending his money was petty, but it felt so good to be petty. For so many years I tried to resist. Be the bigger person and ignore my uncle’s harsh words. Work around his impulsive spending or rise above office politics to foster a strong environment for my colleagues to thrive in. It’s been exhausting.
The team back in Gloucester aren’t awake yet, but there are plenty of emails for me to respond to. Messages from Mather & Wilde’s board and from the PR team. They’re all on high alert now too, with the press attention.
I fire off email after email with quick fingers. The messaging to our customers has to be consistent.We’re not changing. We’re the same as we’ve always been. You can trust us.
Even if we’ve sold out to Maison Valmont and Raphaël Montclair.
I email a list of questions to Rafe, and at the top is one I’ve emailed him about before.I do not want any of our staff let go.It was something his lawyers didn’t let me add in our negotiations. But now that I have his attention, I’m going to make him agree to it.
My chest starts to tighten.
The consequences of my actions catching up with me.
I don’t want to have a panic attack. Normally they come at night, when I’m lying alone in bed with my thoughts and nowhere to hide. But this one comes out of nowhere, and soon there’s no way to stave it off.
Hot tears slide down my face.
What am Idoing? There’s no one I can talk to about this. About how desperately important it is that the company survives, because it’s the only thing I have left of my parents. It’s all on me. I’m the only one who can manage it, and I don’t know if Iammanaging it.
My breath comes in gulps.
I feel like I’m dying. IknowI’m not, but the tether on my logical reasoning is faint. It’s a balloon drifting in the wind, and it’s so hard to keep hold of the string.
I curl up on the floor of my bathroom.
The tiles are cool against my forehead. I cry, feeling like I’m about to break, and try to hold on to the knowledge that it won’t last.
It never lasts. That’s the only good thing. Nothing lasts.
When it’s over, I drag myself back into the shower. The warm water washes over my puffy face and tired eyes, and I take deep, wonderful breaths. I stopped going to my therapist right around the time Rafe revealed the extent of Valmont’s ownership of my family company.
