Étienne blinked, then barked out a surprised laugh, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “Ouais, that sounds like her,” he muttered, a hint of pride in it.
I felt my own mouth tug into a crooked smile. “She can handle her own,” I added. “I’m just there to make sure she never has to do it alone again.”
He studied me for a beat, something like relief settling in his expression. Then he nodded once, firm and approving. “Good,” he said quietly. “That’s all I ever wanted for her. Now, come on. Before Maman starts hovering and Papa starts interrogating, meet our spoiled, feral excuse for a baby sister.”
As if summoned, a voice called out, “Is that Callum Fraser? Oh my God, Ray, you brought a celebrity home?”
Aurélie groaned under her breath. “Emilie…”
And around the corner, her younger sister appeared, bright-eyed, early twenties, tousled blonde hair, wearing a sweater three sizes too big and socks that didn’t match.
She looked at Auri first—really looked—and her expression softened in a way that cracked something open in me. “It’s nice to see you happy for once,” she said simply, earnestly.
Auri didn’t even hesitate before she smiled, small but real.
That alone was worth every ounce of fear I’d dragged here.
Then Emilie’s eyes snapped to me and she grinned like trouble incarnate. “So. You’re the one who made my sister soft.”
Étienne snorted. “Soft? Ray? Never.”
Auri elbowed him sharply. “Shut up.”
I extended a hand. “Emilie. Enchanté.”
She blinked rapidly—once, twice—then turned to her sister with a theatrical pout.
“Where do I find one?”
My wife scoffed but pulled her sister into a quick hug. When she let go, she sighed. “Maybe leave the estate once in a while.”
Emilie recoiled dramatically, scrunching her nose. “Leave? Out there? With the commoners?”
“Oh my God.” Auri closed her eyes like she was recalibrating her entire soul. I grinned so big my cheeks hurt.
Emilie turned to me, stage-whispering loud enough that the ancestors heard it. “Is it exhausting being a celebrity?”
“He’s not—he’s not the only—” Auri protested.
Emilie arched a brow, wicked. “Right, right. Sorry.Youbagged a celebrity.”
Auri threw her hands up. “I’ma celebrity!”
Étienne choked on absolutely nothing. “Since when?”
“Since this year! You were, too, once!” Auri jabbed a finger in his direction.
He bristled. “I was? Iam! I’ve only been out for nine months!”
Emilie patted his arm like he was a wounded dog. “Retirement looks good on you, by the way.”
Auri rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. My chest warmed, heart thawing just a bit more when I saw how relaxed her body language was.
The entire room shifted then. It was subtle, but went from scrutiny to… familiarity. Exhausting, yes. But survivable.
The moment I started looking around, I knew exactly what kind of wealth I was dealing with. I’d spent enough time around billionaires to know the difference. The ones who came from new money flaunted it—gaudy displays, flash, opulence cranked to the highest fucking setting.
But old money? That was different. More subtle. More ingrained. It didn’t need to be flaunted because it had always been there. And Aurélie’s family was old money through and through.
