The chateau was a fuckingmasterpiece.
Massive stone walls framed the entryway, worn smooth with age. The ceilings were high, cavernous, lined with exposed wooden beams, each one older than every investor I’d ever had to sit across from at a gala. Grand arches framed doorways that led to sprawling sitting rooms with oversized windows, golden light filtering through the sheer linen curtains.
The floors were dark hardwood, polished to hell, the kind of wood that had been walked on for centuries, not just decades.Art lined the walls; not the kind you casually pick up at a Sotheby’s auction to impress your friends, but the kind that had likely been in their family for generations.
Everything about this place was rooted in history. And the thing about history was that it had weight.
It settled in my bloodstream as I took it all in, a quiet kind of reverence sinking into my bones. I’d been in my fair share of luxury homes. But nothing ever quite like this.
I should’ve expected it. Auri was never flashy, never boasted about where she came from. She didn’t need to. She was the product of this world, but she wasn’t a prisoner to it.
She had walked away from all of this to make something of herself outside of her name. Just like I did. And even though our upbringings were the opposite, our souls were always destined to understand one another.
We were three-quarters through dinner.Conversation had gone from stiff to tolerable. We’d played our parts. I followed Auri’s lead. We managed to not draw attention to our rings. I thought we were safe.
Then Augustin set down his wine glass and calmly asked, like he was inquiring about the weather, “How serious is this?” He gestured between us. “You two… whatever you call it now. ‘Seeing each other’. And are you two… intimate?”
I choked.Violently. Like I’d swallowed an entire spark plug.
Becausehowwas I supposed to answer that?
Yes, sir, I’ve had your daughter bent over more furniture than your château even contains. Yes, sir, she calls me husband when she’s coming. Yes, sir, and you’re not the only one she’s calledDaddy. Yes, sir?—
Fuck me. Why did that cross my mindnow?
My brain short-circuited.
Wine went down the wrong pipe, I coughed, and in a blind reflex to keep from humiliating myself in front of my in-laws, I slapped a hand over my mouth.
My left hand.
And suddenly the room went dead silent.
Geneviève gasped. Emilie’s phone fell face-first onto the table. Étienne didn’t even blink—just crossed his arms and waited like he’d been sitting front-row for this reveal all evening.
Auri froze for half a second—eyes wide, pupils blown, a mutteredCal, what the fuckwhispered across the bond only we could hear—but then her expression shifted.
There was no panic, no embarrassment. Justresolve.
She reached out with her left hand, gently lowering my wrist with both hands, exposing our bands fully to her family. Her fingers threaded through mine, firm and claiming.
I watched her take a deep breath. The kind a warrior takes before stepping into the arena.
And then she dropped the bomb.
“We’re married.”
Her voice didn’t waver. Her chin didn’t dip. She didn’t shrink.
Instead, my wife sat taller. I was so goddamn proud of her, proud to be hers, proud to call her mine.
“Mariés…?” Geneviève wondered, gaping in bewilderment at our joined hands.
Augustin blinked, looking from our hands to our faces as if he needed a second confirmation.
Emilie dropped her phone face-first on the table.
Auri wasn’t done. She lifted our joined hands to chest height. “I chose him. And not because of pressure or timing or headlines. Because he is my partner. My home. My family.”
