“I’m not worried. The name will survive a little bruising. Tara is young and beautiful. An artist. A few parties and galas where Givenchy and Chanel dress her, and all will be forgiven.”
“She’s not our kind,” Simone spits out.
“Good. It’s the best thing about her.”
“You will not do this, Gustave.” She is shaking with anger now. “I am your wife.”
“Make no mistake, Simone, I’m not doing this for revengealone. I’m doing it to protect Aubert and to stop you from preying on me and mine.”
She lunges for outrage, for pity. “You’ll look like a petty and cruel man.”
“I will look like a man who is in love.”
I pull out an envelope from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I slide it across the little table to her like a verdict.
“This is an injunction to revoke your access to the family apartments, to my accounts, and it prevents you from using the de Valois name.”
Simone stares at the envelope as if it has bitten her.
“If youeverinterfere in my life again, in Tara’s life, even Aubert’s, my lawyer will filethese papers.”
She can’t believe it—can’t believe I’m this kind of man.
She’s always known me as theconciliator, the one who keeps the peace, who smooths the edges and avoids the storm.
Does she really think I run an empire by beingcompliant?
“You would make a public spectacle of us?” she accuses.
“Oui.” The word is merciless. “For now because you should learn that there are consequences to your bad behavior. You will no longer be part of the de Valois foundation. You will have nothing to do with the work we do with museums, especially the Louvre. The trustees have been briefed.”
For the first time since I met her, she is speechless.
She tries her one last lever. Charm.
“Gustave,please. For the sake of what we once were.” Her voice softens, the predator trying the old lullaby.
I laugh, this time with genuine amusement. “What we once were is not something I aspire to remember or relive.”
Her breath catches. A single, short, ragged sound. “Think of Aubert.”
“I have run this by him. He agrees it’s the right thing to do.”
Now, she looks frightened. “You turned my son against me.”
“No,youdid that. He overheard you talking to Emma.”
Her eyes widen with understanding. “Non!” she wails.
“If you attempt to weaponize the press again, Iwillruin you, and the only place for you will be your sister’s attic in Marseille.” I hold her gaze. “Tell me you understand.”
There’s a silence so absolute it feels like snow falling in a chapel. She’s lost the thing she wants most, which is the ability to command a room with her last name.
Simone straightens, fury knitting her brows.
“Say,yes, Gustave, I understand,” I order.
And at last, realizing she’s cornered, she says, “I understand.”
