Pull yourself together, she told herself.You can do this.You have to.
She patted her face, smoothing over the streaks of saline that had trailed down her cheeks. She used the toilet—which was nearly impossible in her tight dress, but she managed—and then washed up, taking deep, steadying breaths every few moments.
You can do this, she thought as she exited the powder room. Down the hallway, there wasn’t a soul in sight. As she navigated her way back to the staircase which led down to the lower level, she passed an ajar door.
A small moan made her freeze and made her turn.
It had been left open on purpose, Valerie realized. Because when she turned, her eyes darted through the door, into an office of some kind, with dark bookcases lining the walls and a darker desk the size of a car before them.
And on that desk was her aunt, her black dress pulled up around her waist, her legs wrapped around Gabriel Larchmont’s hips. He was driving those hips into Madame Allegria, his pace frenzied as he grinned down at her.
Val must’ve made a sound. A surprised sound. Because both Madame Allegria’s and Gabriel’s eyes found her.
Neither stopped.
If anything, Gabriel’s grin grew wider when he saw her watching. If anything, his pace quickened further, thrusting harder, like he was putting on a show. As for her aunt? Her eyes narrowed, as if trying to tell her something. Her expression wasn’t gloating. It was calculating and shrewd as it always was.
Gabriel’s groan broke whatever had kept Valerie rooted in place. His pace grew choppy, flesh slapping against flesh, and Valerie fled, knowing what would come next.
You look very much like your aunt.
That was what Gabriel had told her when she’d first met him a few days ago. Right in this very house.
The words weren’t all that strange, but something about his tone had felt off to her. Now she knew why. Now she knew why he’d agreed to marry her in the first place. Not only could he take part in his family’s company, but he would always be tied to Madame Allegria. And his wife? Well, she looked like the woman he was in love with, the woman he couldn’t have the way he wanted.
Valerie wondered what he’d do when he found out her aunt wasn’t capable of love.
Something shifted in her, cold and icy.
You can do this. You have to, she repeated to herself, finding that her hand was on the bannister of the staircase she didn’t remember finding. Behind her, Madame Allegria and Gabriel were no doubt making themselves presentable again.
Once on the main level, she searched for the sitting room, wandering aimlessly around that grand, empty house. It was beautiful from the outside but rotten within, Valerie thought. Priceless art hung from the walls, every inch was polished to perfection, everything chosen with careful precision and taste, meant to impress.
There was an open door at the end of the hallway, silvery light spilling out from within. Curious, Valerie ventured towards it, pushing it further open to step inside.
Her lips parted, her eyes going wide…but this time with awe and envy.
It was a conservatory.
The walls were made of glass, the silvery light of the moon shining inside. The fragrance of the flowers were heavenly, perfuming the air with a strange but addicting scent. White and red and pink and lilac and orange blooms met her gaze wherever she looked. There were even fruit trees, something she’d never seen before. Oranges and pomegranates and peaches.
Greenery mixed with the colorful flowers, creating a beautiful effect that overwhelmed her senses. Valerie thought she could get lost in there forever. She might even find some kind of happiness there.
Her eyes alighted on a white flowering bush a few paces ahead of her, tucked into its own gilded pot.
“Gardenia,” she whispered, recognizing the flower from pictures and research she’d done over the years. Its scent was said to be unparalleled.
“It’s my favorite,” came a voice, a voice she recognized.
When Valerie turned, there was Celine Larchmont, watching her from a bench nestled underneath a massive tree. A willow tree, she realized, though not as big as the ones she’d seen in pictures.
Celine stood from the bench, swaying a little, perhaps from the wine that night.
“You know them?” Celine asked, stepping up next to Valerie, her eyes going to the gardenias.
“I—I’ve read about them,” Valerie said softly, a little embarrassed to be caught there. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Larchmont, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Celine waved away her words, though her usual smile wasn’t present.
