“Okay. I will add that to my French lexicon.” I grin at him as we walk up the stairs to the main entrance. Two doormen flank the entrance, pulling the doors wide before we reach the top step.
Just inside the foyer, the family stands in a line, welcoming their guests. Except Ric, who’s glaringly absent. Chantal is busy speaking to others, but Vincent cuts a sharp look at me as I enter. Does he blame me for yesterday’s scene with Alice?
“Brooke!” My name rings out, and Luci beams as Noah and I approach. At least one person seems happy to see us.
Dora is beside her granddaughter, and as matriarch of the house, she greets and welcomes us. “Brooke, you aretrès belle. Very beautiful,” she clarifies, tilting her head and looking up from her chair. She is dressed in black, but I can’t see enough of her clothes to guess her costume.
In contrast, Lyam and Luci both wear Victorian-style clothing, colorful and elegant, with no indication that either is a monster.
Dora shifts her attention to Noah and her smile fades. “Noah,” she says, the slightest nod her only gesture of welcome.
“You look lovely, Aunt Musidora.” He gives her a bow as he did for me, ignoring her obvious snub.
Luci breaks from the welcoming line, waving her hands for us to follow. “André’s already here. Food and drink are being served in the blue salon.”
I return her smile, but I’m still bothered by her lie. Why conceal her friendship with Rose? Why lie about such a simple thing?
Logic tells me I should be cautious, but there’s a vulnerability about Luci that tugs at my heart. Even when she’s happy, it feels like an act. As if a bruise of misery lives beneath the surface. Something anguished and sad, disguised by false cheer.
She leads us to a grand room with silk-papered walls in rich lapis blue. People mingle with cocktails in their hands, some holding plates, having served themselves from the banquet-style meal.
Champagne fountains sparkle, silver platters shine, and desserts create an ornamental display fit for royalty. Tables of food form a perimeter around the space, so much that if I tried a bite of everything, I’d be here all night.
I doubt I’ll be eating at all, not with the nerves jangling in my stomach. At least a hundred people mill around the mansion, increasing the odds I’ll be recognized. Since the scandal is all over the news cycle, I’ve come prepared. Ready with stock answers and cover stories, all slightly altered versions of the truth. That’s what Lin would want.
No. Scratch that. Lin wouldn’t want me at this party at all.
I stick to Noah’s side as he introduces me to other guests. By first name only. He also helps by steering discussions to local events. Paris Fashion Week is coming up, a topic that keeps the group chatting about designers and trends.
Glancing around the room, I’m surprised by how relaxed the gathering feels. I thought a party of monsters might be intimidating, but even Hannibal Lecter seems tame with a pink drink in his hand.
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of Vincent. He’s left the receiving line and now stands near the bar. He wears a robe with a black hood, an executioner from the gallows.
He swirls a glass of liquor in his hand but doesn’t drink, his cold stare centered on me. He makes no attempt to hide his disdain, and I almost expect his lip to curl up in a snarl.
For the first time, I see how much Ric resembles his father.
I slip my arm through Noah’s and rejoin the conversation. At some point, we split off from Luci and André, spending time with a man Noah knows through his work. People enter our circle, and others leave, a pattern that repeats until we’ve met half the room.
Every other person seems to bear an important title, but one in particular stands out. Noah introduces the Chief of Paris Judicial Police, describing the department as France’s answer to the FBI.
I nod in his direction, keeping a pleasant expression plastered in place, but I can’t help remembering the day I met Alice. How she approached me in the café, told me Rose went missing from the mansion, and claimed authorities did nothing to help.
Claimed the police were protecting the Marteau family.
And here stands a high-ranking official in Parisian law enforcement.
“I see someone you’ll want to meet.” Noah steps away from the group, and I’m happy to go with him, leaving the beady-eyed chief behind.
Time passes and drinks flow, turning conversations loud and boisterous. Even Lyam has grown more animated, joking and laughing and opening up. As if the weight of playing a role has fallen off his back, and he’s able to be himself.
When he starts to expound on computer programming and the joy of writing code, I tune Lyam out and scan the room. Luci leans on a chair nearby, focused on a phone.
Maybe it’s the three Calvados and tonics I’ve had, the easy camaraderie, or the free-for-all party vibe. Whatever the reason, I jump at the chance to talk to Luci.
To ask her the question that’s been burning in my brain.
I ease up beside her and jump right in. “I saw you followed me on Insta. I followed back.”
