“It’s true,” I say.
We’re almost through the agenda when the door opens.
Pauline steps in. Tailored jacket, pencil skirt, calm face. Her eyes seek me.
My stomach flutters. She wouldn’t be here unless the verdict’s out. I already know what it is, and I’ve been bracing for it. Pauline and I spoke this morning on the phone while I was in the car on the way here, and she was on the steps of the courthouse.
I pressed her to be brutally honest. She admitted that she agreed with Derek’s reading of the signs. Unfortunately for us, Judge Gérard Vaurin turned out to be, in her words, a “radical textualist.” For him, the letter of the law—in our case, the entail—outweighed the spirit. He was likely to name Alex duke.
And now she’s here. It’s done. The moment this meeting ends, she’ll take me aside and deliver the news in that low, apologetic voice of hers. I’ll tell her she did what she could.
I’ve run the odds a hundred times over the last three weeks. They went from slim to narrow to improbable. We were always fighting uphill, but Pauline believed we had a good shot.Me?Deep down, I’ve known which way this would go. Still, the sight of her makes my throat dry.
I force my gaze back to Rémy, who’s still poring over the maps. “Shall we set a date for the next meeting?”
Pauline moves to the side of the room, folding her hands. Waiting.
I keep my voice calm and my smile easy, even as my heartbeat quickens.
“Two weeks from today? Same place?”
They agree.
“The duke will be cochairing the next meeting with the union president,” I say. “He can give you more details then.”
Lara’s gaze shifts from Pauline to me. “And your legal fight, Your Grace? Any news?”
“Looks like I’m about to find out,” I say, keeping my tone light.
I gather my papers and tuck them into the folder with careful precision. A strange calm settles over me—resignation laced with fatigue.
When I look up, Pauline meets my eyes. I smile at her. Whatever she’s about to say, I’ll hear it standing.
Paulineand I leave the trade union hall in silence.
The farmers mill around, tossing me speculative looks. I don’t slow down. My nerves tighten at what’s coming.
We head across the street to the bistro. Inside, it smells of espresso and toasted bread. Pauline claims a corner table.
I drop into the seat opposite her and wave over the waiter. “Water and a coffee, please.”
“Same,” Pauline adds.
The drinks arrive. I wrap my fingers around the cup.
“All right,” I say. “Hit me. I’m ready.”
Inexplicably, she smiles. “There’s no verdict.”
“Excuse me?”
“Judge Vautrin was late this morning,” she begins and then stops.
“Go on,” I urge.
“Vautrin’sneverlate, so it was odd. But Derek didn’t look worried. He was lounging there, oozing smug from every pore.”
My lips twitch. “And?”
