And that’s the problem. Under the sheets, Alex is everything I want. Outside them, he’s a heartless, tactless jerk who managed to turn a marriage proposal into an insult.
He’s no monster like Geoffroy, not even close. I know that in my bones. I’ve learned to recognize the signs, and Alex doesn’t have them. He’s blunt, but not cruel. Not twisted. His lovemaking is generous. He went down on me again and again, because he could tell how much I enjoyed it. I never returned the favor. I couldn’t. Geoffroy had turned the act into something degrading and debased it beyond repair. And Alex… he never insisted, never pushed. I don’t even think he asked.
But none of that matters. He’s still infuriating. And I hate that I miss his touch.
It’ll pass.
Brigitte points at the bottle on the nightstand. “You sure you don’t want some?”
“No, thanks. Tea’s fine.”
“Suit yourself.” She takes a long drink. “So, what happens if we win?”
“I haven’t let myself think that far.” I push my plate aside. “If we do, I’ll go to the cellar and open our best champagne.We’ll celebrate. And then I’ll call the bishop to schedule Millie’s anointment ceremony.”
“And if we lose?”
“Millie and I will be out of here before he’s hung his victory banners.”
“And I’ll have to move to my depressing house.” Brigitte shudders. “Hate that place!”
She tries to roll her eyes Millie-style, but the wine in her system makes her eyelids falter, ruining the effect.
“Let’s hope you won’t have to move.” I look at the clock.
Any minute now.
26
EVA
My phone rings in my purse.
Pauline. It has to be her.
I set my teacup down, sloshing tea onto the saucer, and reach for the phone.
“Put her on shpeaker,” Brigitte slurs.
I swipe to answer. “Pauline, you’re on spea?—”
“You won,” she says before I can finish.
“What?” Brigitte and I cry out together.
“You and Millie won,” Pauline says slowly, ensuring it sinks in.
“We… won?” I breathe out.
“Judge Sarrazin ruled Millie is the rightful Duchess of Rohinn,” she replies. “And the owner of Fort Vauclairt.”
I grip the phone tighter. “You’re serious, right?”
“You think I’d joke about this?” she fires back.
Brigitte wags her index finger. “Pauline wouldn’t.”
No, she wouldn’t.
