had to try to reach him through you.”
“What is it?”
Regret traced Nicolas’ brow, the lines around his stone gray eyes creasing as he spoke. “Luc’s father didn’t deserve to go to prison. He was innocent, and if Luc will give me a chance, I can prove it.”
Tucking Nicolas Boucher’s card safely into my sparkly clutch, I stormed into the hotel lobby. I didn’t care if Luc was in the middle of negotiations with Brigitte.
It was time for him to tell me the truth about the family I’d married into.
But when I opened the fancy iron door that led to Le Bar 47, I bumped right into a fiery little blonde.
Oh joy. It was my favorite ex-wife.
Vincent was hot on Brigitte’s trail, reaching for the pouty young actress. She huffed as she pushed past me, so forcefully I almost fell backward.
But I caught myself. I wasn’t about to let her make even more of a fool out of me than she already had.
A harried, frantic look passed through her glassy green eyes as she stumbled over her four-inch heels. “It wasn’t all my fault, you know,” she slurred in French. “Luc was never home; he barely paid any attention to me. He had another woman on the side, I
know
he did. And then he gets me pregnant and—what did he expect me to do?” Tears now blurred those big baby eyes of hers, but she quickly wiped away her wounded look and replaced it with fire.
“He still loves me, you know. He always will, Charlotte. He always will.”
“
Ça suffit
.”
That’s enough,
Vincent said, taking her by the arm. “Go to the bathroom and get yourself together. You cannot show up to the premiere party in this state.”
Drunk, raging, and emotional. I’m sure the paparazzi would eat that up in a second.
I turned to flee the scene, but Vincent laid a hand on my arm. I yanked it away. “Leave me alone, please. I have to go find my husband.”
“It’s unfortunate that we met under these circumstances, Charlotte. You are a beautiful, classy woman. I do hope our paths cross again.”
I didn’t grace him with a response. Instead I hightailed it the hell out of there. I hoped our paths
never
crossed again, but I had a feeling that Luc’s complicated web of family drama—which I’d had no clue even
existed
until today—wouldn’t disappear quite so easily.
Up on the third floor, I let myself into our suite. I wanted to see Luc’s handsome face, hear him tell me this was all a bad dream—or at least explain to me why he hadn’t told me that his father had gone to prison, and what in the heck the Bouchers had to do with it.
But instead of answers to my questions, I found Luc’s black suit jacket tossed on the bed and heard his muffled voice coming from the other side of the bathroom door. I pressed my ear against thedoor but couldn’t make out any of the short, tense phrases that flew from his lips.
Who could he be talking to?
Hoping he stayed in the bathroom a tad longer, I closed my eyes and concentrated on his words. Finally, after a minute of indecipherable ranting, I heard one sentence loud and clear.
“Charlotte won’t know the truth until it’s finished. It will only put her in danger.”
I backed away from the door, my head suddenly dizzy with questions. What in the hell was going on? What would put me “in danger”
?
If Luc walked out of that bathroom and saw me standing there, stupefied, he would know I’d been eavesdropping. After everything that had happened today, after everything he’d been keeping from me, I shouldn’t have cared. But some bizarre instinct settled into my gut, and before I could fully evaluate my next best course of action, I found myself walking quietly back through the suite, opening the door, and closing it behind me.
Resting my head against the wall out in the dim hallway, I forced a few long breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. My mom had always taught me to breathe like this when I was panicked. And even though after she’d left my father, most of her mom
“What is it?”
Regret traced Nicolas’ brow, the lines around his stone gray eyes creasing as he spoke. “Luc’s father didn’t deserve to go to prison. He was innocent, and if Luc will give me a chance, I can prove it.”
Tucking Nicolas Boucher’s card safely into my sparkly clutch, I stormed into the hotel lobby. I didn’t care if Luc was in the middle of negotiations with Brigitte.
It was time for him to tell me the truth about the family I’d married into.
But when I opened the fancy iron door that led to Le Bar 47, I bumped right into a fiery little blonde.
Oh joy. It was my favorite ex-wife.
Vincent was hot on Brigitte’s trail, reaching for the pouty young actress. She huffed as she pushed past me, so forcefully I almost fell backward.
But I caught myself. I wasn’t about to let her make even more of a fool out of me than she already had.
A harried, frantic look passed through her glassy green eyes as she stumbled over her four-inch heels. “It wasn’t all my fault, you know,” she slurred in French. “Luc was never home; he barely paid any attention to me. He had another woman on the side, I
know
he did. And then he gets me pregnant and—what did he expect me to do?” Tears now blurred those big baby eyes of hers, but she quickly wiped away her wounded look and replaced it with fire.
“He still loves me, you know. He always will, Charlotte. He always will.”
“
Ça suffit
.”
That’s enough,
Vincent said, taking her by the arm. “Go to the bathroom and get yourself together. You cannot show up to the premiere party in this state.”
Drunk, raging, and emotional. I’m sure the paparazzi would eat that up in a second.
I turned to flee the scene, but Vincent laid a hand on my arm. I yanked it away. “Leave me alone, please. I have to go find my husband.”
“It’s unfortunate that we met under these circumstances, Charlotte. You are a beautiful, classy woman. I do hope our paths cross again.”
I didn’t grace him with a response. Instead I hightailed it the hell out of there. I hoped our paths
never
crossed again, but I had a feeling that Luc’s complicated web of family drama—which I’d had no clue even
existed
until today—wouldn’t disappear quite so easily.
Up on the third floor, I let myself into our suite. I wanted to see Luc’s handsome face, hear him tell me this was all a bad dream—or at least explain to me why he hadn’t told me that his father had gone to prison, and what in the heck the Bouchers had to do with it.
But instead of answers to my questions, I found Luc’s black suit jacket tossed on the bed and heard his muffled voice coming from the other side of the bathroom door. I pressed my ear against thedoor but couldn’t make out any of the short, tense phrases that flew from his lips.
Who could he be talking to?
Hoping he stayed in the bathroom a tad longer, I closed my eyes and concentrated on his words. Finally, after a minute of indecipherable ranting, I heard one sentence loud and clear.
“Charlotte won’t know the truth until it’s finished. It will only put her in danger.”
I backed away from the door, my head suddenly dizzy with questions. What in the hell was going on? What would put me “in danger”
?
If Luc walked out of that bathroom and saw me standing there, stupefied, he would know I’d been eavesdropping. After everything that had happened today, after everything he’d been keeping from me, I shouldn’t have cared. But some bizarre instinct settled into my gut, and before I could fully evaluate my next best course of action, I found myself walking quietly back through the suite, opening the door, and closing it behind me.
Resting my head against the wall out in the dim hallway, I forced a few long breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. My mom had always taught me to breathe like this when I was panicked. And even though after she’d left my father, most of her mom
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