Chapter Five
Aramis
She’d asked me to list the things I was looking for in a woman and I kept coming up blank. I wouldn’t admit it aloud, but I’d never given it much thought. I always figured when I met the woman for me, I’d know. How would I know? Well, I wasn’t sure. A spark? Some kind of flashing lights going off that would alert me that I finally found her? I knew all of that was far-fetched, of course, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I wanted it to be blatantly obvious that I’d found the one. I didn’t want to be stuck in a loveless marriage like my parents. Of course, my mother would never say all of the years she spent married to my father had been loveless. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but we knew. It was the reason Elias was dead set on marrying a commoner he’d fallen in love with instead of one of the many suitors our mother had in mind for him. It was why Pilar refused to even think about being set up on a date. Instead, she’d left on holiday and found love on a whim, with someone she’d known for years, at that. Sometimes I wondered if that was the key. Maybe I should be looking a little closer to the women around me. The only issue is that the only woman consistently around me was Joslyn and she hated me. More than hated me. She couldn’t seem to sit beside me long enough without acting like she was uncomfortable. My mind drifted back to the list she’d given me. I looked over at her as she drank her after-dinner tea. We were the only ones still sitting at the long dinner table. My mother, Adeline, Elias, Pilar, and Ben were all in the next room, decorating the Christmas tree.
“What?” Joslyn side-eyed me as she sipped her tea.
“I’m thinking about the list.”
“Oh.” She set the cup down. “And?”
“Looks are important.”
“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s your list, after all.”
“I don’t want a doormat. I want a woman who can defend herself.”
“From you?” Joslyn arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s an issue? That someone would have to defend themselves from their partner all the time?”
“Only in jest. I don’t insult people, Joslyn.”
“You insult me all the time.” She picked her cup back up and continued drinking, blowing between small sips.
“And you like it.”
“I do not. Just because I don’t cry about it doesn’t mean I like it.”
“You insult me right back.”
“Rightfully so.”
“Because you’re not a doormat.” I arched a brow. “And you can take a joke. That’s next on the list: able to take a joke.”
“Okay.” She smiled behind the cup, her green eyes sparkling. “Anything else, master?”
My blood roared in my ears at the sound of that. I glanced away to hide the lust I knew was written all over my face. I wasn’t in love with Joslyn, but there was definitely a spark there. Always had been. A spark I ignored and squandered any chance I got out of respect for her post as Pilar’s secretary and now mine. Out of respect for my mother, who continuously reminded me that I couldn’t have her. The butler walked into the room and gathered our attention.
“Sir.” He bowed at me. “There’s someone at the door for you.”
“For me?” I frowned, standing up. “I didn’t invite anyone.”
“It’s a gentleman and a . . . ” He cleared his throat. “I think you should come to the door.”
“Okay.” I folded my napkin and tossed it on the table, leaving Joslyn sitting there sipping on her tea as I walked down the long corridors of Versailles.
I took the stairs quickly and walked to the main door, the butler quick at my heels. He rushed past me as we reached the door and opened it. There was an older gentleman on the other side holding the hand of a boy.
“May I help you?” I asked, shooting a look at the butler for him to leave. He did quickly.
“I’m Rudolph. I’ve waited a long time for this. Had my speech planned out of what I would say when I saw you. Thought I’d knock you straight in the nose, actually, but now that I’m here it doesn’t seem worth it.”
“Wh . . . I’m sorry, do I know you?” I braced myself, my heart stopping for a moment. I’d been in a car accident and the people in the other car hadn’t survived. We’d made sure their family got an adequate compensation, not that any compensation was adequate for the loss of a life, but it was something. Was this man the father of one of the people? The brother? The son? I hadn’t asked for specifics.
“No, we’ve never met.” He scoffed. “My daughter Esmée and you are well-acquainted. Or that is, you were some eight years ago. Esmée Laurent.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall an Esmée.”
“Of course.” He shook his head, scoffing again.
“I’m sorry, what is it you need? Money? Does your daughter need money?”
“You think you can just throw money at us, is that it? For years you’ve been sending money to Esmée and now you claim you don’t know her name.”
“What?” I blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“This here is Oscar.” He patted the boy’s head. “Your son.”
I felt myself stumble back, though I wasn’t sure if I actually did or if it was the air rushing out of my head so quickly. I looked at the boy again. He had the same complexion as me, the same green eyes, his hair was lighter than mine, but I guessed that could be from his mother’s side. Still. I shook my head.
“There’s no way.”
“You didn’t know?” Rudolph blinked. “You’ve been sending payments.”
“Not me.” I couldn’t stop staring at the boy. He looked scared, like it was taking everything in him not to hide behind the man next to him.
“Grandpa, I want to leave now,” the boy said, tugging Rudolph’s hand.
“We talked about this.” The man looked down at the boy. “You have to be strong.”
Years of hearing those words came flooding back to me, but the only thing I could do was stare at the boy, feeling like my heart was going to rip out of my body. Was he really mine? I had no recollection of an Esmée. A few years back there had been a rumor that someone had gotten pregnant by one of us, but my brother and I had looked into it and it had been a made-up story, someone after money. I looked at the man again.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“I have proof.” The man handed over a crumpled folder. I took it tentatively and looked inside. There was a birth certificate with the boy’s name—Oscar Aramis Laurent—only the mother’s name listed as a parent. Behind that, a paternity test. My heart pounded faster. Someone had taken my DNA and done this without my consent and then kept it from me. Who would do such a thing? I closed the folder and looked at the boy. He looked less than thrilled to be here. I looked at the man again.
“Why now? Why are you here?”
“My daughter, she . . . she’s in the hospital.” Rudolph’s voice wavered. “I’ve got nowhere else to take him.”