“So then what happened?”
I take in a long breath, and I start from the beginning, from when I went to the castle in the middle of the night, all the way to having Jones’s men come after me yesterday morning at Marie’s.
“And you’re where?” he asks, and I know he is having a hard time wrapping his head around everything. So am I.
“Disneyland Paris.”
“With Blaise?”
“He’s in the room, but yeah.”
“And you’re going to go to Dubai . . . with Blaise?”
I nod. “I am.”
“Seraphine,” he says cautiously, “I don’t . . . I’m not one to judge much, and I don’t want to ask but . . .”
I don’t want him to ask either. “I’m in love with him, Olivier.”
More silence. Even though it’s practically vibrating through the phone, I swear it puts a hush over the whole park.
“I don’t expect you to understand at all,” I go on. “And I know it’s weird because he’s my cousin, but we have a background, a history, that no one knows about and—”
“It’s not that,” Olivier says. “I know you’re not blood related, and believe me, I have noticed very weird fucking vibes between you two for pretty much our whole lives. I can’t say I’m that shocked, to be honest. But what I have a hard time with is . . . it’s him. It’s Blaise. He’s one of them. How can you trust him?”
“Because I do. I can’t explain why, other than he risked his life for me, other than he’s protected me, other than he’s chosen me over his own family. But I trust him with my heart, Olivier. And you don’t need to trust him at all—”
“Good, because I don’t.”
“But just trust that I trust him. He loves me. It’s crazy to say, but he loves me. And I really don’t know what the future holds for us. But I do know we’ll be in it together, and that’s honestly good enough for me.”
Another long silence. Then I hear him exhale. “I get it, Seraphine. I really do. Sometimes you find that someone, and that’s all you need. Nothing else matters but them—not the life you built for yourself, not the land you once called home. Not the truth and not the injustice and not the need for revenge. They become more important than all of that, more than yourself, even.” He pauses. “But I’m going to worry about you. You can’t stop me from doing that. I think you should come here.”
“I’m not leaving Blaise.”
“Then bring Blaise,” he says, even though it sounds like it’s killing him.
“I’m going to be okay, Olivier,” I tell him, and the more I say it, the more I believe it. “And if things get tough and I get scared, then I will come to California. With Blaise.”
“Shit,” he says.
“What?”
“My battery is dying. Here, let me call you back from Sadie’s phone.”
“Okay,” I tell him, and he hangs up.
I stare at the phone in my hands. I knew Olivier couldn’t really help my predicament other than to ask me to come to California, but even so, I feel better for having talked to him. Just to have someone else know besides me and Blaise that—
Before I know what’s happening, a shadow looms over me and swipes the phone out of my hand.
I jerk back on the bench and look up to see Gautier staring down at me, slipping my phone into his coat pocket.
“Seraphine,” he says. “I thought you’d be too cynical for a place like this.”
The disgust I feel toward my uncle overtakes all the panic and fear. I can’t even speak, the anger choking me, though I do start looking around for help. I have no idea what he’s here to do, how he even found me.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, putting both hands in his pockets. “I’m not here to make a scene. I just wanted a word with you and my son.”
“Blaise isn’t here,” I tell him.
He gives me a tight smile that makes him look monstrous. “I would have thought you’d know my son better than that.” He steps to the side, and I see Blaise standing behind him, face red, fists curled at his side. “You think he’d really let you come here all alone?”
I look at Blaise in shock, wishing he hadn’t followed me, but also so damn relieved that he did. I don’t want him to go through whatever we’re about to go through, and at the same time, I’m selfish enough to not want to go through it alone.
“What the hell do you want with us now?” Blaise asks, his voice practically a growl as he approaches his father.
I have to admit, as angry and scared as I am, this is fascinating to watch. I haven’t seen father and son interact since this all started.
“Watch your language, son,” Gautier says, turning to face him and giving him an easy smile. “This is a park for children.”
“I am not your son,” Blaise says through gritted teeth.
Gautier purses his lips like he just ate a lemon. “No. I suppose you’re not now, are you? A real son of mine wouldn’t turn his back on his family. He wouldn’t believe the false accusations of someone else, someone who has always proven to be flighty and insignificant and untrustworthy. He wouldn’t choose them over his own flesh and blood. But you did all that, didn’t you, Blaise?”
“You’re the liar,” Blaise says, coming closer. “Cold-blooded killer. You were so envious of your own brother because he was better than you in every way possible, you let that envy turn into hate. You let that hate turn into murder.”
“Murder. Such a strong word,” he says with a laugh. A couple with children walking past us gives him a funny look. He smiles at them merrily, and then when he looks back at me, his eyes turn dark and hard, practically soulless.
“But to say that he was better than me,” he says, raising his chin. “We all know he wasn’t a saint. Or perhaps you believed he was this perfect and pure man until the very end, Seraphine. Such a doting daughter. Such a stupid woman.”
“What do you want?” I ask him. “You just came here to steal my phone?”
“You’ll get it back,” he says. He looks at Blaise. “Actually, I want a word with my son, though I suppose you’re not about to give us a minute alone, are you, Seraphine?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” No fucking way would I let Blaise walk off with his father. That man murdered his own brother; I have no reason to believe he wouldn’t do the same to someone he’s practically disowning.
“Say what you have to say and then go,” Blaise says, his eyes burning holes into his father.
Of course, Gautier takes no notice. He’s as cold and apathetic as ever. I’m starting to think he likes the idea of his son hating him. I suppose he thinks it gives him power, some kind of upper hand.
“I just wanted to see you face to face and wish you good luck on your journeys,” he says.
“Bullshit,” Blaise says, and I watch his hands ball up into fists again. I hope for his sake he doesn’t lose it here in the park, because even though Blaise has every right to beat the ever-living shit out of his father, he’d get in a world of trouble for doing it here. It would be caught on tape, and the news of Blaise Dumont attacking his own father in Disneyland would spread like wildfire. No way that anyone would understand the truth of it all.