The Palace (Chateau 4)

Masculine, with a libido that took several sessions to quench. Rich, with more money than he could spend in several lifetimes. Ripped, hitting the weights the way some people attended church. Handsome, with hard features, a shadowed jawline, sexy lips, dark eyes.

How was I enough for someone like him?

What had I done to deserve to be loved so unconditionally?

Weak and stupid, I couldn’t survive on my own. I’d had two roommates back in America because I was just a bartender who couldn’t stand on my own two feet. I had no ambitions in life.

His eyes homed in on my face. “Don’t do that.”

My eyes flicked to his face.

“You look like that every time you hate yourself.”

For a man so…manly, he had unparalleled intuition. He could read between the lines when other men couldn’t. He could see what others could not. Or maybe he just knew me the way I knew him. “Is that something you would notice with your French girls a lot?” I didn’t say whore because it seemed demeaning, even though that was exactly what they were. If I got paid to have sex with Fender, I’d probably do it too.

His eyes focused on me for a while before he answered. “Yes.”

I could barely tolerate it, and no amount of money would make me tolerate it better. I wasn’t one of his French girls. Nor would I ever be.

“Don’t compare yourself to them. I don’t.”

I studied his face.

“Because every time I was with them, I wished it were you.”

The estate was filled with people.

Women in gowns. Men in tuxedos. Flutes of champagne were delivered to guests, as well as tiny appetizers guests could enjoy in a single bite. The house was decorated with extravagant flowers, and a string quartet played instrumental music that made the moment identical to a scene in a movie. I’d lived a life of luxury for months now, and I never got used to the wealth Fender possessed. I never got used to the things money could buy.

My look was achieved by professionals. All I had to do was sit there as the team transformed me into an image I’d never be able to replicate without weeks of practice. My hair was done beautifully, my makeup pristine, and my gown was probably as expensive as one of his cars.

But the hours and money were all worth it when Fender looked at me.

His gaze seared into mine as we walked up the stairs. Possession burned bright, like he wanted to push me up against the wall and take me right then and there. Pride was there too, like he was the only man who could ever have a woman like me. A million emotions and thoughts happened in just a few seconds. I saw love, devotion, and commitment in there, too.

It went against everything I believed in—but I felt like the lucky one.

With his hand on my lower back, he spoke to his acquaintances in French, and I chimed in whenever I understood enough to say something intelligent.

Whenever I did that, he gave me a look of pride and brought me closer, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

It made me melt every time.

Made me feel good about myself.

Caught up in Fender, I forgot about the reason I’d looked forward to this evening.

Until I saw him.

Magnus walked up and greeted his brother with a stare.

I didn’t know what to do, so I looked away.

They exchanged words in French, and one word stood out the most. Napoleon. Quick words were exchanged back and forth, too fast for me to pick up on, but I could tell that Fender was irked.

I’d hoped Magnus would bring my sister, but it was clear he was stag. “You didn’t bring her?”

“Why would I?” He switched to English, and his tone was clipped and angry, like the mention of her infuriated him the way it infuriated Fender.

Fender drank from his glass, changing the subject. “Stasia is looking for you.”

His face remained stony at the mention of this person.

I should keep my mouth shut, but I was instantly hit with a need to defend my sister, who loved this man. “Who’s Stasia?”

Magnus dismissed himself without giving an answer. He walked off and headed down the hallway.

This was my chance.

Someone else walked up to us and engaged Fender in conversation, so while he was distracted, I excused myself. “Excuse me, just need to use the restroom.” I kissed him on the cheek, received a quick look of approval as he continued his conversation.

I went down the long hallway, a hallway I guessed was correct, and searched for Magnus. He must be in the bathroom, so that was where I was headed. Then I heard his voice from a room—with a woman.

“C’est le cas. C’est juste que je ne suis plus intéressé, Stasia.” His voice was even more annoyed than it’d been before. I could roughly translate it. I don’t. No interest, Stasia.