Page 7 of Sunrise Malice

“Oui, Grandpère, je comprends.”

“Good.” He pats my face again and looks over at Jean. “Wonderful seeing you again, young Jean.”

“You as well, Monsieur Moreau.”

Grandpère brushes past me and climbs into the waiting car. Rene follows, talking in rapid French into his earpiece, and doesn’t glance in my direction. The guards and soldiers spread out, getting into the vehicles I provided.

Only Henri pauses, his jowls flapping as he grins at me and pats my arm. He’s a big man, heavyset and rotund.

“I believe that is your Grandpère’s way of saying how much he misses you, yes? Do not hold it against the old man. You know how these things go.” He shakes my hand and disappears into Grandpère’s car.

I watch them drive off. Jean stands at my elbow and says nothing until they’re gone. Then he looks at me.

“He thinks you’re already married?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

I grimace and shrug. “Don’t give me shit. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’ve really fucked up this time, Julien.”

“Go to hell. What use are you? Standing there like an asshole.”

“What, and interrupt fucking Pascal Moreau? I’d wake up tomorrow with my fingers chopped off. Sorry, brother, I love you, but not that much.”

“Coward.” I rub my face. It’s not lost on me that I kept my fucking mouth shut too.

He grins as we walk toward my BMW. I gesture for my men to wrap it up and they get in their vehicles. Who knows what they think about all that—the only good part of Grandpère’s visit so far is that my soldiers were too far away to really hear what he was saying. And half of them don’t even speak French.

“Seriously, Julien. What are you going to do?”

“Get married.”

I pick up my phone and scroll to Brianne’s number. There are no messages between us aside from those I sent myself.

A little thrill runs into my core when I glance over her dirty little list. Clearly, it was some kind of joke with her friend, but fucking hell.

Seeing all those sexual fantasies, and standing so close to her, it made my dick so fucking hard I could barely breathe.

The girl hates me. Not that I can blame her. I was a prick when I first met her—mostly because I’m desperate to marry a woman that will stand up to Grandpère’s scrutiny. I expected a direct blood relative of Ronan, since family shit matters to my piece of trash old man, but that’s not how things shook out.

Now it’s too late. Brianne seems halfway willing at least, and it’s not like she’s bad to look at.

No, she’s goddamn gorgeous, if I’m being honest with myself.

Her skinny Irish friend was cute, but nothing at all like Brianne, not even close.

I just have to hope the girl’s still willing, because otherwise, I’m probably not going to survive the week.

Because I’ll end up having to murder Grandpère.

As my driver pulls out, I send her a text.

Julien: Hello, mon minou. Any interest in crossing option one off your list?

Chapter 3

Brianne

Rope play.

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