Page 88 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“And accommodations, for two,” Sebastien says. “You can take Katy to celebrate finishing your manuscript, just like you originally planned.”
“Nuh-uh,” Katy says. “We already talked about this, Sebastien, and you’re supposed to be a man of your word.” She turns to me. “Sebastien called me, offering an all-expenses-paid trip for you and me. But Mom and I have never seen you this happy, Hel. You’re glowing, for god’s sake. So I want you and Sebastien to go together. He and I discussed it and I negotiated a compromise; that’s how we came to the solution of him flying me and Mom up to Alaska for a week. Then you two will be off to Europe soon after that.”
“But—” Sebastien says.
“Don’t even try to renege,” Katy says. “A deal’s a deal.”
He hesitates, but when he sees how intent she is, he dips his head in concession.
I stare at Katy, Mom, and Sebastien. “You three did all this for me?”
“We’re so proud of you, sweetheart,” Mom says. “These past few months have been some of your hardest, but some of your bravest, too.” (She tactfully leaves out mention of Merrick.)
“Wow…I don’t know what to say.”
Sebastien presses his hands on top of mine, the plane tickets sandwiched between them. “Say yes.”
I look down at the plane tickets. And at the strong, weathered hands holding on to mine, as if they have always belonged together.
“Yes.” I nod so hard my head almost falls into the pots of Nutella. “Yes yes yes.”
And in this moment, I don’t believe in the curse. Because the cursed don’t get to be this happy.
SEBASTIEN
A couple of days later,while Helene takes Beth and Katy on a tour of the wild horses on a nearby island, Merrick’s next move in the escalating divorce battle arrives in the form of a manila envelope. There’s actually no return address, but when I open it, I know exactly who it’s from.
“You unbelievable asshole.”
There are photos of Helene taken by a long-range camera, the kind that private investigators and paparazzi use. None of the pictures are scandalous, but there are a few photos of us inside my house, and the threat is implicit.
My heart slams against my ribs so violently it might shatter them. How dare Merrick violate Helene’s life like this? She thought he wasn’t a danger, but this goes far beyond the normal rancor of a divorce.
I snatch the phone off the wall and dial the Julius A. Weiskopf Group in Geneva. I’m immediately transferred to the president of the firm.
“Sebastien,Es ist eine Freude von Ihnen zu hören,” Sandrine says. What a pleasure to hear from you.
I slip into German as well. “Thank you for taking my call.”
“You know I would drop anything for you,” she says. “How can I help you today?”
This is why I have the Weiskopf Group on retainer: They don’t know my past, but they also don’t question my name changes or when I need new identification papers or why my account has been open for as long as it has. They work with the most successful and private businesspeople in the world—as well as top celebrities—and their job is simply to help their clients with whatever they’re asked to do, and to do it very well.
“Another issue with Merrick Sauer has come up.” I pace through the halls of my house and tell Sandrine about the photos I just received in the mail.
Ever professional, she doesn’t give a hint of any reaction to the news.
Instead, she dives into action, listing off what her lawyers will take care of, including filing a temporary restraining order and a countersuit for trespassing, invasion of privacy, and everything else their aggressive, brilliant legal minds can think of. If Merrick wants war, we’ll give him war.
Knowing Sandrine is on it, I can finally sit down. I sink into a chair in my study.
“Do you need us to hire security services for your property?” Sandrine asks. This is de rigueur for her more famous clients.
I consider it for a minute. I know I promised Helene I’d tell her if there was anything she needed to know about Merrick, but there’s also a part of me that wants to shield her from this. Not only because I want to protect her from the feeling of utter violation from being spied on, but also because there’s a sword’s edge to Merrick’s anger that worries me. Like he’ll play an unintentional part in the curse. And I’ve sworn to myself not to mention the curse, to give Helene as much freedom from it as I can negotiate for her.
I decide to keep the knowledge of this envelope of photos to myself. I hope I don’t regret it.
“Send security,” I tell Sandrine. “But only for a couple of weeks, because we’re leaving for Europe then. Keep them in thewoods around my house, unseen. I don’t want any former Mossad assassinating whatever amateur private eye Merrick has sent over.”
