Page 18 of A Royally Fake French Menage
Lie.
Swearing not so quietly, I strode into the nearest small study and grabbed a decanter of some flavored alcohol that could have been pure poison for all I knew. My head still spun with Genie’s denial and my own frustration on so many fronts. I headed out the glassed front entrance of the house without recognizing the doormen standing on either side with the intent of obliterating myself deep in the estate’s labyrinth.
My two chosen points for this evening’s entertainment.
Which is what I did, right until the sun began to crest in a pale sky.
Breakfast—officially brunch as the household never did rise before midday, particularly after an event—was over before I made my way back into the house, unbuttoning my shirt that itched with last night’s sweat. Maybe some other things. My breaths came short with the need to get rid of itnowas I wincedat the excess of fucking sunlighteverywhere. I’d been happier under the hedge I’d woken beneath, but the ants decided I was their breakfast, and I reluctantly moved along.
I peeled the shirt off as I managed to hold my shit together long enough to walk up the stairs rather than run to my wing like a toddler, though I did throw the offending garment at my bed where Jacques magically appeared to collect the sweat stained material before it hit the coverlet.
“Would you like a—” he started.
I never found out what he was offering as I walked into the ensuite and threw the shower on as cold as it would go. Stepping in while I was still discarding my pants and shoes, I tossed them in a damp heap in one corner, letting cold water cascade over my back.
Its icy prickles soothed me.
Slowly, the itchiness subsided. I breathed in deeply for the first time in what felt like hours and rested my hands on the cold tiles above my head.
“My lord. Is there anything—” Jacques appeared in the doorway I hadn't shut.
Nor had I expected my newfound peace to be interrupted.
“Get out,” I snapped coldly, hating the disturbance that stole my sense of solitude. “I don’t need you today.”
Silence reigned for a full, strained minute. The bathroom door shut gently, and I was alone.
“Fuck,” I grated under my breath, slamming my palm into the tiles, over and over until they stung. “Fuck, fuck,fuck.”
But I'd dismissed him, and as a good valet, Jacques took me at my word and left.
I swallowed hard and tipped my head back into the icy spray, relishing the sharp pin pricks that tortured my skin. The pain offered a particular brand of a distraction against the loneliness swirling in my chest.
I hate this fucking place.And maybe some of the people in it.
Including myself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GENIE
Iwanted to flounce about my room, pound and throw things, but I had something more productive in mind. And I knew just the man to help me get it.
Jacques should have been dressing Barclay after he stumbled in from the garden sometime around midday. Like everyone, I sleep long, if not well. The bedding was comfortable and I wasn't cold, but I wished I’d been able to fall asleep with Barclay, or that I’d followed him the night before. But after I ran back to my room, I’d lost sight of him and I knew nothing about the estate or the house that seemed to grow corridors and turn after turn of duplicate doors, enough to become a horror film in its own right.
The flirtatious man of the night before was not the one who returned this morning. I knew that even Jacques followed him into his rooms and shut the door behind them both. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him not to push Barclay, but then they seemed to have a history and at this point I suspected he knew Barclay a whole hell of a lot more than I did.
I loitered near Barclay’s rooms in the hope of catching him after taking my breakfast in my bed when it was offered. I mean,what girl turns that down after crying herself to sleep the night before? But the person I caught coming out of Barclay’s rooms wasn’t the man I sought.
It was Jacques.
The valet turned ex turned lover strode away along the hall with the sort of determination that promised distance between them
Which was the sort of distraction I also required this morning. Perhaps we could be of use to each other. Either way, he wouldn’t get a chance to sayno. Not with me.
“I need to shoot something.” I fell into step beside him. Not an easy feat when his legs seemed twice as long as long as mine, and his stride worked at double my speed. I kept up, even when he shook his head decisively.
“No, you don’t.”
