Page 88 of All the Gossip from Paris
I have to find Liam. Talk to him. Explain.
“Alright, but promise you will come find me when you are done. You and I need to discuss our future. It’s time we stopped playing childish games.”
Patrice headed in the direction of the dining room. The confident swagger in his walk said it all. In his mind she had already caved. His work was done.
Now all he had to do was go charm her mother. Over lunch he would make subtle enquiries of Marina. Ask her what sort of date would be suitable for the next Royal family wedding.
You complete and utter asshole.
Sophie started up the stairs. Liam hadn’t come back to the house as yet, but she wanted to be waiting for him when he returned. To have the conversation she should have had with him last night.
Her younger brother was just coming out of the sunroom when she reached the top of the stairs. No doubt Éliott had just been in to see François. He gave her a friendly wave in greeting. “Ah, just the person I was sent to find. Papa wishes to speak with you.”
She was in no mood for another one of her father’s lectures. And if he expected her to offer an apology for having walked out on him last night, he was going to be disappointed. Sophie was done with apologies.
Her brother gave her a reassuring pat on the head. “I’m sorry if you would rather be somewhere else. Papa was insistent. The doctor has lowered his pain medications. Which means while he is in a little more discomfort, his thoughts are brighter. I should warn you, he’s up to something.”
Sophie’s mind was elsewhere. She glanced back down the stairs, silently wishing that Liam would make an appearance. If she could just have a couple of minutes with him. Talk to him. Convince him that Patrice was up to his usual mindfuck games.
But the staircase remained empty.
Éliott reached out and took a hold of Sophie’s arm. “I heard about what Papa said to you last night. That is so far out of line. But please I beg of you don’t mention anything about the gown.”
His words of warning finally roused Sophie from her worries about Liam. It was unusual for her brother to give a damn about anybody but himself. Closer to a miracle would be more accurate. The i in Éliott was always about him.
“Why is it so important that I not say anything about the piece I put into the collection?” she asked.
“Because our father has just spent the last hour lecturing me about getting a job. I think he means to punish you over the gown, by moving me into the atelier. And get this... he plans on having Patrice mentor me.”
They both winced at that ridiculous notion. Éliott no doubt because actually having a job was so utterly foreign to him, it bordered on ridiculous. Sophie, because she could see the writing on the wall. If a male Royal came to work for their father, she’d be pushed even further down the pecking order.
“So, what are you going to do?” asked Sophie.
“What I always do. Pack a bag and dash to the airport. The Australian Open tennis is on this week in Melbourne. A friend of mine is the daughter of one of the event’s main sponsors. If Papa wants to talk further about his evil plans, he won’t be able to find me.”
She couldn’t fault her brother’s logic. There was safety in being half a world away from their father.
Sophie hugged her younger brother. “Have a good trip down under. Bring me back a stuffed koala.”
“Will do. And make sure you don’t agree to any of Papa’s stupid ideas. You should be the one managing the atelier—not Patrice. You’ve proved your worth time and time again. If that fool in there refuses to see it…”
The rest didn’t need to be said.
Sophie waited for a moment as her brother headed off in the direction of his bedroom. With a resigned sigh she pushed open the door of the sunroom. The sooner she got this over with, the quicker she could go find Liam.
She could understand why François had chosen the sunroom as his place to recuperate. It was light filled, and airy. Soft rugs covered much of the original oak flooring. Stopping just inside the door Sophie kicked off her damp boots. She’d be in big trouble if she was caught walking on one of the antique Aubusson rugs in dirty shoes.
Her sock clad feet barely made a sound as she walked across to where her father was seated in an overstuffed armchair. His broken leg was propped up on an antique ottoman, and a cashmere throw kept the cast hidden from sight. François Royal, as always, was all about making the most of his appearance.
“Ah Sophie. Just who I wish to speak to. I trust that Éliott found you?”
Nodding she took a seat in the guest chair. It was artfully situated in front and to the right of where her father sat. She had a momentary vision of him being a king, and her a mere member of his royal court.
But that’s what I am. I serve at his leisure.
“Yes, I met Éliott when I returned from taking Rollo for a walk along the river.”
Her father waved a hand toward the window. “It looks chilly outside. The news forecast is for more snow tonight.”
