“I saw how she looked at you. I saw howyoulooked ather.Plus, she came at me back there like a Pomeranian guarding its favorite satin pillow. Talked to me like I’m an interloper. She’s territorial about you. Why?”
He shook his head vehemently—too vehemently, he thought. But he insisted, “There is nothing between Sofia and I. She is the wife of my brother, and the mother of my niece. That is all.”
“Fine,” Jacyn said, obviously unconvinced. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”
He was grateful when she changed the subject.
***
An hour or so later, Alex escorted Jacyn back to her quarters. She’d stated that she was still a bit jet-lagged and wouldn’t mind “vegging out” with a good book. He’d enjoyed their stroll and conversation more than he’d imagined; skillfully managing to get Jacyn to reveal more about herself than he had given in return.
She spent a lot of time talking about her best friend, Sienna—who, he gathered, was quite the firecracker—and about her new business venture,Napturally Beautyful. He loved the passion in her voice when she spoke about her products. Jacyn wasn’t just attractive; she was intelligent, creative, and ambitious. What a far cry from the kind of women who clung to him, who did everything but literally throw their panties at him, the moment they learned he was wealthy!
He stood outside her closed door and took a few breaths. He’d put it off way too long, allowed himself to be distracted by breakfast and showers and walks in the garden, knowing deep down that he would eventually have to go face his mother.
He began walking across the château to her wing, smiling and nodding at staff members who stopped to welcome him back. Or, in the case of new ones, to introduce themselves. Which only served to underscore his growing sense of regret; he had been away almost ten years. From his ancestral home, from his family, from his mother.
What kind of son did that?
He’d left this home as a callow youth, raging about injustice and deceit. Swearing never to come back to this ugliness and hurt. But he’d come back a man, much older, wiser, and more experienced. From the perspective of hindsight, he thought, maybe there had been better ways to deal with the situation that had driven him away.
Ways that would not have left him estranged from the woman who had given birth to him.
Alex knocked on the door to her suite and waited an eternity for an answer. It was a uniformed maid who smiled brightly and apologized for the delay, explaining thatla comtessehad been finishing her breakfast and was now seated on the balcony, ready to receive him.
When she offered to show him through, he said politely, “I know the way, thank you, Madame,” and kept going.
His mother’s wing had not been touched by time—nor had he expected it to be. The drapery that separated the balcony from her ornate drawing room was a heavy brocade, and although it was cleaned regularly, it had the patina of a bygone era. Its thickness and richness brought a weight to the room, a kind of gloom that not even the gleaming brass fixtures, candlesticks and picture frames could alleviate.
He was relieved when he drew them aside and stepped onto the sunlit balcony. His mother reclined on an overstuffed love seat near the railing, shaded by a broad umbrella fixed to the back of the seat from the very sunlight she sought. She was wearing a frilly white peignoir that competed with her skin for pallor. She had arranged herself against the half-dozen pillows on the seat like a reclining goddess in an ancient painting.
At the sound of his arrival, she turned her head, but made no move to rise. Her smile, though, was ethereal.
“Maman!”He was at her side in a heartbeat, his arms going up around her. Her body felt fragile under his hands, way too thin. He cradled her gently, as though her bones were as delicate as those of a little bird. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I missed you every day, Alexandre.” She closed her eyes as he kissed both her cheeks, and then, in response, she rained kisses all around his face until he felt his heart crumble. Tears came to his eyes but refused to spill forth, and he did his best to alleviate his grief and shame by murmuring repeated apologies for leaving her like this for so long.
He asked about her health and she insisted that she was, “Well enough, but…”
She didn’t say much more. He brushed her hair back and gazed upon the face of the woman who had helped make his young life bearable, even in the face of his father’s brusqueness and bullying. He had been so worried ever since receiving those messages that she wasn’t well. But, though she was frailer than she had been when he’d last seen her and as pale as a sheet of notepaper, he didn’t think she looked as gravely ill as he’d expected.
Alex promised himself that he would overcome the awkwardness and speak to his brother about her; get an idea of where she stood.
But for the time being, he could enjoy her company. He pulled up a lounge chair next to the couch and sat beside her, looking out into the gardens.
“Alexandre?” she said softly.
“Maman?”
“This fiancée of yours, this Jacyn. Do you think she will make you happy?”
He hesitated only for a millisecond, not long enough for her to notice, surely. “I do.”
“Have you given her the ring I sent you?”
“I have.”
She nodded, looking content. “Very well; I will meet her at dinner.”