“You’re serious? You really want to have a conversation in the hallway?”
He adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows.
“I was about to tell you that your butler is a bitch, but looks like you’re one too.” I stormed off, annoyed that he would speak to me like that after last night. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe it meant anything to him, but I expected at least some kind of affection…just a morsel.
“Camille.” His voice followed me.
I stopped down the hallway toward my bedroom. “Hugo told me to pack for Paris, but I’m not going.”
He was in tan shorts and a white shirt, the top button undone. I normally didn’t care for guys in shorts, but his legs were so toned and his hips so narrow that it looked good on him. His sunglasses hung at the V in the fabric. “No one is permitted in my bedroom. It’s not just you.”
“Then how does it get cleaned?”
“Hugo supervises the maids.”
“So, the entire staff is permitted in your bedroom.”
“Like I said, Hugo supervises.”
“So, Hugo is allowed. I’m the woman you’re fucking, but your servant gets priority over me?”
He slid his hand into the pocket of his shorts. “You’re joining me in Paris.”
“No, I’m not.”
His patience had clearly been tried because his jaw clenched, and his eyes looked furious. “When will you understand that you do as I tell you? That you go where I tell you to go? Never had this issue with another woman.”
“Well, I’m not like other women.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And I’m not going to change.”
“Where I go, you go. Understand?”
“I’ll go anywhere but there.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is this about Grave?”
“Obviously.”
“We could be living on the floor above his, and it wouldn’t change anything.”
“Don’t be arrogant—”
“You’re untouchable with me, Camille. That’s not arrogance—that’s fact.”
“Look, I don’t want to go—”
“If he tries to take you from me, I’ll kill him. Isn’t that exactly what you want?”
I kept my arms crossed over my chest, my interest piqued. “But you said you didn’t want to kill him.”
“I said I have no interest in going out of my way to kill him. But if anyone tried to steal from me, then yes, I would destroy them, regardless of who they were.” He came closer to me, one hand still in his pocket, his dark eyes shifting back and forth as he regarded me. “Pack your things, and let’s go.”
“Why do you even want me to come with you?”
His eyes roamed over my body. That was his answer. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
We sat together in the back seat of the car. It pulled away from the French estate and headed to Nice. Once we were there, we didn’t board a commercial flight. We went straight to the runway and boarded a small private plane.
It was a short flight to Paris. We touched down less than an hour later. Now I was back in the city I’d just fled. The driver arrived and escorted us through the jam-packed streets.
Cauldron was on his phone most of the time, typing emails. “Fucking tourists…” He said it under his breath, barely audible, and he didn’t even look outside to see them pass on the sidewalks like a herd of cows.
We pulled through the gates of a private Parisian apartment. It was in the heart of the city but kept private by the large gates that surrounded the property and kept the civilians on the street.
The men carried all our things inside, and we entered a three-story apartment with gold sconces, old oil paintings, and cream-colored curtains that had already been pulled back in anticipation of his arrival. There was staff here, as if they were stationed full time whether he was in residence or not.
The butler approached me and gave a short bow. “Mademoiselle Camille, I’m Pius. I’m the head butler at Mr. Beaufort’s Parisian estate. Please let me know if you need anything.” When he stood upright again, he wore a nice smile.
“I really like you,” I blurted.
He gave an awkward chuckle. “Good to know. I’ll grab the champagne.”
Cauldron moved through the apartment, talking on the phone so quickly it was hard to understand what he was saying. It was probably for work. I noticed he spent most of his time in his study, although I wasn’t sure what he did for a living. That answer could be found in a simple online search, but all I’d cared about previously was what he looked like.
I explored the apartment, seeing that the front of the building had a nice view of the Eiffel Tower. Like his other home, the entire place was put together by a designer. Fresh flowers were everywhere, put in place by the staff that continued to work in his absence. I walked onto the patio with my flute of champagne in hand and admired the bustle of the city. I took a seat, thinking about the last time I was there.