Explore Her, More of Her (10 page)

“You said Maggie’s handling my corporate image?” Belmont asked Harold.

“Yes.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s effective,” Harold said.

“With your help?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then let her continue handling it. Did you get the data into the right hands?” Belmont asked.

“Yes.”

“Are they making the right kind of noise?”

“The misconduct was discovered after a routine check.”

Belmont smirked. That was Harold’s way of telling him he’d made it look as if the intelligence had been discovered through a routine check of Reece Development’s records.
 

“Keep your eyes open. Call me if shit goes awry,” Belmont said.

After he ended the call with Harold, he called Audrey Summers, his PR person in New York for Lord & Lord Industries. He asked her to call Meg, his lead executive assistant, and work with her to arrange a wine festival for Saturday night. The event would take place at the chateau he rented in Bordeaux, which neighbored Chateau Mer Rouge. The festival should be well attended by people who found value in meeting each other. He didn’t want to be stopped every five seconds by someone looking to see what he could do for them. Daisy would be his only priority.
 

A door creaks. Light footsteps approach. My face is pressed against a hard surface, and my neck and shoulders ache. I slowly blink the tiny particles from my eyes. Two small hands pick up two empty wine bottles right in front of my face. Anton yawns and says good morning to Inés, who grunts. She’s not happy about the mess we made.
 

“Goodness gracious,” I say hoarsely as I massage the back of my neck.

“I put coffee and croissants on your table.” Inés shakes her finger. “No more wine.”
 

I’m shocked. I didn’t think she spoke English. “Thank you.” I rub my temples. “And I agree. No more wine for me.”

She glances crossly at Anton as she takes a decorative envelope from her pocket and sets it in front of me. My name is written on the envelope.

“For you,” she says.

“What is it?” Anton asks.

I shrug. Even raising my shoulders feels achy. I need a long, hot bath. I open the envelope. “It’s an invitation to a wine festival.”

Anton grins slyly. “Ah, a party.”

“But you didn’t arrange this. How could you?”

“No, no, I did not.”

Inés swipes two more bottles into the trash bag with the others. The clinking sound makes my head thump extra hard. Last night, Anton and I drank like fish. If I remember correctly, we made up poems and dirty songs about our lives. I was in the middle of saying something when I closed my eyes, and now here I am.
 

I stand. “Well, I’m going to go, because I’m not a morning person.”

Anton uses his palm to rub his nose. He looks worn out. “Wait. When is the party?”
 

I hold the invitation in front of me and blink until my focus improves. “Eight o’clock tonight.”

“Which chateau?”

I narrow one eye suspiciously. “How do you know it’s a chateau?”

“They are all chateaus. Which chateau, Daisy?”

It seems someone else isn’t a morning person either. “Mer Rouge.”

He nods. His bedroom eyes focus on me, and he smirks. “We had a good night, no?”

I nod. It was a good night. “I’m going to get that coffee and bath and more sleep.” I head to the door.
 

Inés is still banging things around as she cleans.
 

I turn back to Anton, who’s resting his head on the chair with his eyes closed. “Hey, Anton?”

He opens one eye. “Yes.”

“There are no pictures of you in the tower. I mean, there are none of me either, but I know why I’m not included. But you’ve been around. Why aren’t you in any of them?”

“Who says I have, as you say, been around?”

“Haven’t you?”

He opens his other eye. “I have been lost too, Daisy.”

Inés looks at both of us then continues running water in the sink.

“Are you still lost?” I ask.

He holds up his hands and smiles tiredly. “Haven’t you found me?”

I sniff, amused. I like our ambiguous banter. We haven’t confused each other yet. “Wait, I need a dress for tonight. Do you know where I can get one?”

“I do. I will take you when we are sober.”

I look at my watch. “How does noon sound?”

He rolls his eyes. “Noon’s too early.”

“He does not come out in the day,” Inés says.

Anton and I look at her as if pigs just sprouted wings and flew. I didn’t expect her to weigh in.
 

Anton throws his hands up in surrender. “Is true, I sleep during the sun and rise under the moon like a vampire. Not yesterday, because Jacques asked me to get you from the airport. But I know where to get the dress.”

“And the party? Did you know anything about it before the invitation arrived?”

Anton measures the air between two fingers. “Only a little.”

“My husband?”

“I don’t know. Jacques only said there will be a party and you should go.”

I nod. My father doesn’t like to give details, so I totally believe that that’s all Anton knows. “Okay then...”

Inés hums as she turns the water off in the sink. Anton and I widen our eyes at each other.
 

“Bonjour, Inés,” I say as I wave good-bye.

“Bonjour,” she says as she wipes down the counter.
 

I return to my cottage, take off my dress, and draw myself a hot bath. Naked as a jaybird, I pour a hot cup of coffee and add sugar and milk. I would try to call Belmont, but I’ve left my phone on the kitchen table inside the main house. I hope he tried to call me at some point during the night. I’ll get my phone after my bath.
 

For now, I turn off the water, grab a croissant, and stand in the window looking out over the vineyard. The morning is the perfect temperature, and I have visions of the sparkling swimming pool. I go to the bedroom, take a robe out of the closet, and put it on. My head is a little tight from drinking more than I’m used to, and I take one long look at the bed. I really wanted to soak up its comfort last night. Perhaps I’ll be able to make up for it tonight.
 

I scurry out of the cottage, itching to get into the pool. Anton is probably asleep—he didn’t look as if he would stay awake for very long. Since he, Inés, and I are the only ones on the estate, I feel completely at ease taking off my robe and diving in. The water is lukewarm. I swim two laps, working off all the cheese and bread and wine I consumed in less than twenty-four hours. And oh goodness gracious, that chicken dish Inés made for dinner. She’s the kind of cook I wouldn’t mind having around three times a day, seven days a week. I take a break to catch my breath and swim another lap of backstrokes then butterfly strokes.
 

Once I’m breathing heavily, I float on the surface. Water plugs my ears, but I can still hear voices. I quickly let my body sink, look around, and am stunned by whom I see. This cannot be happening.
 

“I definitely like the view from here,” says a man with Sean Connery’s good looks. He’s staring at my naked body that’s now hidden underwater.
 

“What are you doing here?” My gaze flips between Dexter, Kristin, and the strange man with them.

“We’re here to work,” Dexter says, grinning as if I should be happy to see him.

My mouth is stuck open.

Kristin sets her piercing glare on Dexter. “She doesn’t know? You said she knew.”

I glance at my robe, which is too far away for me to reach without exposing myself. “Um…” I blink some more. “Are you really here?”

“Forget you ever saw us.” Kristin starts to walk away.
 

Dexter catches her arm. “Don’t forget you saw us. We’re here to spotlight Bordeaux.”

The good-looking older man hasn’t stopped staring at me, as though he thinks if he stares hard enough, he’ll get a really good view of my nakedness. Now I recognize him. He’s Scott Whistler, the new host of their show.

“Let’s talk, Daisy,” Dexter says.

I sigh hard, and the water ripples in front of me. “Get my robe, put it near the edge, and you guys go wait on the front porch or something. I’ll be there in a second.”

Kristin points toward the house. “She let us in. The French woman.”

“Oh well, I’ll see you inside then.”

Kristin shoots Dexter a harsh look. Dexter squats by my robe, gives me a naughty smirk, and sets the robe near the edge of the swimming pool. I watch them walk into the stain-glassed enclosed patio. Just to clear my head and make sure I’m not dreaming. I sink to the bottom of the swimming pool. I’m awake. I’m alive. I scream while underwater.

I walk past the kitchen. Inés is cooking, and the smell of shallots, garlic, and wine makes my mouth water. No matter what happens, I am not missing the next meal. Dexter is alone and waiting in the living room.
 

“Who lived here—Marie Antoinette?” he asks, grinning.

It’s hard to be angry with a man who has the face of an angel, but I’m a little peeved. “I cannot believe you just showed up here! And you brought Kristin and Scott Whistler?”

Dexter thumbs over his shoulder. “Actually, the whole team’s here.”

“Then the whole team, including yourself, needs to leave.”

“So this chateau has thirteen bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and a full staff?”

“There’s no full staff, only Inés, and she’s not going to cook and clean for a production crew.”

“Then we’ll hire our own staff. We have enough in the budget for that since you bailed on us.” I’m on the verge of objecting, but Dexter lifts a finger and says, “
You
suggested we shoot in the South of France. We’re good now, but without you, we’ll murder our budget by making a bunch of mistakes.” He lifts his hands to showcase the house. “You can at least give us room and board.”

I sigh. Heck, I
am
the one who pushed for France. Was I ever really married to this whole project? No. I would’ve bailed on them sooner or later. I guess the fact that they’re stuck between a rock and a hard place is my fault.
 

“How many?” I grumble.

“Four producers, one host, a cameraman, his assistant, an audio team of two, and our production assistant.”

“Ten people. How many days?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Wrong answer. I need a solid number,” I say.

“How does three days sound?”

“I’ll call my father. Wait here.”

“Jacques? I’ll call him.” Dexter takes his phone off the clip on his hip. He slides his finger across the screen and taps it.

I shake my head. “You have my father’s number?”

“Remember he invited me to Louisiana?” he says in a rush. “Jacques? She said yes… yes… right… staff.” He widens his eyes at me as if to say,
I told you so
. “Thank you.” He ends the call and clips his phone back to his hip. “So which of the thirteen rooms are you crashing in?”
 

“I’m not sleeping in the main house. But what are you doing here, Dexter? For real.” My earnest expression demands to know the truth.

“I’m seizing an opportunity.” His tone suggests a number of meanings.

“Well, I’m probably leaving tomorrow, so have a ball.” I turn to walk away.

“Hey.”

“What?” I ask.

“I missed you.”

“I’m still married.”

I wait to hear what he has to say about that. Crickets.
 

I was hoping he’d say his missing me has nothing to do with wanting me romantically, that he missed my friendship, my company, or my stellar work ethic. Since he’s still speechless, I walk to the kitchen to get my cell phone. I can’t believe I lost my appetite. I don’t even pick at the small plate of cheese and bread that Inés has set on the table next to my cell phone.

“You take the cheese. I bring you more,” Inés says.

I take the platter. “Thank you.”

She presses her lips together. I catch the nonverbal “you’re welcome” and head out of the kitchen to sulk in my cottage. However, the hallway that leads to the tower Anton showed me yesterday catches my eyes. Pretty soon, this house will be overrun by uninvited guests. Anton swept us past so many portraits last night, and I have a hankering to go take them all in while my moments are still private.
 

The cheese plate accompanies me to the tower. The sun shining through the frosted-glass roof illuminates the staircase. I study a close-up shot of my father with his brothers: Cyprus, Pey, and Dongo. I haven’t seen my uncles since my parents divorced. They’re handsome men with flawless dark skin, beautiful pouty lips, and strong bone structures. Uncle Dongo modeled in Paris in the eighties; then he went to dental school and became a dentist, which is why his teeth are so perfect.
 

There’s Uncle Jean Luc and his wife, Adélie, Anton’s parents. They’re on the deck of a yacht, wearing Breton striped sweaters and waving at the camera. The wind blows Aunt Adélie’s fine brown hair across her heart-shaped face. Anton and his brother, Leon, have her bedroom eyes and red mouth. I move to the next portrait. I’m sure it’s Anton’s sister, Claire. She’s in her early twenties in the picture and kissing Leon, who’s making a sour face, on the cheek.
 

The more pictures I study, the more disheartened I feel. What have I been missing all these years? I’ve been going and going but getting nowhere. These portraits seem to hold the life I never claimed. Then I reach the fatal blow, a family photo with my sisters Daphne and Hannah, Heloise and her second husband Joseph’s daughters. They are linking arms with Angelina and Randall and Joseph, my father’s two other sons by his ex-wife, Shelly Price. By the trees in the background, it looks as if they’re here at the chateau. The longer I study their faces, the more left out I feel. This one portrait is a dagger in my heart. Instead of walking back down the steps, I enter the tower. The single room is a lounge with an observation bench that rounds the walls. I think I want to cry, but I don’t. I want to throw the cheese platter against the wall in anger, but instead, I sit on the floor and curl into a ball.