IF THE WEEKS prior to Hugo’s leaving for New York had been incredible, the week following his return could be deemed nothing short of revelatory. And Cassie wasn’t just referring to the orgasms, of which there had been many.
All to varying degrees of exemplariness.
Which was a word, right? Because it was Hugo all over when it came to being a lover. Attentive, thorough, going above and beyond.
Now she understood what a true climax was and there was only one problem with that discovery—it made them quite addictive. It made the whole act quite addictive.
And she was starting to feel like the harlot the Duponts would love to paint her as.
But it didn’t count if you craved them all with the same man over and over, did it?
Though she digressed, because what she was really talking about was the L word itself and all the wondrous feelings that came with it.
There was no proving the opposite any more.
She was wholeheartedly and unequivocally in love with Hugo, and it was joyous.
She had gone her whole life without love, and finally she knew what it felt like to truly love another, and she was starting to hope that he felt the same. Because how could it be like this and not be reciprocated? How could he be like this and not feel it too?
‘What’s that grin about?’
He offered her a spoonful of Pierre’s ice cream as he asked, the black and white movie they were watching playing over his features as they lay in her bed late one night...
It turned out Pierre’s ice cream wasn’t just perfect for a sunny Parisian autumnal day but the perfect post-make-out dish too.
‘I was just thinking that you’ve turned me into a bit of a harlot.’
He chuckled. ‘I think that technically a harlot has sex with multiple people for money, whereas you only do it with one man for Pierre’s ice cream.’
‘I was thinking that too.’
‘So, you admit it, you do only have me for the ice cream?’
‘Guilty as charged.’
‘Why you...’ In seconds he had the bowl shoved aside and he was upon her, tickling her ribs until she was laughing uncontrollably.
‘Hugo, stop! Stop!’
‘Not until you—’
And then he froze. Her body fenced in by his thighs as he rose above her, ears attuned to the outside world. ‘Do you hear that?’
‘What?’
And then she heard it. The rumble of people in the outer hall.
His phone started to ring and he sprang off the bed, reaching for it as he tugged on his lounge pants. Her mouth dry despite the recent ice cream, she eyed him, naked from the waist up. Would she ever be immune to him? She hoped not.
‘Oui?’ He blurted into his phone and his frown sharpened. ‘Quoi?’
His eyes launched to hers and she tensed—was he grey or was it the movie?
Please let it be the movie.
Are you okay? she mouthed, pushing herself to sitting.
The smallest shake of his head.
‘Je viens.’ He hung up the phone. ‘I have to go.’
‘Now?’
It was like déjà vu. Two weeks ago, the same thing had happened. The same wall had gone up. Work again? Or something else? But it was late, a Sunday too.
Though his companies were global, operating 24-7. She got that, but still.
‘My parents are here.’
‘Your parents?’ She launched out of the bed, swept a hand over her wild hair. ‘Oh, my God!’
‘Exactly.’
She covered her mouth and stared at him. His parents. They were here? Across the hall? Right now? The parents of the man that she...that she loved. That was huge. A big deal. She swallowed.
She wanted to meet them. But not in her—not in her underwear. She’d dress first. But how did she broach that without broaching the real question of what they were. Him and her. For real. Not pretend. Because one couldn’t meet the parents without first knowing how they would be introduced.
Because yes, they’d spent a week wrapped up in one another. To the outside world, nothing had changed, but behind closed doors everything had changed.
The problem was, neither of them had spoken of it. There’d been no heart-to-heart. Because she hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Too scared that she would push him away. Ruin whatever this was between them when it was too new, too fragile.
‘Do they know about us?’ she asked instead.
‘I told my father we had an arrangement.’
‘Oh.’ Her heart gave a little shiver. That was news to her. And an arrangement wasn’t a lie. It had been...in the beginning. ‘When?’
He raked a hand over his hair, blew out a breath. ‘A fortnight or so ago. The news got through to him so he called me, and I explained we were doing it for show.’
‘You didn’t say.’
‘I didn’t think I needed to. I wasn’t expecting them to just turn up like this.’
‘What are you going to tell them now?’
‘Damned if I know, but I best go.’
She winced as her nails bit into her palms and he started for the door. ‘Wait!’
He paused, angling his head just enough to eye her.
‘Can I—? Do you want me to come too?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘What about tomorrow?’ She tried for a smile, though inside she could feel herself wilting. ‘Perhaps we could take them for breakfast together somewhere?’
She could see the muscle working in his jaw—he didn’t like the idea. Not one bit.
‘Maybe. Let me just get the lay of the land first, yeah? See what’s going on.’
She fought to keep her smile in place. ‘Sure.’
He went to move off again.
‘Hugo?’
He stopped.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
She picked his T-shirt up off the floor, where she’d carelessly tossed it only an hour ago, when life had felt so very different, so very perfect. How was that possible? She wanted to bury her face in it and breathe in his scent. Relive that moment and the man he’d been then, to suppress the tears that wanted to fall now. Instead, she lifted her chin and handed it over.
‘Thanks.’
And for a world-stilling moment she feared he would leave without a kiss goodbye. And when he bowed his head and swept his lips against her cheek for the briefest most heart-stealing kiss, she almost wished he had.
‘Bonne nuit, Cassie.’
‘Goodnight, Hugo.’
She gripped her middle, holding herself back when she wanted to race after him and confess all. Knowing that now wasn’t the time. He needed to see his parents. He needed to deal with that challenge alone. Then they could face the next one together—their future and what it looked like.
Because she knew what she wanted.
The question was, did Hugo want it too?
‘Maman. Papa. What are you doing here?’
‘Hugo! Is that any way to greet your parents?’ His mother hurried up to him, cheeks glowing from her time in the sun, but it was her eyes that truly sparkled. She looked joyous as they exchanged air kisses before she cupped his cheeks to take a closer look at his face. Her intense scrutiny heightened his nerves. ‘How could you not tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’
She smiled wide, patted his chest as she swirled away and took the drink his father now held out for her. In the time it had taken for Hugo to cross the hall and enter his home, his father had been let in by his team and made himself at home in the bar because, of course, he had. What’s yours is mine and mine is mine, would be his father’s motto forever.
‘What’s going on?’
‘What do you think is going on, son? Your mother has discovered the news and was too excited to stay in paradise. She had to come and see it for herself.’ His father raised his own glass in false cheer. ‘Did you not want to bring the Princess with you?’
If looks could kill...
‘Don’t look so cross with your father, Hugo. It was my idea we turn up unannounced. I wanted to surprise you.’
He dragged his gaze back to his mother. ‘Surprise me, why?’
Now she looked sheepish. ‘I know you had us on that blissful retreat all these weeks, so I understand that you may not have wanted to break the rules to share your news, but something of this magnitude, darling. Don’t you think you could have at least let a note slip in, given us just a little hint at your happiness.’
‘My happiness?’
His eyes flitted to his father. Had he not told his mother the truth? Was that a sparkle in his father’s eye, and to what end? Was he playing some kind of game with him?
‘Father hasn’t told you?’
‘Told me what?’
‘I figured this was your mess, son. You could be the one to explain it.’
‘Mess? What do you mean? Will you two stop behaving like children and just explain.’
Hugo strode up to the bar and poured himself the same drink—like father like son. Only they weren’t. They were chalk and cheese. And that was part of the problem. Why he was such a disappointment. Hugo wore his heart on his sleeve far too much for dear old dad. And he wasn’t about to do it now.
‘We’re not in a relationship. Dad should have told you.’
Yet you were making love with her not an hour ago.
‘I’ve been helping her out of a bad situation with her ex.’
And helping her into a new one with you.
‘It’s all an act for the cameras.’
An act that’s been getting ever more real behind closed doors.
He threw back the drink with a wince.
‘And you knew this and you didn’t tell me, Antoni!’ His mother rounded on his father.
‘Don’t blame me, Mary. I was on the retreat with you, remember.’
‘But you knew all along!’
‘I didn’t know before he embarked on this whole debacle. If I had, I would have had something to say about it.’
His mother sank onto the edge of the sofa as she seemed to fizzle out before Hugo’s eyes, and he scratched at his chest, the same sensation happening within him. And he felt his father’s gaze on him, observing it all.
‘Can you give us a second, Mary?’
His father’s tone brooked no argument, and that’s when Hugo knew, the real reason they were here was yet to come. His mother may think they were here because she wanted to be. Because she wanted to have it out with her son, the relationship she believed he’d been keeping a secret from her and to meet the woman she’d hoped had brought him happiness. But his father...
Slowly she got to her feet.
‘The guest room is made up, Maman. You’ll have all you need in there. I’ll come and see you shortly.’
She looked so deflated, and he wanted to take it all back. The secret and the lies. He wanted to promise her the world with Cassie at the very top. Because hell, in a perfect world where he could have everything he wanted he would have that. Of course he would.
But a perfect world did not exist. Not for people like him. He’d believed in it once, and look where it had got him.
‘We need to talk,’ his father said as soon as his mother was out of earshot.
‘Yeah, I got that.’
‘It’s about Sara.’
‘I got that too.’
‘I don’t think you do, son.’
His knuckles flashed white around the glass, his eyes barely lifting from the drink as his father handed him his phone with a draft press article already active. There was the woman from his past, only she was very much in the present. She looked the same. Her warm caramel eyes, rich dark hair, alluring smile...
And there was his every flaw printed in black and white. Everything he had done wrong. His mistakes laid bare. The bodyguard who’d put his heart before his head and almost got her killed. Crossed a line when on duty. An absolute embarrassment. Brought shame on the company, on his family, and on hers.
‘You need to bury this before it buries you and brings shame on her.’
He swallowed. Nodded.
And then he saw the profile shot of the reporter who had written the article. Frozen human snowman himself. How he must have loved getting his hands on this story. He shoved the phone back at his father. It didn’t matter who had found the story, or how old a tale it was, it would be today’s news tomorrow.
‘Has Mum seen this?’
‘Not yet. A friend gave me an advance read, but it’ll be everywhere come tomorrow. Sara’s family won’t be happy.’
‘It reads like it came from her family. A way to get their own back now that it won’t affect them.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘I’m sure you will. And what about the Princess?’
‘Her name’s Cassie.’
‘Princess Cassandra. Cassie. They are one and the same.’
‘They’re really not.’
He could sense the curiosity in his father’s gaze and avoided his eye. ‘She goes by Cassie. And I’ll talk to her.’
‘I meant, what about this relationship you have going on? How long do you plan on keeping this up now this is soon to be out there? If it really is as fake as you say it is...’
He gripped the back of his neck with a curse. What a mess! What an absolute mess!
So tell him it’s not. Tell him things are different now. That it’s real. You can’t, can you? Because the idea terrifies you.
He’d been so happy in their bubble of the past week.
Refusing to put a label on what they were now.
Refusing to think on what came next.
‘She hardly needs this kind of a scandal following her about, Hugo.’
‘Are you referring to me as some kind of an albatross around her neck, Father?’
‘If the shoe fits. People like the Princess—like Cassie.’ He changed it up with the look Hugo sent him, his brown eyes softening with what could even be interpreted as compassion. ‘Like Sara, they come from another walk of life, son, and the sooner she goes back to it the sooner you can go back to yours. Before you get embroiled in her further... I’ve seen the way you look at her.’
‘You haven’t been here to see us together.’
‘The photos are telling enough.’
‘You don’t know what you’re—’
His father cut him off with the arch of a brow, and Hugo’s chest tightened around the rest of his denial, the rest of his lie, because ultimately, his father was right. Cassie did come from another walk of life, just as Sara had. And she would return to that life and she would launch her career in fashion. She would forget about him and she wouldn’t just survive, she would shine.
And if he thought life without Sara had hurt, life without Cassie...?
‘Can we not do this now, please?’
‘All those years I tried to make you more like me, harder, emotionally closed off,’ his father said over him, ‘but you had too much of your mother in you. When Sara came along, I knew she was trouble from day one. I saw what was happening and let it run its course, hoping it would teach you a lesson and I almost lost you in the process. This time I won’t be so stupid. Don’t be so foolish, son. Women like them, they’re trouble. Why can’t you find someone steady, someone home worthy, someone like—’
‘Someone like me?’
‘Mary!’
They both turned to find his mother stood in the hallway looking about ready to scream blue murder. ‘So that is how you see me, Antoni?’
Oh, Dieu, here goes...
In a moment of madness, he thought about returning to Cassie. To escape the fight and find solace with her. But in mere hours the press would be pounding the streets outside, and his age-old wound would be tomorrow’s tittle-tattle.
How did he even begin to bury it?
He didn’t know, but he had to try.
Cassie barely slept a wink.
Funny how one could sleep alone for months, but a week with another and your body suddenly depended on that person to be there.
When her phone rang at the crack of dawn, she was grateful for the interruption. Grateful all the more to hear Louis’s excited chatter on the other end offering to pay her for the designs she had finally sent over. A collaboration to get the name Cassie Couture out into the world—yes, please.
It was what she needed. What she’d wanted for so long. Only it landed...flat.
‘You are happy—oui?’
‘Oui, Louis. Oui.’
‘You do not sound it? What is wrong, Cassie? I can...maybe offer you some more money. Is it not enough? Let me see. What about—’
‘No, Louis. It’s fine. Honest. More than fine. I promise.’
‘Then what is it? Is it that Hugo? I bet it is! He is a big man. A beast! I am coming home tomorrow. I will sort him out!’
She gave a hitched laugh. ‘No—No, Hugo is fine. We are fine.’
‘I don’t believe you. Don’t lie to me.’
‘Louis, behave. All is good. I will see you tomorrow.’
‘Oui, bien. And then I will see you for myself and we will celebrate. Champagne! Ciao, darling.’
‘Ciao.’
She hung up, a sad smile on her lips. She didn’t even have the energy for a morning run. Instead, she got dressed and took her coffee out onto the balcony, watched the sun rise and Paris wake up. Surprised when the doorbell rang not long after.
Her heart did a little jig. It was too early for Housekeeping and her heart did what it always did now—it sprang to Hugo.
She peered through the peephole to find an older woman on the other side. Dark hair to her shoulders, same heart-shaped brow, same blue eyes—Hugo’s mother!
She eased open the door, trying to second-guess if this was a good sign or a bad sign. Could Hugo have sent her? And if he had, that would most definitely be good, wouldn’t it?
‘Bonjour, I hope you don’t mind me calling by.’ Her French accent was thick, her eyes and smile both warm and welcoming. ‘But since my son was so rude as to keep you a secret for over a month, I thought I would introduce myself. I’m Hugo’s mother.’ She held out her hand, which Cassie took, and she gently covered Cassie’s with her other. ‘Mary Chevalier.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Chevalier. I’m Cassie.’
‘So I hear.’ Her smile widened as she released her. ‘And you can call me Mary. Can I tempt you to breakfast, Cassie?’
‘Erm...sure.’ She stepped back. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘I thought we might go out.’
‘Out?’ Cassie gulped. ‘Just me and you?’
‘Oui.’
‘Does Hugo know?’ She looked across the hall at his very closed door and Mary nipped her lip, leaning in conspiratorially.
‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’
Cassie gave a nervous laugh. She couldn’t help it. Now she understood where Hugo got his playful spirit from.
And what could it hurt, really? Though what did his mother know, exactly? Had Hugo told her the truth about them...were they fake...were they real...?
The problem was, not even Cassie knew the answer to that. Not from the all-important man himself.
But this was a chance to get to know more about Hugo. Hugo from before she knew him. Hugo from his mum’s perspective. And if she knew more, maybe she could find a way to make this into more for him too.
‘Let me get my purse...’
Hugo woke to laughter.
The kind of laughter that had no place in his penthouse. Two women. His mother and—Cassie?
He shot out of bed, following the ruckus into the kitchen, and there they were. The two thick as thieves, wearing aprons and smiles and an abundance of good cheer.
‘What in the love of—?’
‘Ah, Hugo!’ His mother swept towards him and clamped her flour-covered hands on his cheeks as she kissed him. ‘Bonjour! Cassie and I are making your favourite!’
‘My what?’
‘Madeleines, of course!’
‘Madeleines?’ he repeated.
‘Yes, French madeleines.’ His father put down the newspaper he was reading at the table before the window and eyed him over his glasses. ‘It’s good of you to join us.’
Hugo ran his hands over his hair. Had he walked into some strange parallel universe, because this could not be his life today?
And then he heard it, the frenzy outside. The press. It was like the day after the night before. Or rather, the day after the flower photo had broken. Only now it wasn’t him with flowers on her doorstep that had sparked the uprising, it was his decade-old failing. Almost getting a woman killed. So much for spending half the night awake, calling in favours and doing what he could to smother it.
But this laughter, this chaos in his kitchen, it was all about distracting him from it. Pretending it wasn’t happening. It had to be.
And Cassie was here. Smothering herself in his shame when she should be distancing herself, getting as far away from him as she could.
He shook his head. The pounding within not thanking him for the gesture.
‘Maman. Papa. Can you give us a moment, please?’
‘I think it better you give us a moment, because we don’t want to let the little madeleines burn.’ His mother gave him a wink. A wink!
And he reached for Cassie’s hand, pulling her from the room without looking at her because if he looked at her, all cute and homely in her apron, with flour on her cheeks, in her hair—gah!
He was going to surrender on the spot.
Too much emotion trying to overrun his good sense, and then where would he be?
Out of control of his life and lost to it. Just like he’d been all those years ago. His life in pieces with no way of knowing how to pull it back together again.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ He closed his bedroom door and stalked to the window, looked down over the Champs-Élysées and the hovering journalists demanding their ounce of blood, his blood this time, and yanked the shutters closed.
‘Why?’
‘You must have seen the reports?’
‘You mean the stuff about Sara?’
She said it like it was nothing. How could she say it like it was nothing? ‘Yes!’
She walked towards him and he backed away. ‘It’s okay, Hugo. It’ll all blow over soon enough. It’ll be yesterday’s news. They’ll print something else and the world will forget and—’
‘But I won’t. I won’t forget what I did.’ He pounded his chest with his fist, spat the words out. ‘I won’t forget how it felt.’
She covered his palm with her hand, and he flinched away as though burnt. ‘Don’t. Don’t touch me.’
‘But Hugo, you—’
‘Please, Cassie!’ Because she was killing him. It was killing him. This feeling. Crushing him inside. Suffocating him. The same feeling as back then, only it cut so much deeper now. ‘You need to stay away from me. You deserve someone who won’t bring this to your door. You deserve more. You deserve better.’
‘Don’t do that. Don’t stick me on some pedestal like my parents did, telling me who I should or shouldn’t be seen with. Who is considered good enough for me. I choose those things. And I choose you.’
He shook his head so viciously he thought he might be sick. Or was that just the rolling in his gut.
‘I don’t care what the press says any more, Hugo. I don’t care what the world says. The only person I care about is you.’
He pressed his palms to his temples, pushing out her words. Because she couldn’t mean them. She only thought she did because she had spent her whole life being treated so badly. So starved of love and affection that to have known it through him these past few weeks, she now felt him worthy of it in return. But he wasn’t worthy of it. And she would see that once she got out in the world and experienced it properly. Once he freed her of the hold he had inadvertently cast over her.
‘I can’t do this any longer, Cassie.’
‘Do what?’
He threw a hand towards the kitchen—at the baking and his mother’s presence, all mixed up in Cassie’s. All homely and sweet and nice. ‘Live this lie.’
‘Which lie? The fake relationship to the press or the real one we have...’
He shook his head, trying to cut her off, and she gave a shaky laugh and wrapped her arms around her middle.
‘Because I know you told your parents it was fake too. But your mother took me for breakfast this morning, and she made it pretty clear that she thinks it’s quite real and—’
‘No, Cassie!’
Hugo stared back at her, the tortured look in his blue eyes crushing her with his words.
‘No, Cassie?’ she repeated softly. ‘What do you mean, “no”?’
Though she knew, could already feel the chasm so vast between them.
‘So, it’s over,’ she said, when he failed to speak. ‘Whatever this was, it’s over. You and me. This?’
Still nothing. Barely a flicker of his dark lashes over eyes that still raged a storm.
‘Fine.’ She lifted her chin, stood tall as if she owned her feelings and wanted him to know them too. That way there could be no confusion between fact and fiction when she was gone. ‘But since we’re done with the lies, Hugo, here’s my truth—I love you.’
He blanched, and she wanted to choke on her own heart.
‘Yes, I know you don’t want to hear it, but tough. I do. You have given me so much. You have shown me how to live and to love and for that I will always be grateful to you.’
He’d gone so very pale, his eyes so very vacant. She pleaded with him to say something, anything, but...nothing.
‘As for going forward, I’m moving out. Louis is coming back tomorrow, so you won’t need to see me every day either. You can count your blessings there too.’
Still, nothing.
‘Goodbye, Hugo.’
And she walked before her legs refused to function and she crumbled at his feet. Because she refused to let him see how broken she truly was.
She would be okay. She had her future. She had Cassie Couture. She had her whole life ahead of her. Her dreams were coming true.
Even if Hugo wasn’t to be a part of them any more, it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
And she truly believed that, having known it now, pain and all.