Dr. Juliette Richard - heiress turned surgeon - is forced into a staged marriage with her childhood enemy, she doesn't expect Nathan Hastings to be more than a half-brother of the only boy she ever loved, but he looks at her like she's the only trut...
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In a room of gold light, red met black — and neither bowed.
"Stop making that face, Jason. It's an art auction, not a board meeting," I said, annoyed at the man sitting next to me. His strong arms were crossed, rejecting whatever I was about to say. I couldn't see his amber eyes from this angle, but I could tell he was making that signature'I respectfully disagree' face he always wore in shareholders' meetings. To me, though, it was just his 'I don't want to play house' face he made when we were eight.
I turned to the phone next to me and saw that it was already 6 PM. The pre-auction dinner should start in about an hour, but the rain was causing traffic on the main road. The possibility of being late made my palms sweat. I could hear my mom yelling in her thick French accent, "Juliette!! It's time!!", followed by a few curses in French. That memory always made my whole body turn cold. Twenty-four years of that messes with your head—especially since, for the same twenty-four years, my mom was always fashionably late to every event, French style.
I rubbed my hands on the draped neckline of my burgundy dress and jumped when I realized it might leave a sweat stain by the time we reached the auction house. I reached into my clutch, hoping Mandy, my maid, had prepared a handkerchief in there, knowing I get nervous. But before I could find it, the soft fabric dangled in Jason's hand in front of my eyes.
"Thanks," I mumbled, yanking it from his hand. It was still warm from being in his suit's chest pocket, which was oddly comforting. My heart pounded—he knew me so well and still looked out for me.
This auction was giving me a heavy, anxious feeling in my chest. Coming from the Beaumont dynasty—an old-money French family on my mom's side—she had been royally invited to these events every month. Marie Rosalie Beaumont was rich, famous, elegant, and fashionable. Second in line for the Beaumont inheritance, her signature blonde hair and blue eyes were the face of high-society families in France... until she married a no-name American military man.
I never knew what she saw in him, but I knew what he saw in her—dollar signs. Victor Richard was charming, but also vicious, mean, and a two-faced asshole. He was part of my world growing up... until I called it quits and went to pre-med at sixteen.
I wiped the sweat off my hands and gently tidied up my ash-brown hair. It was curled beautifully around my face in a way that softened my features. My lips were painted a soft red—subtle yet bold. That was the message I was instructed to send today.
For the past two years, our family has done everything we can to find her. But her love of art lives on in all of us, and Mr. Laurent has graciously invited us every year. This year, we're continuing her love and commitment to the arts.
I repeated that over and over in my head. The instructions were clear. They had to know we stood strong and had nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, "we" meant Victor, Noah, and the army of lawyers who interpreted a retainer contract as an invitation to include themselves in the "we."
