The CEO's Wife

Chapter 9 - I worry, mon amour

She chose my jewelry, long earrings that went to my prominent collarbone and was an eyesight (or so she said) as well as a delicate Swarovski armband on my left hand. On my right hand, on my ring finger, I bore my engagement and wedding ring, that had been polished just a few minutes ago and caught every natural and artificial light in every angle beautifully.

God where was Michael?

And now I was left here, in the foyer, a door separating me from the ball room, another from the dining room, a third door from the salon and library, and lastly a door that was off-access for me, the kitchen. The cooks forbid me from putting one foot inside there after my fifth check. The head cook (I was still bad with their ranks and titles) had forbidden me to even as much as raise a finger near him, so I quietly left him and the others be. He had assured me everything was fine and to "Rest, Madame! Or else you'll heart will flutter!"

Maybe I should go to the orangery, since nobody needed me ... From what Anne-Marie had told me, it was 75 m2 big and to the north of the house, specially designed and built by Glasshouses of England, had underfloor heating and radiators. Antique tiled floor too, if I remembered correctly. You could access it from the dining room, the kitchen and the garden. There was also a stone staircase to the first floor, with a double cloakroom on the half landing between the two floors. If I wanted some peace and quiet, then I would need to march through the garden so the servants wouldn't see me.

I stopped myself and laughed out loud, but it was a dry, nervous laugh.

I laughed at the situation I was in.

Crazy to think how my life could change so drastically in just a year. From divorced and sad to married and blissfully happy - and so fucking nervous now that I was royal. Royal. In 2020!

"Madame de Beaumont! ", Anne-Marie's loud voice made me jerk out my thoughts.

"Oui? ", I turned to where the voice had come from.

Anne-Marie stopped before my eyes, her greying brown hair in a tight bun, her grey eyes unusually soft. They were sharp and unforgiving when I practiced before her, but now they held compassion. Had I finally received an ounce of approval from my stern teacher?

"Your hair still looks marvelous", she did a quick check and scanned me up and down before she deemed me presentable. "Your husband, Sieur de Beaumont, will be with you shortly.

"Ok", I breathed flatly.

Anne-Marie raised a brow.

"I mean, thank you. Merci."

"You needn't be nervous, Madame. We practiced these events multiple times. You are a beautiful and clever woman, the people will eat from your hands, non?"

"Michael knows how to entertain people better", I sighed.

"And you are the one who draws them in with your manners. And keeps them locked and bound against yourself. You needn't worry about what the people think, Madame."

I hummed unsure. She shook her head at my manners, stemming her hands onto her hips. Anne-Marie raised her chin expecting, forward. "Tell me again; who do we expect? And what do they do?"

All of them were descendants of former French monarchs, or somebody up in the government or family friends. I recounted every name, every job, every status. Married. Widowed. Divorced. Unmarried. Banker. Politician. CEO. Singer. Actor. Prince. Duke. Baron. What their latest project was. What topics to avoid. What topics to address.

"D'accord ", Anne-Marie nodded. "You are prepared."

"When will the guests arrive?", I asked quickly. I didn't want to think too much about anything at this point.