♡
Sara's POV
France, Normandy
April
My breath came out stuttering, hitching.
My throat was awfully dry, making it hard to swallow.
The palm of my hands were getting slightly wetter with each passing second.
I couldn't stand still anymore, moving from room to room, trying to distract my busy mind with something! anything!
I nervously glanced around, shifted, moved down the hall - the chateau, our chateau, had been decorated beyond recognition - the already golden walls with biblical painted scenes were brightly lit up by the thousand of white candles the servants had placed around and lit. Golden flower vases stood on every clear table, all of them white, per my choice, all of them giving the home a floral scent.
Anne-Marie had done her damn hardest to make this place attractive to us - from the colour scheme down to the scent. As the De Beaumont heads, we would spend a fair amount of time here.
Last minute preparations prior to the grand dinner were being made as I was strolling around frantically - the servants checked if the cutlery was well-polished and placed down in the right angle, the maids dusted off the counters a third time, the carpets were rolled out, the driveway was cleaned of anything that didn't belong there, the musicians practiced their pieces in the hall that would hold the guests before and after the dinner, the rooms that were non-accessible to the guests were locked (which would be around 16 out of 22) and the servants slowly but gradually took their positions, awaiting the swarm of people patiently and calmly.
Unlike me.
I tugged at the long cape and frowned.
And I was dressed to the nines - my attire was from Dior, and the price that Anne-Marie had named had made my ears ring. The French head of the servants had used my stunned silence to twist my hair in the most complex up-do, one worthy of the royal families out there. 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.
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. 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.
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.
Before I had met the love of my life, Micháel Philippé de Beaumont, I had been Sara Atkins, married to Noah Atkins. A normal girl, that had Bosnian roots, had lived in Austria prior to moving to America, and I had certainly not been royal. I had met an American in Austria, married that loser, moved countries for him and left everything behind in my stupidity.
When I had met Michael, my life had been at the lowest point it could be. I had caught my husband cheating on me, numerous times. I had quit my job, since he had slept with every female there. I had barely any money, drowning in debt. I had been lucky to get a job at his, just due to my vast experience I had gathered beforehand.
Then, I had met Michael.
Or, more accurately, I crashed into him as I stormed into the elevator, at the same time he exited it.
Big, strong, imposing - and more handsome than the devil himself. Those had been my first thoughts upon seeing my soulmate.
Nobody could resist falling for that man - and I wasn't an exception. I was an ordinary girl that plummeted right into the charming pull of the CEO.
I made new friends. Had gotten used to the new part of New York I had now lived in, made small progresses in the divorce - but more importantly, I was trying harder and harder to resist Michael's flirting.
The more he wanted me, the more I held myself back.
I did that, for as long as I could; and that wasn't long.
The moment he had kissed me in the alleyway of 5th Avenue, my resistance had received a best-by date, a timer or even a countdown you could say.
More and more, the walls I had so carefully built crumbled around me. It was Michael who was demolishing them, feeding on any sort of attraction I could muster.
At the beginning, I had been so terribly shy. Just him looking at me, with those deep sea-blue eyes that brought back so many summer memories of Croatia, made my heart nearly explode and made me stammer like a schoolgirl.
More and more, he managed to come closer, until he held me firmly - and I didn't let go either.
He helped me divorce Noah. He helped me build myself up. He loved me selflessly and purely - still does.
Michael went with me through thick and thin - we had moved into our dream home in New Canaan, had gone through an ambush, two crazy exes, his crazy mother, a kidnapping, a self-doubting depressive phase - and he still decided I was the woman he wanted to marry, he wanted to be with.
I am his soulmate, his better half - words he always tells me before we lay down, while he draws my fingers to his lips to kiss them.
"Madame de Beaumont! ", Anne-Marie's loud voice made me jerk out my thoughts.
"Oui? ", I turned to where the voice had come from.
Michael and I had married on January 23rd. Then we had gone on honeymoon for two months.
Upon our return, his oncle Victor had awaited us in New Canaan, at our home. He had handed us over his title and Marthe's title, as well as this chateau, the superb Equestrian French Chateau with Stud Farm in Normandy.
Back then, we hadn't known what that would mean.
But we very well knew now.
We were the representatives of the De Beaumont family, and like any other formerly royal French family, that came with a title and tasks you had to fulfill.
So, now we not only had our work in New York to do, him as the CEO of Beaumont Enterprise and me as the head secretary, but also as the De Beaumont representatives.
Victor had handed us over the titles Duchess and Duke - my heart still went out of loop at that thought.
Duchesse de Beaumont - Duchess de Beaumont, aka me.
Duc de Beaumont - Duke de Beaumont. Aka my dear husband.
Our new titles. They way we were addressed.
Our servants called us Madame and Sieur, something that still needed a lot of getting used to.
When we had returned in March, celebrating both my 26th and Michael's 31st birthday, we had been given the titles to mark an end of Victor's era and the beginning of our era.
Then, we had both received royal training. How we were to speak, how to move, how to act, how to be proper. We both had received language lessons additionally - I had to perfect my French, and we both had to learn Latin and Greek for some reason. Oh and music. And geography.
As if we were in the 16th century.
Not in the 21st.
Now it was April - and it was of utmost importance we held this pompous, grand dinner, where we invited all of the former royal families as well as De Beaumont family friends to celebrate our new titles and the arrival in this glorious community.
I was rolling my eyes just thinking about it!
This dinner meant that we could expect around ... 500 guests.
Great.
Grand.
Perfect.
That was nothing at all.
A small number.
Nothing major.
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.
"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.
"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.
"Half an hour", Anne-Marie said point blank as she checked her watch.
"Half an hour!?", I gasped. I immediately tugged at my dress that didn't seem to fit me anymore. "Are you sure we can-?!"
"I'll take over from here, Anne-Marie", a pleasant hum told us, immediately calming my hammer heart. My ears were ringing in fear.
Anne-Marie bowed her head at the bass voice.
My striking husband appeared before our eyes, running a strong, veiny hand through the thick blonde curls.
My lips trembled.
Even in situations like these, Michael wasn't scared. He was so cool. So damn cool. Calm, as was his voice, controlled, keeping a cool-head, the opposite of what I was doing and experiencing.
"Hello honey", Michael beamed at me, one corner higher than the other, always his right corner, laughter lines forming generously around his eyes and dimples burying themselves into his cheeks. His dark blond-brownish beard was trimmed, his hair combed back but the curls still were prominent. Not to forget the high cheekbones! I could run my finger down them all day long!
"Hello, my love", my voice trembled at the mere three words I had spoken. It had been hours since we had last seen each other, both of us busy with duties until the guests would come.
The white smile was a stark contrast to his sun-kissed skin, his deep blue eyes still a sight to be lost in - not to mention his muscular build.
Strong shoulders, a tiny waist, long legs - the body of a man who had done sports since he could walk, from running, football, jogging, to strength training. A man who wasn't only quick in his wits, but also dangerous if you crossed him.
Standing at a 1,90 m high, Michael towered most men I knew, even me, who he towered a head above.
A Harvard graduate, a CEO and otherwise a hero to all who knew him, Michael was a god-sent.
And a cuddly husband too, one that expressed his love through physical manners and who loved to flirt with me until I went beat-red.
His only bad trait was that he could be stubborn once had made up his mind and that he was a hissy devil when it came to work perfection, but I could overlook that.
My attractive boar bent down to kiss me on my lips, something Anne-Marie had forbidden him from doing so but Michael couldn't care less. He kissed me when he wanted to kiss me, goddammit.
His lips tasted of wine and honey, lulling my senses slightly.
His strong, masculine scent made me take a deep breath. Sage. Wood. It was the only scent that didn't make my stomach turn lately.
"Better?", Michael brushed my hair back behind my ear, something he had done since we had first gotten closer 9 months ago. Such a simple gesture still made me smile.
But not now.
I nodded, silently.
He shook his head. "It's no good when you are quiet, mon amour." My husband took my hand. "That's not you."
"I have all the reason to be worried", I breathed.
"Nonsense - it will go just fine", Michael protested. "I'll make sure of it", he stubbornly decided with a controlled voice.
I ran my finger over the collar of his new dark blue suit, enjoying the expensive material gliding under my finger. Like my wardrobe, this must have cost a small fortune to buy, but the French criticized your clothing taste as if they were talking about the weather.
Not a crease out of place, I thought to myself.
Michael stepped back, scanning up and down, a grin slowly spreading on his perfect face. "You look breath-taking, tomato."
"Silvery tongue", I ran my hand down his chest.
Tomato - one of many nicknames he had given me.
I wanted to ask him how the call had gone, if we had a new business partner, if we had work awaiting us in New York - but all of that was at the end of my list of worries. I peered up to him, nervously.
I noticed Michael stepping forward, his arms immediately shooting out to hold me close, something he always did when I was nervous.
"Will you be by my side, bebo ?", I whispered.
"For as long as I can", Michael promised, bringing my knuckles to his lips. "I will always be by your side, mon amour."
♡
Our names were announced to the many people.
Our titles - Duchesse et Duc de Beaumont - rang in my ears, echoing through my body. I was shaking from head to toe.
Michael squeezed my fingers. "It will be alright", he whispered to me, giving me the boyish smile I loved the most. It was a cute attempt to calm my nerves.
And the door that separated us from the guests was opened.
All eyes laid on us, all 500 guests looked up the golden marble stairs and raised their glasses once we stepped into their view.
Cheer erupted as we started descending the staircase.
Michael held my hand as if we were true royals, arm next to arm, my fingertips wrapped in his hand.
We both looked forward, plastered smiles on our faces.
With every step we descended, my heart sunk lower and lower and lower down my body, until I felt it in my feet.
As we were on the same level as the guests, they immediately swarmed us.
My throat closed up and not a peep would leave my lips.
My charming husband cleared his throat and we listened to their introductions, extended our hands and shook theirs.
I still couldn't speak.
Michael nudged closer to me and let his charm out.
"And this is my wife, Sara de Beaumont ", Michael introduced me, pronouncing my name in a French manner, his hand on my back. He wore his client smile, a smile that didn't reach his eyes but was charming, so charming you couldn't resist.
One by one, he led me to each guest. We introduced ourselves, shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, moved on.
I barely found my voice after we were done with them all, two hours later.
It was when we finished greeting them when Anne-Marie tapped my shoulder.
"Oui?", I whispered, my voice cracking.
"You two should attend to the guests now separately", she explained and I froze.
"It will go just fine", Michael said, but his face said something else: he didn't want to leave me alone in this state. "I'll be within an arm's reach."
I nodded stiffly. My lower lip however, trembled.
Michael's sharp eyes clung to that.
"I'll be with Madame ", Anne-Marie cut of sharply. "You Sieur, have CEOs who want to discuss the sudden crashes in the Hawkins shares and your involvement in them."
Hawkins. My mind went blank. Eleanor and Angus? Why on earth where they interested in the woman who had wanted me dead? How on earth did they know about that?
Michael and Anne-Marie stared each other down.
"You have no business directing me down, Anne-Marie", Michael calmly told her. "I am the Sieur of the De Beaumont's. If I wish to be close to my wife, then I shall do exactly that. If Madame, my wife, doesn't want to be alone, then you will respect that wish."
"But the protocol-"
"Is old-fashioned. Outdated. A new fresh wind came and you will accept it", Michael sternly looked at her, cutting off any further discussion with a glare. Anne-Marie swallowed, and I just felt with her - an angry Michael was terrifying.
"Now, go mon amour before the guests get dubious. I'll be close by, just as I promised you."
I nodded and linked my arms with Anne-Marie, who stared at me bewildered.
I raised my chin stubbornly. "You aren't only a servant to me, Anne-Marie. You are an anchor. A friend. I need you to be close", I whispered.
The elderly woman's shoulders softened and she nodded. "Let us go to Madame Clémentine. She showed an interest in your studies. And remember - a straight back, good posture is essential. Shoulders back, chest out. A smile on your lips, not too much, not too little, eye contact when you speak to somebody and always reply with words and not sounds. Smile with your lips closed, do not show your teeth. Speak slowly and calmly. Gesture with your hands as you always do. It gives you some charm and distinctive features to make the people think you are a cute lady. Always leave a good impression behind."
♡
The evening had been going superb so far.
Until the servants started handing out shrimp cocktails.
I had denied any alcohol the whole evening, but Anne-Marie was clever enough to cover that up.
We didn't want the people to think I was pregnant, which I wasn't, and I didn't want gossip to start immediately on the first dinner we were hosting.
I was denying alcohol because my head was spinning and my nervousness was still at a peak. Any wrong movement or sudden unpleasant topic could make me vomit my whole breakfast in front of the guests. And how would that turn out to be? I might as well drop my title then and there if that were to happen!
The silver plates were carried around by the servants, one of which stopped in front of us.
The servant lowered it so the guests could see what he offered them.
"Shrimp cocktailes, Mademoiselle, Madame et Monsieur. Made out of Provence grown tomatoes, horseradish and a pinch of salt. The shrimps were pealed by hand and poached a few minutes ago - a fresh delight to whoever may want to enjoy this delicacy."
The bright colour ...
The overbearing scent of the shrimp ...
The guests and their perfumes and cigarette fumes were already twisting and turning my stomach, but now the scent of food too?
Especially the shrimp-
Before I could finish the thought, I had to suppress a gag.
The shrimp had been cooked so lightly it still looked raw ....
The vomit rose up to my throat as the trey got closer.
The smell of sea food summoned a lump in my throat.
This was too much. Too many scents.
It was the nervousness. It was surely the exhaustion and anxiety of hosting such a party-
"I have to ... excuse me please", I pressed out and tried not to run into the bathroom or throw up in front of them.
I sneaked out the salon, through the foyer, up to our bedroom. Out of the guests' reach.
And hopefully on time before there was an accident.
I barely reached our bedroom, went through open the door to the adjoined bathroom and just in time managed to drag myself to the toilet - and threw everything up.
"Sara?", Michael's voice cut through the short lived silence before I threw up again. "Mon amour?! Are you alright?"
Of course he had noticed - he always noticed everything!
I opened my mouth, only for another wave of sickness to hit me, leaving me dizzy and emptying all of the content of my stomach.
"Is Madame alright?", Anne-Marie hushed over to us. Michael was drawing circles on my back.
"I believe she's sick - or the anxiety got to her", Michael pondered, worried. "Call the doctor. We need to check on her."
I was barely seeing a thing in front of me.
Would I black out?
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out of it.
My head was spinning. It felt too heavy to hold up straight.
"What made her so sick?", Michael spoke again as I cried silently. The wave of sickness calmed for a slight moment before it pressed against my throat again. My nose was runny and the tears wouldn't stop.
"She saw the shrimps and then ...", Anne-Marie couldn't finish her sentence as I cut her off with a loud gag. "Poor Madame ..."
Anne-Marie ran into the bedroom and dialed the De Beaumont's family doctor's number.
Michael pressed a kiss on my sweaty neck as I clung to the toilet seat. "We'll patch you right up, don't worry, mon amour. It was just the worry that got to you. It's alright. Everything's alright."
Had it been really the worry?
Or something entirely else?
"I'll get you a glass of water. You need to lay down, honey", Michael sweetly told me, helping me up to my feet. Held me closely.
My head plopped onto his chest.
And then I lost consciousness. Just like that.