♡
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.
Today was the day. Today was Friday. In a few breaths, the dinner would commence.
I couldn't stand still anymore, moving from room to room, trying to distract my busy mind with something! anything! I checked the kitchen and their process, checked the set tables again and again, moving cutlery, picking at the artfully folded napkins, checking if all the candles were lit, if the drive way looked good - then went back inside to the main hallway.
Trying not to move around again, I took a deep breath and forced myself to think of something else.
But I couldn't.
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. Every one of them, I checked religiously at least three times.
Golden flower vases stood on every clear table, all of them white, per my choice, all of them giving the home a floral scent. White roses, white peonies, daisies - anything France could offer me quickly.
Anne-Marie had done her damn hardest to make this place attractive to us - from the colour scheme down to the scent.
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 checked everything again. Let the servants be as they looked at me worryingly. I retreated once again.
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.
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.
"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.
"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.
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. "What if I say something wrong? What if I fall? What if I destroy something? What if I make a fool out of myself?!"
"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. Usually it calmed me down, but not now.
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.
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. Too many people had accepted the damn invite.
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. He held me tightly, my fear of tripping evaporating with every step that we neared the floor.
We both looked forward, plastered smiles on our faces. My heart was beating in my throat.
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. Sheer fear washed through my body, making my feet heavy and a hotness spread through my stomach. Yet at the same time, I felt so suddenly cold.
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. I was so damn scared, and I didn't want him to know but ... Michael's sharp eyes clung to that. Nothing missed him.
"I'll be with Madame ", Anne-Marie cut off 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 around, 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. Usually I interrupted him, reminding him to stop being so cold and snappy with her, but the fear cut off my voice more than once.
"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. For some reason, it all calmed me down slightly. I wasn't alone. I raised my chin stubbornly, but my lips trembled. "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.
♡
I came to me after a while, my head dizzy.
Somebody was holding my hand. It was warm and rough, and even though I hadn't gathered myself completely, even though I didn't know where I was, I knew it was my husband's reassuring grip that was holding me.
I opened my mouth, but was shushed by him.
After some quiet, both Anne-Marie and my husband waiting for me to regain my consciousness fully, Michael spoke: "You need to get checked out", his face was stern, eyebrows furrowed. His voice left no room for disapproval, stern and commanding, a tone he rarely used with me. "Tiredness, sickness - I worry it's something much worse if you go much longer untreated."
And I knew why he was like that. Losing people terrified him more than enough. He had to see his brother grow sicker and sicker. Watched him die. He would be damned if that happened to anybody in his family again.
"I'll go to the doctor after the dinner, I promise." I blinked. The dinner. The guests. Oh god what would they think?! I jumped up. Anne-Marie jumped up too, shocked. Michael expected that, pressing me back into bed.
"I have to-!" "No."
"I can't just-" "I said no!", Michael snapped harshly, making me jerk together. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell", he immediately apologized.
My heart raced and my head spun. I placed my hand on his cheek. "I know that ... I know you are worried when anybody of us is sick, but I'm feeling better now, ok? We only have to amuse them for a few hours, then I'll lie down again, alright?"
"I don't ...-", a knock interrupted Michael mid sentence.
Anne-Marie shuffled to the door and beckoned somebody in. Michael pressed me against him, brushing through my hair.
An elderly, well-kept man with warm and knowing eyes entered, giving us a sincere smile.
"Toubib", Michael recognized the man.
Doc?
"Michael", he nodded with an even broader smile. "You've gotten bigger", he switched to English, bearing a thick French accent.
"It has been a while", Anne-Marie somewhat emotional agreed. Michael had no nerve to be polite. "My wife needs your medical assistance. Immediately."
The small man with a comfortable body fitting for his age approached the bed. Anne-Marie placed a stool for him near us.
"Did anybody see you?", I asked as he sat down. "Sara", Michael hissed. "The guests know you, don't they? You would catch their attention. They would know-"
"Madame, I entered through the back door", he patted my hand in a calm manner and with an assuring smile. "This isn't my first rodeo", he winked.
My heart raced against my chest. I nodded swiftly.
"You worry about the wrong thing", Michael grumbled.
"Mon fils, if you cling to her so much I cannot check her", the doc spoke in a less softer and somewhat parental tone towards Michael. "I'm glad you love her but ..."
Michael reluctantly let go but didn't scoot away an inch. "Can you draw blood from her?"
"What is even the problem? Before I do anything, I must know what happened", his brown eyes got softer.
"Madame fainted", Anne-Marie piped in. "Lately her hunger has shifted and she is sensitive to smell."
"Before that, she was tired very early, which is highly unlike her", Michael added. "And she fainted half an hour ago after throwing up."
"Who is attending the guests?", I whispered.
"It's all taken care of Madame, rest", she assured quickly.
"What do you think it is, bichette?"
"Bichette", Michael whispered, a little smile gracing his lips. This man seemed to know him, and I breathed out relieved he wasn't so furious anymore. Michael took my hand, stroking it with his thumb.
"Low iron, hopefully", I shifted on the bed. "That would explain why I'm always so tired."
"And the rest?"
"Honestly I've been beside myself the whole morning because of this dinner."
"She even had nightmares, tossing and turning all night long", Michael added. "And she immediately worked once she woke up."
"You didn't take it easy. Stress isn't good for anybody, no matter what age", the doc opened his bag and shifted around. "Fine, I'll draw some blood. For now, I advise you to eat something sweet and drink a small cup of coffee or coke to get your blood sugar up. Eat light meals for your stomach." He got out a zebra-patterned tourniquet and asked for my arm. "What caused you to throw up?"
"The scent and colour of shrimp. Lately scents bother me."
His eyes flickered up. "Any other senses high-lightened as well?"
I thought about it. "No", I said after a while. "None that I can think of. My nose has always been sharper. I tend to easily get headaches due to it."
"Have you had any lately?", the doc asked while feeling my skin for a vein he could prick. Once he found something, he tightened the tourniquet and got out his disinfectant liquid, cleaning and disinfecting the spot he now pricked with his needle.
He was good. I didn't feel anything as he drew three tubes of blood from me.
"No."
"Have you eaten anything bad?"
"I don't know, but I think I did. My stomach has been bothering me a bit."
"How so?"
"I feel sick constantly, but it comes in waves. Sometimes I can ignore it, other times I have to sit down and rest."
His hand flickered up to my forehead. Patient, wise eyes met mine, a smile not present on his face, but it didn't give him a stern look. More of a medical professional who had been doing this for years. He retreated his wrinkled, sun-kissed hand and shook his head. "No fever at least."
"Any suspicions?", Michael asked now, watching him apply pressure on the spot he had just pricked.
"Some, but I won't say anything until I have the results."
"How long will they take?"
"Three days the most", he assured. "I'll come by and deliver you the news myself. For now, I would recommend some rest, but seeing your wife I know that will wait", he smiled understandingly at Michael. "Let her finish the dinner, then force her to bed. Not even a war could stop Marguerite from seeing her guests off. Your wife seems no different."
"Sadly you are right", Michael sighed, brushing my face. "Any medicine she should take?"
"No. Not until we know what it is. I recommend you to not drink any alcohol for now, avoid caffeine as much as you can, as well as dairy products. Eat three meals, rest as much as you can, take small strolls for fresh air when you grow tired of lying down. But no physical activities for now, understood?"
"Yes."
"Good." He patted his lap and got up, gathering his stuff. "If anything happens, call me. And breathe Michael, it doesn't seem like anything too serious. Maybe it's just a stomach bug."
"I thought you wouldn't do a pre-diagnosis."
"If I don't, you would even make the devil crazy. Now, attend the guests and get them out the house", the doc smiled. "And calm down Madame, everything is fine."
♡
"We had to take a highly important call, we apologize for disappearing so quickly", I smiled at the guests, my hand in the crook of Michael's arm.
"Now we are fully back", Michael assured, gifting them a splendid fake-smile.
I wanted to signal for Anne-Marie to go to the crowd with me again, but Michael tugged at my arm in a way only I could notice.
"No."
"Mich-"
"You are not leaving my side." He squeezed my hand closer. "You are staying with me, every step of this evening."
"How will that look?", I whispered as we approached the guests, careful to bear a smile.
"What do you want me to do? Go to the other side of the room while you could faint and hurt yourself when you fall? Do you want me to watch? No, I'm staying by your side, I'm holding you."
"I know you worry-", I put my other hand on his upper arm. Sea blue eyes met mine, and I understood wordlessly.
Don't make me leave your side. I worry about you. Is what they said.
"I love you", I told him.
And my eyes said to him: I know. I understand. Thank you for worrying about me.
"I love you too, silly." Michael couldn't help himself - he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it, eyes holding mine with a stern expression. He worried. He was torn. He wanted me out this room, but knew we had to fulfill a duty. He loved me. He didn't want to leave my side.
And I welcomed all of it. I nudged closer to him. "Steady me, ok?"
"Always."
Michael was a natural at steadying me unnoticed, denying any food that came anywhere close to us with a smile, directing alcohol away from us with the excuse of: "if we got tipsy, how could we converse properly with you all!"
I swayed a bit, light-headed, and his hand immediately reacted faster than his mind, moving to my back and pushing my forward slightly.
I knew that with every unsteady step that his nerves only got worse, and that the fake smile slowly crumbled, so I tried my damn hardest with gritted teeth to walk and talk steadily, tried to regain my composure and to make him stop worrying. I didn't want that. Not that much!
Michael slipped the glasses of martini we got away, smoothly exchanging them for 'champagne with orange juice' as a servant came by. In just a few breaths, Anne-Marie had filled the servants in on my restrictions and they followed them religiously.
I welcomed the sweet taste of the orange juice and sighed as I emptied my glass after a while.
"Another glass?", Michael asked immediately.
"No, I would look like an alcohol to them", I placed my glass on the tablet of the servant.
Michael openly gave me a worried look.
"I'm fine, really my love", I assured. "It's time for the dinner, finally. Let's eat alright?"
"Fine", he slowly agreed. "Anne-Marie, dinner time."
The head-servant nodded. "What about the starters though?"
Oh right, they were all made with fish.
"I'll skip those", I decided. I had an idea. "Michael will eat the starters with them. I'll join for the main. Then we can eat the dessert together."
Michael didn't like that idea one bit, and I fully knew that. Separating while he clung to me like this was always a bad idea, but the guests would grow suspicious otherwise.
"I'll be with the other group that eat the main. You go with the first group, I'll stay here with Anne-Marie."
"I don't know my love."
"Please. I feel fine. I'll drink another glass of orange juice and eat a bite of toast if that makes you feel any better, alright?"
He scanned me slowly with a stern glance. "... Alright. But not one moment you are to be alone understood?"
"Fully." I nodded.
"And the moment you are done with the main course, you'll immediately be by my side again, understood?"
"Yes." I nodded my head again.
"Alright", Michael spun around and clapped, announcing the dinner and inviting the first group with him to the dining room, all while bearing a smile you couldn't deny.
I smiled at him as he spun around, assuring him I would be fine.
He raised a brow, and my hand to his lips, kissing it softly while giving me a chiding and stern look. But not one that would make me feel scared or make me pull myself together, no, it was a loving one, one that he gave me anytime he flirted with me. It was playful and yet a bit true. He would be stern if I didn't pull myself together for our sake.
Anne-Marie read out the names of the people who could follow my husband, and I watched him leave with the first few guests.
He glanced back one last time before he left the room, making sure I was alright.
I raised my hand and smiled.
Everything will be alright, my love. I promise.
His massive build disappeared, and I took a deep breath. Anne-Marie was by my side in a flash.
It has been over a year, a year and three months to be exact, yet whenever he parted, a part of me wanted to follow him.
Sometimes I thought I was clingy, but no, it wasn't that. I loved him. I loved being with my best friend, my husband, with the person that made the world seem like the safest place on earth. I wanted to look into those sea blue eyes, I wanted to trace the laughter lines of his, wanted to kiss his lips, awe at his broad shoulders and tiny waist, listen to his smart mouth and his soothing, strong voice.
I missed him whenever we weren't together, and suddenly now even stronger than I ever had. I almost followed him, one of my legs jerked forward without me wanting to, my body aching to be closer to him.
"Madame?"
I stopped the sigh that was about to escape my lips, smiled, and turned around.
"Oui, maire?"
Patience, Sara. Soon you could leave with the next group and join for the main.
Another group was called while I stood before the mayor. Once they finished, it was my turn to join them.
Until then, I would amuse him and the people that now got closer.