v.

GENEVIEVE GARNIER'S MANOR WAS LOCATED IN THE SUBARBS—the banlieues—of Paris, nestled amidst the dark greenery drenched distances in between other neighboring manors, and perched in contrast to the raging gardens of the manor's own doing. The night sky was pitch dark above, yet the greens refused to dull. The bustle of the city was a faint and distant dream out here in the banlieues, and though Laurentine Bonfamille welcomed the gush of peace and pine scented air, she herself preferred the lights of the busy neighborhood in the heart of the city where her own mansion was housed. She preferred the rose scented air of her own mansion gardens, and the constant clip clopping of hooves of the horses leading carriages by on the street just in front of her window.

Laur was a city girl, and she adored the sounds and the smells. The bustling city heart of Paris outside her window made her feel alive. The greetings being passed all throughout the streets, gentlemen on their way early in the morning to their offices, ladies' laughter caressing the wind as they walked on the sidewalks in groups of fours and fives with colorful parasols over their heads and bright day gowns etched with frills and lace.

Out here, in the suburbs, it felt as though everything was doused in a gentle sleep. There was a certain attractiveness in the feat, a certain glow that the banlieues seemed to offer that did touch something inside Laur. The journey to Garnier's estate had been exceptionally lovely—as was the case each time. The streets housed glorious mansions galore, and though Laurentine had declared her own city mansion a beauty a long time ago, there was a certain sophistication in the suburbs that marred even the less beautiful of the mansions.

Perhaps I'll retire here someday, Laur thought to herself, I'll buy another mansion here for myself someday when I'm old and weak. I'll need the peace then, won't I?

"Bonjour mon ami," Laurentine Bonfamille kissed Genevieve's cheeks in succession as the ginger haired hostess reciprocated, holding the main door open, gratefully receiving the bouquet Laur had brought for her as she gushed over Berlioz, the kitten presenting himself—held at Laur's chest—with pride, sporting a petite black bow tied loosely around his neck.

"You are late darling," Genevieve narrowed her eyes as she stepped aside to let Laurentine and Berlioz enter, the latter nestled at Laur's chest comfortably, making the hostess believe that the spoilt kitten—although the most adorable creature she had ever seen—hadn't indeed been on his four paws for days.

"I apologize, ma chéri," Laurentine spoke as she waited in the hallway for Genevieve to close and lock the door before the hostess joined her side and the women walked arm in arm down the hallway.

"I had to settle a certain curiosity," Laur managed, not wanting to divulge her sister and Colette's ongoing business plans.

Strangely, though Laurentine was proud of Adelaide's awareness and need to establish a solid ground of her own—despite the firm ground Laur had already provided and ensured for her, she was somewhat.. embarrassed to speak of the matter to her friend and peer, Genevieve Garnier.

There were some who would laugh at Adelaide's radical sensibilities, and Laur had already decided upon their first meeting that Garnier and most of their other peers at the opera house, and quite exactly all the gentlemen who called upon Laur and gave themselves the title of suitors, qualified as those kind of people.

So she kept everything to herself, refusing to divulge her past and present aches, grievances, misfortunes.

With those around her Laur shared things that delighted her, excited her, pleased her or made her laugh. She never uttered a single ache in words, and people around her seemed to accept her that way—a picture perfect opera performer with her mesmerizing blue eyes and shining golden blonde hair and a sunny disposition, her teeth like pearls when she laughed to display them and lips red as rubies tugging on heart strings when she offered smiles wherever she went.

Laurentine Bonfamille looked—to everyone but herself—like someone who hasn't ever suffered heartache in her life. And perhaps they were correct. Perhaps, Laur had not indeed suffered any heartache. Being orphaned a very young age, she hadn't had time to use her heart to form any connections with her late parents. She did not know them. Her sister was alive and well, and her best friend was alive and well.

The only suffering she had ever had was physical. Her physical torture hadn't enabled the oppressor to get to her heart. For could an old bald man in charge of operating an orphanage damage her heart as a girl of twelve by assaulting her like he had? He couldn't. He hadn't been able to. Her body had suffered for two years before she made her escape at fourteen, but somehow, her heart was still intact. Nothing had penetrated so far in, at least, it didn't seem that way to her.

So perhaps, everyone else was correct. She had her sunny disposition because she should, for children suffered far worse, didn't they? Children younger than she had been at that time.

"Berlioz and I had to make a quick detour, I do apologize," Laurentine uttered, focusing through her thoughts as she pulled on her smile.

"Oh, its alright I suppose," Garnier smiled, holding onto Laur's elbow as they entered the main hall furnished in dark purple as a fire burned in the hearth.

"As long as you are here, and did not stand me up. Fashionably late entrances are becoming quite a trend these days, darling, and who am I to stop you when I plan to attempt it soon as well?"

The dark purple wallpaper, carpet and even furniture in the main hall did little to spread the firelight in the room—giving an overall gloom that Laur didn't quite like. Her own mansion was furnished brightly, in all lighter colors like soft blues, mints, gentle greens, and it often made her slightly uneasy being in spaces where everything seemed confined, regardless of the space. Though Genevieve indeed was a terrific hostess, her abode wasn't quite where Laurentine felt at ease.

But there was a stern sophistication to the woman's upkeep of her mansion, though that sophistication was much too stern for Laurentine's own taste.

"My guests are here though," The hostess spoke then, steering Laur towards the drawing room situated at the north of the manor.

"Now that you are here, I will introduce you. We shall make some conversation before escorting ourselves to the dining room. My butler Albert has everything prepared, I'll signal to him once we are ready for dining. How does that sound, ma chéri?"

Laurentine smiled, turning to meet Genevieve's eyes. "Perfect, darling."

The ginger haired hostess nodded, smiling back as they turned corners approached the hall that lead to the drawing room at the north of the manor. The firelight from the room in the distance poured into the dark hallway, and Laur saw the orange brightness from the room emanate at the end of the hallway, suddenly relating it to something people speak of when they are dying. The light at the end of the tunnel.

Laur blinked, shaking the grim comparison out of herself. She wondered then why Genevieve had to keep everything so dark.

The girl lived alone in the manor, for her father had died only a year ago. He was a kindly man, and had dearly loved Genevieve. Laurentine had met him often times when he had come to the opera house to sit in the audience. He had been a very old man, having had Genevieve—the last of his two daughters—at a very old age. Genevieve's older sister was in her fifties living in England with her husband and two married children of her own, and though she was a stepsister—for Mr Garnier had married twice—Laur had often wondered if she should strike up an acquaintance with the woman. For Adelaide's sights were on England, and Laurentine desperately needed a connection she could rely on for her own sister over there.

Bringing herself to the present as they neared the drawing room, Laur heard the muffled baritones of two gentlemen speaking to each other in low but upright tones. Genevieve pulled on a brilliant smile, swished the skirts of her gown and efficiently stepped into the room ahead of Laur, and the conversation stopped.

Laur followed in behind, her hand caressing Berlioz's fur as she glided into the room behind her friend, managing to put on her own smile-though she felt that it wasn't as dazzling as the hostess' was at present.

The thought of Genevieve's stepsister in England, had somehow reignited the urgency of forming a connection with the woman. With Adelaide and Colette's plans weighing on Laur's mind, she suddenly felt in no mood to attend a dinner party.

Mon Dieu, why couldn't Adelaide be fond of gentler routes in life?

"Gentlemen, may I introduce you all to my friend, Laurentine Bonfamille," Genevieve's performative announcement brought Laur to her senses, and she blinked to regain her focus on the room.

There, on the dark purple velvet three seat sofa in front of her, sat two gentlemen of varying looks. The men stood up immediately as the ladies set their eyes on them, clearing their throats as they did so.

Laur's eyes set with slight shock at one of the gentlemen, the familiarity of his looks gripping her with surprise. He too, blinked, his eyes-definitively hazel-widening slightly at her in his own surprise.

"One of the most prestigious opera performers in Paris," Genevieve completed with a flair. "You cannot go two steps in the French opera scene without hearing of her name or seeing her face and form drawn on posters and magazines."

Laur blinked, realizing she had been staring into hazel eyes of the gentleman she had run into, on the street of Adelaide and Colette's future shop, quite boldly. She turned her gaze away from his striking eyes and managed a smile for her friend.

"Oh darling, you flatter me," She managed, feeling Berlioz stir in her hold. She looked down at him to realize that he too was looking at the hazel-eyed gentleman with a kitten-like intrigue.

"I am merely stating facts," Genevieve waved a hand in dismissal, before she turned to look at the first—and entirely unknown—gentleman who Laur had barely taken full notice of.

This man was tall as well, had dark hair although his sat straighter and thinner on his head than the hazel-eyed gentleman's. He had brown eyes, and looked to be about his early thirties with a neatly trimmed French fork beard, and his skin was only slightly tanner than the hazel-eyed gentleman's.

"And this, gentlemen," Genevieve turned away to glance back towards Laur, her eyes dropping to the cat at Laur's chest.

"Is Laur's darling kitten Berlioz."

Berlioz purred as all the attention in the room washed over him, his eyes sparkling as he gazed at the men and then turned his eyes towards Laur as she dipped her head to plant a kiss on his head.

The fork beard gentleman grinned at the kitten, his eyes falling back on Laur and again on Berlioz, while the second gentleman—the hazel eyed one—looked in between Laurentine and her cat with a certain intrigue and calculation. She blinked at his observation, curiosity bubbling inside her as she tried to read the man's eyes scrutinizing her and Berlioz. There was hardness in his gaze, but she could see a certain softness too-or was she imagining it?

"Laur, allow me to introduce Monsieur Edgar Laframboise," Genevieve gestured towards the first gentleman, a glint in her eye and a demure blush washing over her cheeks as she met eyes with the her man. Laurentine had to tear her gaze away from her own stranger, and acknowledge the man of the hour.

The fork bearded gentleman—Monsieur Laframboise—was clearly the man that Genevieve Garnier had arranged this whole impromptu night escapade for. The observation hadn't been quite that hard to make, on Laur's part.

"He owns the famous Laframboise hotel chain in Marseille and also dabbles in the French real estate market," The hostess finished as Monsieur Laframboise itched closer and bent slightly to take hold of Laur's gloved hand, bringing it gently to his lips.

"A pleasure, mademoiselle," The man spoke, his eyes fixed in hers. "Indeed, your portraits and posters in Marseille do your beauty no justice."

Portraits. The word made Laur think of the time she had sat for painters every day for two months, before she had realized how tedious that whole process was. She hadn't bought any of the paintings done of her, and the painters—mostly men but also female women from all over France—had gladly taken their art back with themselves to display in their own galleries, no doubt. Since Adelaide made many paintings of Laur as well, she never wondered what became of every other portrait she had sat for. Unlike Genevieve herself, Laurentine didn't quite have a distinct knack for gathering and hoarding all portraits she had sat for, to display in her mansion. Laur merely liked to look at the finished product for a moment, until her pleasure was attracted by other things in life.

"A pleasure to meet you too, Monsieur Laframboise," Laur eyed her friend cheekily, "I must admit it is rather nice giving a face to the name we've been hearing so often."

"Isn't that right, my love?" She hummed to Berlioz, feigning ignorance as Genevieve blushed shyly at her side and Monsieur Laframboise too was quietened upon the feat, his own eyes glinting.

The hazel-eyed gentleman beside Monsieur Laframboise cleared his throat, garnering all the attention towards himself with a boldness and swiftness that slightly startled Laurentine. For the man's mere presence was.. sturdier and more consuming than Laframboise's. With his messy dark hair, front bits resting on his forehead as his hazel eyes stoically glared through the pieces, the neat stubble on his sharp jaw and his broad shoulders and fair skin, he appeared more intimidating than any gentleman Laur had ever come across.

"Oh, and this is Monsieur Laframboise's friend Monsieur—," Genevieve Garnier hastened then, affirming her pleasant performative voice again, before her speech was cut abruptly.

"Édouard Arsenault," The hazel-eyed gentleman spoke then, his familiar voice barreling in the atmosphere of the drawing room as it molded over his name.

He seemed to have taken offense, at being introduced first and foremost as a friend to someone, though with the look of fondness on the friend in question's—Monsieur Laframboise's—face, Laur could sense that the relationship between the two men was easy and rather.. oblivious.

"A pleasure, mademoiselle."

Monsieur Arsenault stepped forwards, and took Laurentine's gloved hand as she offered it, bringing it to his lips. His hazel eyes burned into her with intrigue and stoicity, and he held her hand for just a moment too long before she retrieved it gently. Something rippled in the pit of her stomach, leaving her slightly shaken.

When she had come across the man—or rather, he had come across her—on street 74 rue de la Boétie, she hadn't felt anything except an appreciative first impression on the way he looked, and the way his eyes seemed so intense. That was it really. Laurentine had a way of switching something of herself off when she walked the streets, stepped out of the opera house or her own mansion. Outside, she tried to stay pleasant and kind, but unfeeling somehow.

Something harsh spoken to her outside would never penetrate inside her like something harsh said inside—her own drawing room or even at the Roses Bleues opera house. It would hurt her, of course, harsh words had a way of tearing at her. But there would be a difference. With the way Laur was, she protected her peace of mind by holding her empathy in her grasp outside, so that she didn't entirely crumble.

Which was why, first meetings and first impressions made with acquaintances outside just felt.. wispy to her. It was as though she had become so used to her guard being up, that it went up naturally when she left her familiar roof. Adelaide often complained about Laur not noticing most things people said to her or did outside when the girls stepped out together for quality sibling time.

"What do you mean, sister? That florist definitely tricked you into buying that rather hastily assembled bouquet," Adelaide had said once as they had walked a street, "His story about his gardens didn't even connect! How come he says his gardens are only two streets away and that they were destroyed in the rain? The last time it rained here was a month ago! Surely no garden is that stubborn!"

The reality of it was, Laur didn't pay attention to people or their words, outside. She listened, reacted the most natural reaction required of her without thinking, and then moved on. Just as she had done an hour ago at street 74 rue de la Boétie.

It was here, inside, in Genevieve's drawing room, that this hazel-eyed gentleman's presence was beginning to have the substance that human beings acquired in front of her in intimate settings. But somehow, he was more overwhelming than any man she had met in a drawing room. Mon Dieu, he hadn't even spoken anything else but his name at present.

"Monsieur Édouard Arsenault is a financier and investment banker," Genevieve Garnier spoke then, taking on the last few steps of introductions.

"He is the owner of the famous Arsenault Banks all over France, and has quite admirably dominated the field of corporate finance in our country."

Laurentine startled. Of course she had heard the name of Arsenault in the banking market of France. Had she not considered the name at eighteen when she had been cluelessly deciphering which bank to opt for, for her earnings? Arsenault was a recognizable and feared name when it was attached to banking, and though a younger Laurentine hadn't ended up opening her first—or present—bank account at Arsenault, Genevieve needn't have introduced the man like she had to Laur, for only his name and the word bank alongside would've sufficed.

Why hadn't she said that the owner of Arsenault banks was coming to her dinner party? She had spoken of him being incredibly wealthy, but still, she should've given Laurentine the name. But then again, Laur had been startled by the attendance of many a notorious name being introduced to her by her peers at the opera house.

"He is soon to try his hand at real estate too, mademoiselle Bonfamille," Monsieur Edgar Laframboise spoke, a grin on his lips as he exchanged a prideful look with Monsieur Arsenault.

"Then we shall add that to the list of his accomplishments. The real estate scene has been picking ground this year, it's vulnerable enough to dominate effortlessly at present. It's all that will be worthwhile for the years to come."

Genevieve Garnier, with a delicate yet utterly in control gesture, directed everybody in the drawing room to sit. The gentlemen obligingly took their previous spots on the velvet sofa, and the ladies sat themselves opposite, on the two individual matching one seaters side by side each other.

"That's quite a thing to say, Monsieur Laframboise," Laur couldn't help but comment, her polite smile fixed on her face as she settled Berlioz in her lap and stroked his fur.

"Should you believe every vulnerable feat calls for the opportunity of domination?"

Edgar Laframboise laughed a short laugh, shaking his head.

"No, of course not, mademoiselle," He lifted his brown eyes to meet hers.

"It is a businessman's curse, I believe, to think of every opportunity in regards to vulnerability and domination," He spoke, exchanging glinting eyes with Monsieur Arsenault. "I do understand how tedious it can be for the gentler sex to witness the talk of the process."

"Tedious indeed," Genevieve Garnier waved a hand, confirming the stereotype with a finesse.

"The process leads to progress," Monsieur Édouard Arsenault spoke then, catching Laur's eyes with his own. "And I believe the gentler sex approves of progress if not the talk of the process."

"I think any progress is admirable if the process isn't as destructive," Laurentine affirmed, her curious blue eyes sparkling as she stroked Berlioz's fur to ground herself.

For some reason, Monsieur Arsenault seemed to her to be the only gentleman she had ever been fully aware of, when present. With other gentlemen, Laur had always a dozen things going on in her mind-distractions that she relied on for escape from the present. Flowers she yearned for bouquets of, herbs she'd like to one day have in her mansion's garden, bold colored wallpapers she'd like to try for the mansion's hallways, letters to classical musicians she corresponded with. But at present, her mind was focused entirely towards Monsieur Arsenault.

"The process is often destructive, don't you think so?" Laur probed, her eyes fixed in Édouard Arsenault's. "That is why it can be disheartening—tedious—to listen to."

The man's gaze sharpened in hers with a certain interest, and Laurentine almost found herself pierced with the intensity of his interest in her.

"No success ever came with a bland process, mademoiselle," Édouard Arsenault uttered. "To achieve something one must lose something. The destruction you speak of, is the loss."

Laur couldn't help but think of her best friend Colette Blanc's boutique in Marseille. Her dark haired girl, confidante since her orphanage days, wandering friend with haphazard dreams—Mon Dieu, she must be so upset. Colette had left for Marseille two weeks ago to deal with the closing of her boutique. How must the girl be faring there all alone with a broken dream?

"But does the loss and achievement happen to the same person, in the scenario you speak of?" Laurentine dared, feeling Berlioz stir in her lap as though he suspected the turmoil in Laur's chest.

After all, the real estate endeavors in Marseille had only caused loss to Colette, what loss had the ones buying the land from under honest working people, suffered? What had been their tragic setback? Which of their dreams had been shattered?

"It doesn't," Édouard Arsenault spoke then, his eyes unflinching in hers as he admitted the accusation that Laur had thrust upon him.

"Often it doesn't," He nodded a small nod, as though he understood where she was coming from, but felt not much sympathy for the case she made.

"And that remains the one tragedy of such endeavors, but a man involved has the power to soften the loss, in any case, if he wants to," Monsieur Arsenault paused briefly. "I for one am a man who takes care in the business I resort to. I don't make a cut where cuts have been suffered before."

Laur blinked at the analogy. To endeavor to make a cut, even though cuts are things to be suffered—regardless or not if they had been inflicted on a space before—is.. demonic. Why would one seek to hurt, when one knew the hurt itself? Laurentine had suffered cuts in her life—Mon Dieu she had suffered worse, but she would die before she was ever forced to subject anyone else to the same things.

She broke her gaze away from the man's, and her eyes briefly ventured towards Monsieur Edgar Laframboise, only to find him smiling cordially as his head nodded in sync, agreeing blatantly with his friend's words.

Laur knew then that these were business men not unlike the unkind ones who Colette had suffered under in Marseille. They sought to achieve, regardless of the destruction they had to cause in the process. The process didn't matter to them, it held no depth in face of the reward.

"I fear mademoiselle Bonfamille thinks the analogy cruel, Édouard," Monsieur Edgar Laframboise spoke then, a grin affixed on his lips as he exchanged a glance with his friend.

"It may be to her," Édouard affirmed, fixing his eyes back into Laur's. "I gather for a lady like her, our side of the world is entirely cruel."

"And why should it not be, monsieur?" Genevieve Garnier uttered then, holding her head high as she stuck her chin up in pride.

"We do deal with music and spreading the addicting charm of it," She asserted. "Much of what you men do in your businesses is utterly lethal."

"I haven't heard you for a while," Monsieur Laframboise spoke then, his eyes on Genevieve with a certain interest. "I mean, your performance of course. Last time I was at the Roses Bleues was months ago, I hadn't the time to appear at the opera house the last time I was in Paris."

Genevieve Garnier softened, a blush spreading over her cheeks.

"Well, we shall remedy that as soon as you find the time monsieur."

Laurentine Bonfamille smiled, before turning her eyes away and towards Berlioz, only to find him looking up at her with his curious eyes. A gush of affection filled her to her core as she felt the earlier feelings of distress leave her body.

"Oh, my darling," She hummed, picking him up to her chest and pressing a kiss to the kitten's forehead.

She was thankful for Genevieve's attempt at taking charge of the course of the conversation, and for Monsieur Laframboise's attempt at changing the topic itself. Laur wasn't present at the gathering to argue about the machinations of what had befallen Colette's boutique in Marseille, she was only there to help host Genevieve's guests, and for a moment Laurentine had entirely forgotten that.

Regardless of what these men were habitual of doing, what their ambitions and prospects were, Laur couldn't just blame them for it. Her opinions were her own, and truth be told, she rarely ever did just as her opinions told her.

For if she did, she would've left Paris a long time ago instead of staying in a city that had done nothing to help her and Colette when they had both desperately needed it.

"What of your family, monsieur?" Laurentine found herself asking softly, her eyes on Édouard Arsenault's as Genevieve and Monsieur Laframboise talked to each other in low tones beside them.

"Do they live in Marseille?" She prompted, determined not to let any harshness seep into her manner as she channeled her natural cordial kindness.

"Yes and no," Édouard Arsenault uttered then, his own manner slightly shifting in confusion as he seemed to adjust to the lack of contempt in the lady's tone.

Laur realized with a start that he had been expecting her dislike to muster itself through her words. But Laurentine had never been that kind of person, Mon Dieu, she hadn't been harsh to anyone in her life and couldn't think of one person who even deserved her contempt. People had reasons did they not? Who was she to undermine reasons that she did not know?

"My father used to, before he died. My mother and younger sister live in Marseille with me at my estate," The man continued, his hazel eyes fixed into Laur's sky blue orbs. "But my younger brother is presently in Avignon, he is quite.. a vagabond. I do not approve of his exploits."

Laurentine managed a smile. "Because he doesn't have an interest in the Arsenault banking business?"

"Indeed," The man affirmed, blinking in face of Laur's startling smile.

"Just because your sibling has different interests, does not mean theirs aren't of any value," She prompted softly. "I used to think my sister too would follow me into opera, and for a long time I was so confident she would, but lately she's expressed wanting venture out into different things."

Édouard Arsenault's gaze intensified in hers, he was focused entirely on her as he listened, letting his face betray no emotion.

"I trust in her so much, I can't ever imagine myself not approving of anything and everything she would go on to do in her life. Even though it hurts a little, to not be so sure of her future and to understand that it would be different than mine."

Laur's eyes had broken from his and had fallen onto Berlioz as she spoke.

"I thought I had her future mapped out," She continued, knowing that she was oversharing in a way, but being unable to stop herself in front of this gentleman.

"I thought I knew the exact ways I would help her get to where I wanted her to be in her future. But that was what I wanted, not her. I didn't realize that until recently."

"It is rather silly, is it not?" She lifted her eyes to look at the man again, smiling as she did so. "That we just assume that their future is ours for the crafting?"

Monsieur Édouard Arsenault didn't respond, his hazel eyes intense in hers as the conversation between Genevieve Garnier and Monsieur Edgar Laframboise filtered into both their senses vaguely.

Laur could tell from Monsieur Arsenault's manner that he did not entirely approve of her words, and that knowledge didn't affect her own disposition.

"Do you have only a younger sister?" The man asked after a pause then, his gaze faintly curious. "No other siblings?"

"Yes," Laurentine smiled. "Only a younger sister. She's twenty, four years younger than me, and rather the apple of our eyes. Is she not Berlioz?"

The kitten purred at the attention, gratified to be included in whatever conversation that was happening as Laur stroked his fur and gushed over him. But then, to her surprise, Berlioz turned to look at the gentleman she was speaking to, and climbed eagerly out of her lap, jumping onto the carpeted drawing room floor.

He trotted over towards Monsieur Arsenault's legs, purring as he looked up eagerly at the gentleman, his eyes glinting.

Laur startled slightly, never had Berlioz ever showed such an inclination for any of the gentlemen that Laurentine had spoken to or met in her own drawing room. Berlioz mostly pretended the men didn't exist, and the kitten reveled in diverting Laur's attention from them as she gushed over him in front of the strangers.

Monsieur Édouard Arsenault looked at Berlioz, front bits of the man's dark messy hair falling into his eyes as he swiftly bent down and picked Berlioz up with a single hand—his palm carefully underneath the kitten's belly as Berlioz meowed in what Laurentine perceived to be.. excitement.

The gentleman set the kitten down upon his suited thighs, without a single reserve as to the fuss of having an animal upon his polished suit—reserve the likes of which most gentleman in his place would display.

"He is a charmer," The man spoke then, unsmiling, but his hazel eyes glinting his approval of Laur's kitten.

Berlioz sensed the look, and rubbed himself against the man's stomach over his suit, before looking up at him in admiration. Laurentine couldn't fathom this distinct behavior of Berlioz's, she had just imagined that he was the kind to not like strangers at all, but it appeared that her kitten was beginning to branch out—or perhaps, this was the first and only exception?

"He is," Laur laughed a small laugh then, happy at Berlioz's excitement. "Though he doesn't usually like other gentlemen."

"I'm flattered then," Édouard Arsenault met Laurentine's sky blue eyes then. "To be held above all the other gentleman that frequent your company, in the eyes of your kitten at least."

Laur couldn't think of what to make of that comment, for her only thought at present was of the man's attention towards Berlioz. The way he held the kitten, a silver ringed thumb gently stroking the animal's fur as Berlioz kept his eyes fixed on him as though the kitten was entranced. Perhaps all the purring he had been doing was to inform Laur of his admiration for the gentleman she was speaking to.

Somehow, Berlioz's attention towards the man had indeed titled him a separate being from the blurry haze of all the gentlemen she met and spoke to. It wasn't that Laur hadn't separated the man in her thoughts before her kitten's move, it was just that Berlioz had unknowingly solidified it.

"What of your mother and sister, Monsieur Arsenault?" She asked then, eager to change the topic, but more eager to know things about him.

Laurentine never asked about the family of the men who came to her drawing room, they always told her themselves. She never asked anything personal for lack of genuine interest, but at present, she wanted to know things about the gentleman who had peaked the curiosity of both herself and her kitten.

"I imagine they are happy and well?" She prompted, not knowing how else to satisfy her curiosity without intruding.

"They are, mademoiselle," He uttered, his thumb still stroking Berlioz as the kitten leaned more into the man's touch.

"They are my delight. My sister too is twenty years of age, she is thirteen years younger than me, and unlike me, has a startling affinity for the modern physics, and is quite interested in her further ongoing education to become a physicist," The man started, his words firm and etched with an element of pride that caught at Laur's heart.

It touched her in an odd yet gratifying way, to see that a gentleman—of thirty three years of age—with such an immense hold and prestige over the finance world, was actually proud over a sister who—much like Laur's own sister—was fond of a different route in life than ones that sisters of such men, and ladies in general, were supposed to take. It made Laurentine's heart swell, perhaps she wasn't at all alone then in being faced with Adelaide's radical dreams and aspirations. Perhaps, everything would indeed turn out to be just alright. 

The feeling was ecstasy to her at present. Laurentine had felt her sister's ambitions embarrassing to speak of to Genevieve Garnier or anybody else for fear that they wouldn't understand and immediately shun her sister, but at present she felt so relieved. She felt understood in the true sense of that word. Sometimes understanding was just seeing somebody else in the same position as you exercise that feat brilliantly, it inspired Laur to be more understanding of Adelaide too. 

"My mother on the other hand, is a connoisseur of all kinds of art, opera being her major favorite."

Laurentine smiled at that. It was an automatic point in anyone's favor in Laur's eyes, if they loved opera like she did.

"She actually quite admires you, mademoiselle," Monsieur Arsenault spoke then, his eyes briefly dropping to Berlioz in his lap before he looked at Laur again.

"She listened to your Christmas eve performance record on New years eve when it became available in Marseille. I should rather think she'd faint if I were to tell her that I sat in your presence."

Laur smiled. "She sounds like an absolute dream. Both, your sister and mother."

"And you, mademoiselle?" He asked then, punctuating his question with the barest of nods as Berlioz left his lap, jumped onto the carpet and trotted over to be picked up by Laur.

"I told you of my sister, Monsieur," Laurentine managed a smile, a pang in her heart at the realization that she hadn't much—in the topic of families—to tell.

"I only have her and my kitten," She added, holding Berlioz close to her heart as Berlioz seemingly melted in her embrace, trying to offer consolation for abandoning her like he had just a moment ago.

"I wish had much more to tell," She started, feeling guilty that he had opened up the interests of his entire family to her and she had nothing more to add.

"But you see it's just—"

"Oh, Laur grew up in orphanages, Monsieur Arsenault," Genevieve Garnier's voice infiltrated Laurentine's senses loudly. The blonde haired opera singer realized too late—and with a dismay—that Garnier and Monsieur Laframboise's individual conversation had ended.

"It's the most tragic thing," Genevieve continued as Laur's heart constricted in her chest.

Genevieve hadn't ever done this before. She hadn't ever exposed Laur's past like that to any of their mutual acquaintances in Laur's presence. Mon Dieu, none of Laurentine's friends from the opera house ever did that. Laur spoke of her past herself and only briefly if she ever needed to, making sure to word her sentences carefully so that they did not incite pity that she didn't need. Besides, it wasn't only she who had a past she wasn't too fond of. Some women in the opera house had suffered worse in their pasts before their contracts. Madeleine Laurent had been forced to marry young to an abusive alcoholic, and some other girls too had pasts they were sensitive of. The girls stood by each other though, they never spoke of each other's pasts to other people, always infused in a silent pledge of sympathy and grace. 

Where was Genevieve Garnier's grace now? Looking at her, Laur deduced that the ginger haired girl merely wanted to talk in front of Monsieur Laframboise—to be the one who always had something to say when the room fell silent, to be the one every gentleman in the room turned to hear, regardless of the content of the conversation. Garnier wasn't naturally a girl who attracted such attention, but in a way Laurentine supposed she could understand her behavior, for was she not in the presence of the man she wanted to impress?

"She and her younger sister being passed around in orphanages like that," Genevieve Garnier tutted then. "Oh Monsieur, can you imagine? Poor girls never even knew their parents."

Laurentine held onto her brave face, feeling her hands shake on Berlioz as she desperately tried to clutch onto her cordial smile.

"Apparently their family was poor, so there was no inheritance to come into when Laur would come of age, which is absolutely despicable on her parents' part, don't you believe so? As if that was not enough, the orphanage even separated the girls," Garnier continued. "Laur was sent ahead to a different orphanage away from her sister, who was possibly being starved. I mean, who can ever be sure of the treatment they give to orphans?"

Laur's resolve broke, even though she knew Garnier knew no details and only the basics, and was merely speculating from what she did know. But Oh Mon Dieu, she was getting so close.

"The diseases and the poverty of being in those orphanages, goodness," The girl shook her head. "Even now these establishments are drowning in poverty. Some children there atleast have inheritances when they come of age and can leave those forlorn places."

Laurentine's eyes met Édouard Arsenault, but in his gaze—which was now on Genevieve—she saw none of the pity, only a frustration as he seemed to glare at her for daring to speak Laur's piece. He turned his eyes away from the hostess and met Laurentine's own gaze, his glare softening immediately.

"You are a marvel then, mademoiselle," The man spoke then, and Laur felt a fluttering in her stomach that overtook all of her dismay.

"Looking at your present strength and beauty, no man can dare come up with the past that you went through."

Laurentine smiled, her heart shaking in her chest.

"You are kind, Monsieur," She managed, her resolve still stumbling as she sought refuge in Berlioz, holding him up to her chest and kissing his fur.

The comment Genevieve had made about her parents had crippled Laur's bravado severely, and her heart was weighing her down.   

She got up then, and Monsieur Édouard Arsenault stood up as well.

"Please excuse me, monsieur," She spoke then, her shaking smile plastered onto her face. "I shall be needing the rest room."

Édouard Arsenault blinked, his gaze hard with an underlying fury and hands in fists at his sides as he briefly looked at Genevieve Garnier—who was catching none of Monsieur Arsenault's dislike as she rambled onto Edgar Laframboise about something with her expressive hands.

Laur spun on her heels, holding Berlioz to her chest, and made her way outside the drawing room, stepping into the hallway as her rattled heart threatened to come into her eyes and stream down her face.

She felt terrifyingly exposed. She hadn't ever expressed any of her worries to any man before. Adelaide's dilemmas had weighed on Laurentine such so that she had let go of some of what she was feeling in front of this gentleman without even feeling embarrassed for a second. She had assumed he'd understand, and though he hadn't affirmed it verbally, Laur could sense that he understood. With his own sister pursuing an unconventional path in life, surely he understood Laurentine's own worry for her sister. 

And just when she was assuming she had found someone different than most men she had met, Genevieve Garnier had seen it fit to tip the scales and bare Laur's life out into the open, adding the element of tragedy that even news reporters and magazine journalists hadn't managed to get a hold on of Laurentine Bonfamille's story. 

To everyone else, Laur was just an opera singer who had grown up in an orphanage with her sister and had risen to fame with her voice. That was it. Laurentine never shared anything more and though some of her friends believed in the element of tragedy involved from the extra bits of information she gave them at points when she felt like she could trust them, they never spoke of any of it. Until now, that is. 

As Laur brought a finger to wipe a tear at the corner of her eye as she made her way along the dark hallway hearing the ripple of conversation in Genevieve's voice grow distant in the drawing room she was leaving behind. She tried to stop herself from speculating on what Monsieur Édouard Arsenault might be thinking of her now. He had spoken words of encouragement because what else would a gentleman faced with such an overshare of a lady's backstory do? Of course he had said what he had said. 

But one thing she knew for certain, and the knowledge of it felt like a loss more than a gain. Monsieur Édouard Arsenault—the financier, investor and owner of the famous Arsenault banks—probably preferred to not have anything in common with her anymore.