xxiv.

THE TRAIN HAD PULLED INTO THE BORDEAUX SAINT-JEAN station, and Laurentine Bonfamille Arsenault was sitting in her compartment, her hand gently stroking Berlioz's fur, as she wondered at the intense feeling of déjà vu infiltrating her senses.

Had not she just been in a train? Was her life now to only consist of train compartments and train stations, always travelling further and further away from the life she used to live?

Bordeaux Saint-Jean station was a much less busy sight then the Marseille Saint-Charles had been when she had first arrived on Marseille soil. In Marseille, the train station had been packed with quick gentlemen and frivolous ladies, all seemingly late for something or the other—even if they themselves did not know what occasions their haste had been employed for. There had been shouts and calls in the air—people translating their haste into words as much as actions, and then spreading the feat to their vicinity and onto other people as though haste was but a disease—easily caught and easier inflicted.

But the Bordeaux Saint-Jean station was a much different sight. From the glass window of her compartment, Laur spotted an elegant display. The station was sleek and full of sunlight pouring in from all sides. The station was not surrounded by walls cocooning the station space into a giant tunnel and plunging everything into a smoking darkness. Instead, Laurentine could see the expanse of the beautiful city beyond the station—a cacophony of brilliant fairytale-esque turrets, and the serene view of the Garrone river lying gently beyond it all.

Her heart lifted in her chest at the sight, and she almost forgot all of her anxiety at the mere prospect of leaving Marseille for her new home—her more permanent home than the rest of her homes, for Édouard had said Bordeaux was his main business outlet and they were to now stay here for some months before work called for him to be in Paris or Marseille again.

Still, Bordeaux was where her husband was the most. It was his home. Laurentine exhaled softly, realization flooding inside her. Whenever Francine Arsenault or Georgiana Arsenault had complained they hadn't seen Édouard for months without any contact, he was here. He had always been here, in this beautiful city.

Laur hadn't even stepped out of the train yet and she thought it was beautiful, and despite everything, she was certain she could come to love it as much as he did. Mon Dieu, did Édouard even love the city, or the work he was immersed in here? Surely those two things are not one in the same? Could she ask him this simple question someday without being left in tears and on her knees after the conversation ended? Laur doubted it now.

Édouard had told her to ask anything she wanted of him. Mon Dieu, he had even told her to write to him, hadn't he? He was willing to redesign his entire estate gardens if she deemed it, yet he could not bear to be close to her.

Laur shut her eyes tight, trying to stop herself from thinking—if that was an achievable feat at all. The truth was, her sense of self and her heart—both were entirely in shambles. She had told him that she loved him, and he had pushed her away.

Unbeknownst to many, Laurentine was familiar with rejection. She had faced it professionally when she had been younger and was scrambling to get a contract with any opera house who would have her, backed only by her confidence and the encouraging words of Georges Bizet—the man's mere smile in her memory had been enough of a push for her to work harder for her dreams. She had faced rejection from opera houses then, and oui, those had hurt so much. But never like this.

No rejection had ever hurt like this one. Why had she said it? Why couldn't she have just.. not said anything at all? Why had she stumbled such so? He did not love her, and she had known that when she married him. Yet still she said those words to him hoping for.. what? Reciprocation?

"..And then the party turned out absolutely flamboyant! You see, I was definitely going for a quieter take upon it," Madame Caroline Allard's—wife of Monsieur Raphael Allard—chatter floated back into Laur's senses, overpowering the Parisian lady's own thoughts.

Laurentine turned to face the woman, her usual bright and amiable smile on her face. Caroline Allard was only three years older than Laur herself, a lady of twenty seven with sleek dark hair that seemed to reflect silver light even as it was pulled into an elaborate do at the crown of the woman's head underneath her smart bonnet—the latter a lavender velvet trimmed and florally decorated piece matching the velvet of the lady's traveling attire.

She had ebony eyes upon the backdrop of a freckled and olive skin toned round face. There was a flash of cleverness in her features, and she stood only slightly shorter than Laur herself, with her form thicker than the opera performer's, but elegant.

Caroline Allard's husband, Monsieur Raphael Allard was a business friend of Édouard's, and it had appeared only by chance that the gentleman and his wife had boarded the same train to Bordeaux as Laur and Édouard—though it was already known to Édouard that Monsieur Allard would too join him in Bordeaux, for the men had some affairs to deal with.

Laurentine too had known of course, though the fact had completely slipped her mind. She had met both Monsieur Allard and Caroline Allard briefly at her wedding, but it seemed to her that everything she had done or said that day refused to flow in her system with the normalcy that any lady's past would.

Still, after what had happened between her and Édouard at Genevieve's wedding reception, Laur was grateful for Caroline Allard's company in the ladies' joint compartment, if only to be not left by herself again.

"Happens to the best of us, I dare say," Laur mused, still stroking Berlioz's fur. She had been leaving her ragdoll kitten behind quite often upon her engagements in gatherings—including Genevieve's wedding—and she was feeling sorry for it now that she too understood what it felt like to be left alone in a room.

"But, I do think as hostess one should try and stick to the regulations one created?" Laurentine ventured, shifting Berlioz in her lap. "It comes down to your guests respecting your hospitality, including the limitations you might enforce. Though I know how tempting it can be to create exceptions when one's guests are particularly persuasive."

"Once," Laur paused to raise Berlioz to her chest and placed a kiss in his fur. "When Adelaide was sixteen, a quite pitiful looking dog appeared at our door amidst the birthday party I was hosting for her. She simply wouldn't stop begging me for permission to bring the strange creature in! A hall full of my friends and some of hers, imagine! What could I do? I had to give in."

"It was such an elegant party before then, but once that creature came in, all semblance of sophistication was lost," Laur frowned playfully, dropping her gaze to Berlioz. "You would've simply detested that dog, Monsieur Berlioz, he was entirely too much!"

"Goodness," Caroline Allard sat back down on her seat opposite to Laurentine, her eyes wide with interest. "What happened? Do not tell me he tore the entire place down! Dogs can be quite monstrous—especially a rogue one off the streets! Was the wallpaper too badly damaged? Did your guests sport bleeding cuts? Was the dessert entirely ruined?"

Laur laughed. "Oh no, not at all. That strange creature was simply too charming. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He was an angel for the entire evening, but he stole the entire spotlight from my dessert and the games I had planned. I cannot say that I loved him too much for that."

Caroline laughed, waving a hand. "What happened to the pitiful thing then? Do not tell me you turned him out afterwards!"

"I wanted to," Laurentine narrowed her eyes playfully. "But a neighbour on the street came knocking in late at night looking absolutely delirious and asking if somebody had seen his darling dog. Adelaide shed such tears that night at the parting, she was simply inconsolable."

"My, don't you just love dogs," Caroline sighed fondly. "Especially if they are not monstrous. I should've liked a dog to interrupt my party instead of my brother waltzing into an entirely elegant affair in a mismatched suit singing Christmas carols! It was the middle of July!"

Laur laughed, her cheeks starting to hurt as her heart swelled in her gratitude for the moment.

"All my guests," Caroline Allard sighed, shaking her head. "I did not hear from the two of them again! What must they think of me!"

"Oh, darling," Laurentine's eyes sparkled at her new friend. "I assure you, people spend too much time thinking of their own mistakes to spare somebody else's mistakes another glance."

Caroline Allard smiled. "Well, that's the most reassuring thing I have heard all week."

"You are welcome," Laur beamed as the ladies both shared a companionable smile.

It was then that footsteps were heard making their way to their compartment—a private and reserved space in the business class section, with as much comfort that a moving train and the servers upon it could offer.

Caroline Allard smoothened her travelling attire with her gloved hands. "That is Raphael no doubt, I would know his footfalls anywhere. It will be Monsieur Arsenault along with him I gather. Oh, such a wonderful thing for our husbands to be such friends and business confidantes, and then for us wives to hit things off just the same!"

"Indeed, though I wouldn't know about the footsteps," Laur managed cheekily. "I have yet to memorize the sound of my husband's footfalls like you have of yours."

Caroline smiled with pride, before narrowing her eyes. "Well, you haven't been married since you were twenty, sweet."

"Oh, and that too," Laur giggled, stroking Berlioz's fur as he purred.

A gentle knock came on the compartment door then, and Caroline Allard spoke an affirmative as the door was opened and in stepped the figure of Édouard Arsenault, with Monsieur Raphael Allard at his heels.

Édouard's hazel eyes met Laur's instantly, as though she was always the one he sought and looked for.

"We are unboarding ladies," Monsieur Raphael was the first one to speak. "I trust you both have been comfortable?"

"Yes, we have," Caroline answered her husband. "These six hours have simply flown by! Laur is such excellent company, we shall be the dearest of friends."

"I do hope the food was excellent as well," Édouard uttered then, his sharp eyes on Laur as impatience tinged his tone and Caroline Allard blinked in surprise at being ignored such so.

"Did you eat?" Édouard asked his wife, not caring for ettiquette, "Or would you like for us to get some breakfast on the way? I will have the driver stop somewhere—"

"No thank you. I did eat," Laur managed, haste in her tone as she almost lost her footing suddenly at being addressed by her husband, their earlier conversation in Marseille still in the forefront of her head.

Even besides their earlier exchanged words, Laurentine couldn't unsee the blatant anger on his face and the ruthlessness of his manner when he had dealt with Charles Barbier at Genevieve and Monsieur Laframboise's wedding. She looked at her husband now and his vicious anger was all she could see. It had scared her, and now, she was just fearful of the mere fact that he had such strength and hatred inside of him to employ when he wanted to. Though his anger towards her was more.. contained—as though he was mindful in holding himself back with her as much as he could. Which wasn't much, for he was still so harsh everytime.

"The food was very good," She paused, thinking about how she had only had a small apple sliced into four sections from the enormous breakfast platter the servers had served for Laurentine and Caroline an hour ago.

Laur couldn't remember the last time she had had the strength to eat a proper meal. At Genevieve's wedding reception she had only had two sips of champagne, and then when they had boarded the train with the Allards a few hours later, Laur had only had a glass of sweetened milk on the elaborate dinner platter served in their compartment.

Caroline hadn't noticed, for the lady's own appetite was glorious. She had devoured almost everything in a manner of minutes, making sure to eat at least half of the options on the platter that she did not like.

So oui, Laurentine hadn't exactly eaten, but her stomach felt.. alright. Perhaps it had gotten used to her lack of appetite, empty as it was.

"Though Berlioz still needs to be fed," Laur managed a smile. "He wouldn't eat anything. I'm sure he is just excited to torture Manon with all of the things made by her that he loves."

Édouard's eyes dropped briefly to Berlioz before he met Laurentine's eyes and nodded once.

"Your maid is at the estate now and awaits your arrival," He uttered. "The head footman is outside at present, loading our trunks onto the carriage."

Laur exhaled softly, her heart relaxing slightly. She was looking forward to being reunited with her Parisian maid so much that it had only been the sole motivation Laurentine had had at multiple points during this journey.

"Shall we go?" Édouard cleared his throat, his eyes flashing and his facial features stoic as he offered her his hand.

Laur managed a smile, inhaling a deep breath and putting her gloved hand gently in his as she stood up from her seat.

Berlioz shifted against her chest uncomfortably, stirred at Édouard's presence as the kitten meowed stubbornly with want.

"I'll take him," Édouard offered then, carefully taking the kitten from Laur's arms and tucking Berlioz against his chest as the feline purred in pleasure and all but melted into Édouard's masculine hold.

Laurentine adjusted her own attire, touching the soft faux cream fur—in the imitation of a wolf's tail—that she wore around her neck to make sure it was still in place, and running her gloved hands down her long white winter coat hemmed with faux fur matching the one wrapped around her neck. Her day gown underneath was only visible by the gently trailing hems of her skirts which were only a few inches below the hem of her elegant long winter's coat. In short, Laurentine was dressed in the travelling attire featured on the cover of La Nouvelle Mode for the month of March, and both she and Léonie Léon had placed orders for the designs in two different colors and had gotten them delivered at their homes in Marseille in two days. Francine had absolutely fawned over the purchase, so Laur had placed another order. Her sister-in-law would recieve the order tomorrow in Marseille, whilst Laur would be having her first full day in Bordeaux.

Still perhaps there had been some excitement to board the train to Bordeaux, for wearing one of her newly acquired wardrobe pieces out in the wild was some excitement indeed. Especially if it was something out of the famed La Nouvelle Mode. At least for Laurentine. But then again, she had had many more small excitements culminating her entire life once, but now she had to cling to only some that still.. worked, like they used to.

"Please," Édouard cleared his throat, his gaze dropping and his jaw tight as he gestured to the exit of the compartment, motioning for her to go first as Caroline Allard too joined, ushered by her own husband.

Laurentine let herself be swept up by Caroline, the lady hooking her arm at Laur's elbow and chattering happily as the two ladies made their way down the small corridor outside the compartment, heading for the train exit with their husbands on their heels—the men speaking to each other in low tones, a conversation that seemed work related and entirely devoid of humor.

"..And I shall host you, what do you say to that?" Caroline Allard was saying as the ladies stepped out of the train and a gust of cool winter wind flushed both of their faces, some suited men and ladies in the station turning to look at the glamorous female passengers just arrived from Marseille.

It appeared that the Arsenaults and Allards were amongst the few last passengers to unboard the train, or perhaps the train to Bordeaux hadn't really been crowded at all in the first place. Laur couldn't tell, she hadn't really noticed, being in the luxurious and peaceful business class compartment as she had been for the past six hours.

The Bordeaux sun was just rising, and Laurentine felt sleepy with the knowledge that she had spent the entire night upright. She needed a pillow underneath her head and nothing but silk against her skin and a duvet covering her form—at least, for a few hours till she regained her energy back again.

"Well, then when shall I host you?" Laur asked with clever amusement, knowing that she had missed the particulars of her new friend's invitation and not wanting to ask forthright and giving the impression that she hadn't been paying attention.

"If you have taken the best possible day for yourself?"

"Oh it's only monday, sweet!" Caroline waved a hand in dismissal as the husbands joined the ladies, with Monsieur Raphael appearing at Caroline's side and taking her hand to place it at his elbow and Édouard joining Laur's side with Berlioz against his chest.

"The Bordeaux weather is supposed to be utterly bleak this coming monday, what can you mean by praising the day such so!" The lady laughed. "You can have it for yourself then, and I shall take tuesday. How does that sound?"

Monday in the upcoming week was three days away, and Laur suddenly wished that she had picked an earlier day just so that there won't be three whole days of her being alone in an unfamiliar estate on the agenda. Well, at least Manon would be there with her. Mon Dieu, Manon's mere thought was such a comfort and Laurentine hadn't even been reunited with her yet!

"What exactly is being discussed here ladies, might I ask?" Monsieur Raphael asked with a raised brow, his dark gelled hair combed back firmly in place, and dark his moustache pointed and precise upon his square face.

"Oh, invitations of course!" Caroline uttered, before cheekily meeting Laur's eyes. "We are going to be hosting Laurentine and Monsieur Arsenault on Tuesday at our estate and we are invited to their place on Monday. Isn't that right?"

"Perfectly," Laur smiled, before lifting her hesitant gaze to meet Édouard's hazel eyes at her side. His gaze in hers did not flash any disapproval at the plans she had so blatantly made, instead there was a certain affirmative in his intense eyes, as though he was.. ready, to go along with anything and everything she planned.

Then Édouard broke their gaze and looked at Monsieur Raphael Allard. "I shall look forward to seeing you at my estate then. We can discuss the transaction files in my study after dinner, they will have arrived by then."

He nodded once towards Caroline too, before he looked at Laur again, the stoicity on his face shifting—softening—slightly as he met her eyes.

"We should be heading home, you should rest a while after this journey we have had," He spoke to her, his voice firm but considerate, and Laurentine's heart couldn't tell whether to plunge inside her for the lack of her name on his lips, or to stay stable for at least he was speaking to her.

"Yes, I should," She smiled, the act of smiling alone the most natural thing in the world to her, regardless of the turmoil inside and the dull ache in her chest.

"Well then, sweet," Caroline Allard came forward and the ladies both embraced. "I shall see you on Monday."

"You shall, darling," Laurentine beamed. "I simply cannot wait."

──── ౨ৎ ────

The streets of the city of Bordeaux—a fairytale of its own—were wide and gently stirring with the oncoming bustle of everyday city life as Édouard and Laur's carriage jostled on. The sunlight was still orange and pink, as the hot star was still in the midst of composing itself and finding its correct space in the sky through the daze and haze of its long slumber. So as a result, the streets—and the gorgeously quaint bricked small houses lining the streets—were all caked in an orange early morning hue that underlined the subtle blue reflection of the Garrone river in the far distance beyond the hills of houses and streets.

Laurentine had gathered, from everything that her mother-in-law and sister-in-law had told her about her husband's estate in Bordeaux—which wasn't much information at all, for they had never been to the estate or the city regardless of it having been six whole years since Édouard had purchased the estate—was that it was situated in the suburbs of Bordeaux. In Paris, the suburbs—or the banlieues of Paris—were quite a serene sight. Genevieve had her Parisian estate in the suburbs, but Laur had hers in the city center. Édouard's family estate in Marseille too was in the city scape—in a busy and chic neighbourhood that housed many of the high society connections of Georgiana Arsenault's.

Laurentine—often amidst visits to Genevieve's in Paris—had wondered what it would be like to live in the banlieues. Peace and quiet were not really things she sought, for she loved the bustle and the excitement. But perhaps living in the suburbs would grow on her? It had too, for what other choice did she have? She needed to be where her husband was. And besides that, perhaps she could find something to do in the opera houses in Bordeaux, just so that she wouldn't entirely lose her marbles. Or maybe there were orphanages here too that she could visit and buy gifts for? Oh, the sight of beautiful, happy young children would surely cheer her up!

Laur felt a pang in her heart for the children from her three orphanages in Paris. Their faces were so familliar to her, she lived to see them grow each year, month by month when she visited. She would still continue to give to them, that much was sure. She would have Benoit and Adelaide pay the visits with gifts on her behalf when she could not physically be there. Still, she would miss them just the same.

Laurentine forced herself to the present, her blue eyes finding Édouard's hazel ones as she realized he was looking right at her, his gaze sharp, stern and thoughtful. He blinked and broke their gaze, his eyes fluckering towards the windows of the carriage.

Berlioz was in Édouard's lap, and his hands were holding the kitten, one hand stroking the cat's fur slowly.

Laur gasped then, her heart stopping in her chest as her eyes spotted the bruised red knuckles on her husband's hand. Two of the knuckles on his right hand—the one atop Berlioz's back—were torn open and the blood had somewhat darkened and dried, while the other two knuckles were purple and blue.

Édouard was brought to attention by her gasp, and he looked at her in concern before he followed her gaze. Then, his expression changed to a disregard as he moved his hand away.

"Édouard," Laur breathed, her deeply concerned eyes raising to his. "You're hurt."

How come she hadn't noticed? Mon Dieu, had he been wearing gloves when he had come to fetch her and Caroline Allard with Monsieur Allard in the ladies' train compartment? Or had Laurentine simoly been too self absorbed to notice his hands? She felt guilt sicken her, making her nauseous.

"It is nothing," He uttered.

"No," Laurentine managed, swallowing thickly. "It is not nothing. It must've pained you so much during the entire journey—"

She cut herself off. Mon Dieu, he had asked her if she had eaten—first thing as soon as he had seen her—and she could not even be bothered to ask him how his journey was, and all the while his hands must've throbbed in pain.

"It will be alright, Laur," Édouard's words were pointed as he looked at her, his eyes narrowed as though he couldn't understand why she was making a big deal out of something so little.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Laur's tone sharpened. "I could've asked for a first aid kit from one of the servers on the train. Wounds like these hurt so much in this cold, and yours are not even covered! Mon Dieu, they must've bled, why couldn't you tell a server if not me?"

To her suprise then, Édouard scoffed, turning his eyes away from her briefly before meeting her gaze head on.

"I am not in the habit of making an announcement when I get injured. If it was something serious—which it is not—I would get it properly dealt with, without going to my wife or a damn train server."

Laur blinked, a hurt escalating in her chest. "So we are not worthy of helping you properly dress a wound if its urgent? Neither your wife or a train server?"

The stoicity in Édouard's hard eyes shattered slightly.

"That is not what I meant."

Laurentine's eyes fluttered briefly to Berlioz—the kitten curled up obliviously in her husband's lap.

"I'm sure it isn't," She managed plainly before meeting Édouard's eyes and exhaling softly.

Then, as the carriage jostled slightly on the road, Laur leaned in to take Berlioz from Édouard's lap.

"Come, my darling," She spoke to Monsieur Berlioz. "I'm so sorry, but will you please give us a moment?"

She brought the kitten to her chest and kissed his head. "Thank you, my precious."

Then she placed Berlioz beside her on the seat, before standing up a little and seating herself on the opposite seat where Édouard was sitting, sitting down right beside him as he looked at her in intrigue and an underlying shock.

Laur purposefully did not meet his eyes. She was trying her hardest not to feel the hurt he was giving her, and compared to so many of their moments together, this was nothing at all really. So she really must learn to handle at least some of it, must she not? It wouldn't do to be on the verge of tears every single time he said something that did not resonate with her heart.

Laurentine set aside the fur she wore at neck and started unbuttoning the three embellished buttons on the top of her coat—from her neck to her chest—as the bust of the beautiful day gown she wore underneath came into view, her own fair skinned chest and top of the ample cleavage beneath a very pretty diamond negligee necklace, becoming entirely visible.

"Laur," Édouard uttered then, an alarm in his thick voice, but she didn't answer, unbuttoning her coat to almost her stomach till she was able to access the inner pockets of her coat and pull out two of the silken handkerchiefs that she had tucked inside.

Then, ignoring her half open coat and the fur she had abandoned to the side, she raised her eyes to look at her husband, who was only inches away from her on account of her sitting right beside him and cornering him against the side of the carriage.

There was confusion swirling in his hazel irises, mixed with a certain heat—a lust—that she recognized on him like Caroline Allard recognized her own husband's footfalls coming down a corridor.

"Give me your hand, Édouard," Laur spoke softly then. "I will wrap your knuckles tightly, then we can dress them properly once we get home."

She ignored the rush of feeling inside her at the word home. She had been learning lately that the word meant entirely different things to so many.

With his brows furrowed, Édouard blinked before exhaling. "There's no need to. I am perfectly fine."

Laur narrowed her own eyes at him. "I know what I am doing, let me help you."

"I don't need the help," He pressed the words, his jaw tight and eyes burning into hers. "I said I am alright."

Laurentine held his gaze bravely, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest at their proximity. Then, daringly, she inched further towards him, raising her free hand slowly as she touched his face, holding his cheek.

She remembered all of the times she had carefully coerced Adelaide—a chubby little girl getting hurt and crying and refusing to accept help—into forgetting about her injury temporarily so that she wouldn't notice that she was being helped by her big sister. Often times elaborate sparkling dolls and giant sweet trears dripping in cream had done just the trick.

And at present, as Laur ventured to employ the same effect, Édouard's anger was thrown awry at her contact, as though the emotion in his eyes had been a house of cards now thrown every which way by a powerful wind.

His eyes searched hers in confusion.

Laur leaned in closer to him, their lips inches away as she rode her confidence and brushed her lips against his, as he shut his eyes tight. She felt the butterflies rage in the pit of her stomach at the contact, and tried to keep her mind focused. With her free hand she sought out his injured hand at his side and brought down her other hand to hold it too.

She gently pulled his hand to her lap, making him surrender it under the haze he was in, his defiance lost with the single effect of her proximity. The knowledge made her heart pound in her chest. Even if it wasn't love that he felt for her, at least there was something. At least she wasn't entirely furniture to him. She should be glad to have at least this something.

She dropped her gaze from his eyes to her lap, beginning to wound her handkerchief around his bruised knuckles.

She had only wound one and was beginning to layer the other kerchief on top too when Édouard pulled away suddenly and gripped the side of her elbow with that half done hand, yanking her close. She raised her eyes to find fresh fury clouding his gaze.

"Don't fucking manipulate me, Laur," He seethed. "Don't treat me like I'm your dog."

Laurentine blinked at the accusation, startled to her core.

"I'm not manipulating you," She spoke, confused. "I'm just trying to help."

"Don't!" He shouted. "Don't help! I don't need your help! Goddamn it, Laur, you don't understand a single fucking word I say to you."

"Because you don't make sense! You are stubborn and cruel and you don't make sense!"

Édouard's jaw tightened some more and he briefly looked out the window before meeting her eyes again.

"That fucker Barbier made just enough sense for you, didn't he?"

Laur blinked, shock reverberating inside her as her body went numb. "Édouard—"

"You didn't tell me about what he did, you didn't let me pursue him after," Édouard shook his head in anger and disbelief. "You kept trying to save him—to stop me from killing him—fuck, Laur, that bastard made perfect sense to you and I'm the cruel and stubborn scoundrel who forced himself in between, aren't I?"

Laurentine's heart was slamming in her ribcage. Mon Dieu, was this what her husband thought of her? Associating her with a man for whom she could not even bring herself to garner a polite thought, no matter all the years since she had known him during her time at Roses Bleues? But then again, Laur hadn't told Édouard of this, had she? He shared nothing—asked nothing—and in turn she had said nothing. That had been wrong of her, regardless of the deep rooted anger Édouard had and how he continued to treat her, she should not have hidden things from him. Atleast, she should have shared what she could, regardless of the insignificance.

He was her husband, he was more than any man could ever be to her. Of course she should not have hidden the matter concerning Charles Barbier from him.

"When we met—," He let out, his hands fisting. "You said you didn't—fuck, you didn't imply that you had—that there was someone else in your life. That dinner—you didn't say anything even then and I thought—"

"Édouard," Laur spoke softly, raising her right hand to hold the side of his face again.

His jaw tightened as he tried to move his face away, but once her palm touched skin he stopped and gave in, meeting her eyes with a fierceness as though he was ready to swallow whatever lie—he looked like he believed she was going to lie—she would give to him.

"Charles Barbier is only an acquaintaince," She managed, her blue eyes earnest. "Madame Camille introduced her nephew to all of us about four years ago because he had located to Paris and was looking to invest in a Conservatory. We all thought that was quite grand of him and he impressed all of us at first glance, but then before the week was over he had abandoned his plans and become interested in investing in a hotel chain. After that it was a resturant chain and then a circus, and now he believes he could try his hand at real estate."

Édouard exhaled through his nose, his eyes hardening, at the mention of Barbier or at Laur, she couldn't say.

"He has never been interesting to me, Édouard," Laur shook her head. "I've never cared about him at all. I don't understand why he would behave like he did. I don't feel anything for him. He has never been in my life the way you think he has."

Édouard's hazel eyes softened a little then, as he appeared to be drinking in her words.

"So please, don't think such harsh things about me," Laurentine's voice cracked. "I've always tried to be kind and good with everyone. With you, I know I make mistakes and force your anger and I'm so sorry for it. It has never been done purposefully and I just—"

It was then that Édouard's silk handkerchief wrapped palm grabbed hold of the side of her face, bringing her closer to him as her own hand on his face dropped to his shoulder.

"I've told you to never apologize to me for anything," He breathed, his forehead touching hers as her eyes fluttered close.

"I'm the one at fault, Laur," He uttered then, letting go of her and moving away, his hand shaking—from the pain of his knuckles or from having to move away, Laur couldn't tell.

"If I'm angry and fucking up, I'm the one at fault. I'm the one who keeps making mistakes. You don't deserve any of this, which is why I need you to stay away. I'll give you this world and everything in it if you ask for it, I'll lay the stars down for you, Laur. And in return, please stay away so that I cannot hurt you, because the guilt of it will have me burying myself alive."