xxv.

LAURENTINE BONFAMILLE ARSENAULT STOOD in the grand hall of the Arsenault estate in the city of Bordeaux, feeling as though she had been grabbed by her arms and pushed into the shoes of Marie Antoinette herself, plunging her back in time to where she ought to have been an Austrian Princess arriving at the door to Versailles to marry a Prince next in line to the French throne.

The chandelier above her was humongous and glittered like a thousand fireflies on account of the brilliant diamonds etched into the structure catching the sun rays pouring in from the tall windows. The wooden floors underneath her were pristine and glistening, and the furniture that she could see in the hall was being uncovered from underneath the white sheets that had been placed upon each piece before. The footmen were hard at work still, their movements articulate and careful, and Laur was almost upset that they had been uncovering furniture—of which there were probably many pieces all throughout this magnificent estate—since the past two nights.

"I apologize that it all hasn't been done before your arrival, Madame Arsenault," The butler—a tall and thin man in a polished suit, perfectly polished short sleek black hair parted at the side and a petite handlebar moustache—asserted apologetically, with hesitant eyes glancing at Édouard who stood a few feet behind her.

"Monsieur Arsenault insisted that the estate be freshly prepared for your visit, so I had the furniture coverings left until last—although I did intend for them to be dealt with by last night," Gaston—for that was the name he introduced himself to Laur by upon her arrival—uttered.

"It is alright, please," Laurentine insisted, smiling as she did so. "There is no need to apologize, I do not mind one bit."

The butler managed a grateful, shaky smile before his eyes ventured towards Édouard again, as though he was seeking—hoping—that the Master of the estate too was not angry at the mistake.

Laur turned over her shoulder to look at Édouard too, hoping that he too would be sympathetic with the butler. But his face was stoic, and his hazel eyes were sharp and considering something as he looked at the butler. He met her eyes briefly and the hardness in his gaze cracked at the edges and he blinked, before meeting the butler's eyes again—less stoic this time.

He walked up to Laur's side, his polished shoes tapping gently against the wooden floors as she was reminded of the comment that Caroline Allard had made about knowing of her own husband's footfalls. At present—perhaps as if wanting to do the same—Laur shut her eyes briefly to store the sound of the footfalls in her mind.

Laurentine lifted her eyes to look at Édouard then, her blue orbs glittering as she held onto Berlioz against her chest. Édouard kept his eyes on Gaston for a beat, before speaking.

"I want all this done before noon," He let out, his tone hard and Laur looked at the gilded crystal clock that hung high on a wall. There was only one hour until noon. She shut her eyes in sympathy with the butler.

"Laur will be resting, and I shall be in my study. I do not want any disturbance around the estate, I do not want my wife—and your mistress—disturbed."

"Édouard—," Laurentine shook her head, her lips parted to protest when a third voice broke through the air.

"My lady!" A female voice cried as everyone—including Laur—turned to look at the source in a burst of suprise, as Berlioz meowed and jumped out of Laurentine's hold and onto the ground in excitement.

There—with eyes sparkling and ginger curls pulled neatly into a working bun over the maid's uniform—was the familiar face of Manon, Laurentine's twenty year old Parisian maid.

Neither of the girls could help it, for a minute later they were both enveloped in a tight embrace, with Laur being the one who forgot where she was and initiated the hug, leaving Édouard's side and throwing her arms around her cherished maid and friend.

"Oh darling," Laur murmured, her cheek pressed against Manon's cheek. "I have missed you so!"

Her voice almost caught and tears almost sprang to her eyes. For Madame Arsenault had almost been convinced that nothing from her previous life would ever be the same again for her, but that wasn't entirely true was it? Adelaide was the same, yes, there would have to be visits now to see her, but still. And now here Manon was, the very same as she had ever been, only in a different maid uniform and against a different setting.

"I have missed you too, my lady," Manon beamed, "Monsieur Benoit sends his hearty congratulations and best wishes. He's told me to assure you nothing shall be amiss at the mansion in your absence and that Miss Adelaide is being well looked after."

They separated from the embrace and Laur smiled.

"Thank you for delivering his assurance to me and for coming here, ma chéri," She couldn't help but say, touching her cheek to Manon's and air kissing the younger girl. "My heart has become so light because of it."

"Oh, my lady please," Manon pressed, taking hold of Laur's hands. "You know I love nothing more than being of service to you. Being in your presence alone gives me so much purpose and happiness. When Monsieur Benoit told me you had asked for me in your new home in Bordeaux, I cried tears of joy."

"Oh, darling," Laurentine frowned softly, touched. "I am so very glad you are here."

As the ladies fluttered gently into an appreciative silence, Édouard Arsenault cleared his throat briefly from behind, catching all the attention with expert precision.

"I hope you have settled into the estate?" He inquired, his eyes on Manon as the young ginger haired girl nodded gracefully.

Laurentine had so many—it seemed—gingers in her life. Genevieve, and then more recently Julie Fontaine—Laur's new maid in the Marseille estate. But Manon would always be Laur's favorite ginger, if of course, people had such a thing as a favorite ginger.

"I expect Gaston and the rest of the staff to be accommodating."

"Indeed they have been, My lord," Manon managed kindly. "Monsieur Gaston has been most compassionate. I have settled in nicely, courtesy of his hospitality and that of the others."

"Good," Édouard uttered, before exchanging an affirmative glance with the butler, who seemed to stand an inch taller with pride.

"My lady," Manon turned to Laur and beamed. "I just remembered, Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Bertrand's paintings of your wedding day arrived at the estate last night and Monsieur Gaston had them hung in the grand drawing room of the estate. They look magnificent. Should I show them to you and give you a tour of the grounds, or would you like to rest first?"

The last statement was spoken with a brief glance by the maid at Édouard's general direction, on account of him insisting before to the butler that Laur had to rest.

Laurentine indeed felt the weight and wear in her body, and craved rest against a plush bed and under a soft duvet. But suddenly, her curiosity to see her wedding day paintings by the infamous French painter jostled at her. The day itself had been far from magnificent, so what indeed had been captured on a canvas?

"I would love to see the paintings first, then I think a tour of the grounds after I have rested would be lovely," Laur smiled.

"Perfect," Manon beamed, before gesturing ahead at a corridor that was situated at the right of the grand hall they were standing in. "This way, my lady, if you please."

"Come, Monsieur Berlioz," Laurentine called the kitten gently, making a cradle by putting her arms together at her chest and bending slightly as the ragdoll kitten jumped precisely in place.

"Let us do a little bit of wandering before we rest a bit, would you like that?"

Berlioz purred in agreement, and Laurentine turned her head to glance at Édouard. His eyes were on her, sharp and intense but relaxed, and it was then when Laur remembered again about the injuries he had suffered—though none were visible for his arms were pinned at his back.

"Oh no! Monsieur Gaston, please," She exhaled then, her voice startled by force of her concern as she looked at the butler.

"About Édouard's injuries, we do need to dress them first!" Laur had already informed the butler first thing about the issue at hand—literally her husband's hands—as soon as the butler had approached and introduced himself. How then could she have suddenly forgotten the feat at the sight of Manon? Laurentine's excitement had entirely overtaken her.

"Just Gaston will suffice, my lady, if you please," The polished butler uttered pristinely, nodding once. "And indeed, I shall have the first aid brought over to my lord's study right away. Might I also send for a doctor just in case?"

"No," Édouard's tone was hard, annoyed, as he glared at the butler before throwing a glance at Laur.

"I am perfectly alright, do not needlessly fuss," His words were directed at her, his jaw tight as he all but glared at her again before turning the wrath of his stare onto Gaston, ten folds harder.

"Well," Laurentine breathed, forcing a smile on her face as every hair on her body was aware of her dear maid and confidante, and her new butler, both watching.

"As it appears, I can't help it," She finished, her blue eyes tearing away from Édouard and landing on Gaston.

"Please Gaston," She smiled kindly, to which he nodded, not as afraid of his lord's anger as Pascal and Jean-Paul had appeared to be. Or perhaps, this was just the butler's blatant acknowledgement that she was the lady of the house now, and she had just as much of an equal say as her husband, regardless of her only just arriving.

"Thank you," She affirmed, her heart beating heavily at the thought of Édouard's fury. Mon Dieu, she needed to give him a little time to cool off. But would he? Did cooling off even come to him?

"Whilst you fetch the first aid, we shall run and visit the paintings with Manon. Won't we Berlioz?" Laurentine gushed at her kitten, before lifting her eyes to the butler again. "We shall be back in a flurry."

"As you say, my lady," The prim man nodded in response.

Then, without even a single look at Édouard, she turned to follow where Manon led, her gentle footfalls echoing in the silent grand hall, accompanied with those of her Parisian maid's.

There were two paintings to see when she arrived on the location—both of the wedding day, an Arsenault family portrait and a single painting of Laurentine alone.

The new lady of the house stood mesmerized, looking at the beautiful sight bestowed by the couple paintings hung side by side in the gorgeously furnished main drawing room of the estate. Berlioz too, was enchanted as he lay purring, held against her chest.

The Arsenault family painting displayed the beautifully serene forms of both Édouard and Laur—in precisely the suit he had worn on the day and the wedding gown that she had adored—standing in front of the church with the figures of the Arsenault family standing at either side of them—they too in precisely the attires that they had worn.

Perhaps the painter's magic was more than just the beautiful art and the likeness of all the protagonists that he had captured as though he had mirrored them entirely. Laur and Édouard had not stood for this painting, and neither had Francine and Georgiana Arsenault stood at either side of them to pose such so. Jean-Baptiste Bertrand had individually noticed all of his characters on the day of the wedding and had put them together in the scene as though they had all posed for him. That was what Laur realized was the painter's main charm, aside from his expert control of colors of course.

The second painting—taller and more portrait than the previous family landscape styled one—displayed Laur's form alone against a backdrop of deep green.

She was depicted in her full form, as though in the middle of a spin in her beautiful wedding gown and veil. Her curves adorned in the glittering white paint of her wedding gown, her swaying golden curls made from various shades of gold and yellow paint, her ivory skin tone just as it was in real life, her sultry lashes in a flutter as though she had gently closed her eyes, the lower skirts of her gown flowing around her, her delicate arms in the air as though she was but a nymph.. Mon Dieu, Laur could not fathom how the painter had come up with such serenity in her form.

Oui, her hair had been styled the same that day. Oui, her gown had too been captured perfectly and even the diamond studded wedding engagement ring Édouard had given her topped with the golden wedding band exchanged during the vows—making a gorgeous stack at her ring finger—looked, and was, exactly as it was at present. But the serenity that the Laurentine in the painting was radiating? The pure, nymph-like happiness? Had that been there in real life? Laurentine could argue otherwise, but she wouldn't.

"Isn't it simply magical?" Manon's soft voice whispered from beside Laur. "Oh my lady, I have looked at these paintings a hundred times since last night, imagining I had been in attendance. How utterly beautiful and in love you look!"

Emotion built up in Laurentine's throat as she swallowed thickly, forcing a smile on her face.

"And look at Monsieur Arsenault!" Manon managed, beaming, her eyes moving to the family portrait. "How dashing he looks! If he had a brother, I can imagine all of the ladies in France scrambling to our door—considering your own wedding has had such publicity. Though of course no other artful depiction of the wedding scene in gazettes or magazines has been as beautiful and close to the truth—as Monsieur Gaston assures me—than Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Bertrand's creation."

"Oh, I suppose Monsieur Bertrand's depiction is as accurate as can be, darling, considering he was present," Laurentine inhaled as she turned away from the paintings, it wouldn't do to dwell on the heartache of that day—beautiful paintings or not.

"But what's this you say about Édouard's brother? As far as I am aware, I do have a brother-in-law," Laur narrowed her eyes playfully, stroking Berlioz's fur. "Even if the gentleman's considerably.. absent, thus far."

"Really?" Manon's eyes widened slightly. "How come Monsieur Gaston didn't tell me, my lady? And none of the other staff has mentioned him too."

Laurentine's blue eyes dropped to Berlioz as she raised the kitten to her chin and placed a kiss on his fur.

"My husband isn't on good terms with his younger brother, Manon," Laur met her maid and companion's eyes. "And that is all we need to know. Do follow the staff's example, ma chéri, and let us not bring him up again."

"Oui, my lady, of course," Manon smiled, nodding once.

"Now, show me to my husband's study?" Laurentine's eyes dulled slightly, chest tightening as she tried to maintain lightness in her tone. "Though Berlioz and I are so very exhausted, I really must see to my husband first. I simply can't seem to imagine resting with the image of his injury in my head."

The girl's familiar eyes brimmed with a sudden concern and inquiry, and Laurentine's heart twisted slightly.

"I shall tell you later, darling," Laur put a hand gently on Manon's elbow, reassuring her maid and confidante—though she wasn't sure what she could even possibly tell her.

"Right away, my lady, this way please," The girl hurried then, alarmed into action, gesturing towards the exit of the drawing room as Laur pivoted and took the lead, the skirts of her travelling fur-lined coat flaring around her legs.

"I shall give you a mini tour on the way too, just to be safe," The main smile over her shoulder at Laur. "Just so that you don't get lost later, my lady."

The way to her husband's study in this palace-like mansion, was quite a distinct yet efficient route. Having weaved her away from the glorious drawing room, Manon led Laur through the main hallway of the ground floor, where they passed the door to the exquisite ballroom—seen by Laurentine through only a glimpse as her worry was much more desperate than her curiosity—and then beside the ballroom, the door to the main library of the estate.

Laur couldn't help but be reminded of Adelaide at the sight of the grand library—again, seen only in a quick glance of dark leather spines lined like pristine bricks along shelves and shelves of polished wood whilst a chandelier glimmered sunlight against the ceiling, masking the darkness of the books with a sheen of golden that the crystals were catching from a window that Laur couldn't see.

Turning her head away and holding Berlioz closer as she quickened her pace behind Manon, Laur reminded herself that there would be time to explore and wander, but that time was not the present.

Édouard Arsenault's study was on the second floor of grand estate. Led upstairs by the extravagant marble staircase in the foyer, Laur and Manon arrived first on the first floor. A floor of the estate that was entirely abundant with exquisite guest bedrooms—twelve in total, as Manon informed Laur—alongside a lavish dining hall, sunroom, another library, another drawing room, a music room, and a spacious balcony wrapping around the entire floor for the use of everyone.

Continuing their ascend of the great staircase now winding upwards, the ladies arrived on the second and final floor of the mansion. The study—a room akin to a library of Édouard's own—was right adjacent to the master bedroom of the estate. The study and the master bedroom—both the size of ballrooms, much to Laur's surprise—occupied the entire left of the second floor, along with a beautiful spacious balcony overlooking the gardens, for the use of the entire second floor. On the right side was another beautiful library room—smaller and a more private feat than the libraries on the ground floor and the first floor. Beside the library was another music room—Laur deduced as she glimpsed a golden piano—the room too was smaller and more intimate than the music room on the first floor.

It was easy to understand that the second floor—the highest floor of the Arsenault Bordeaux mansion—was for the daily use of the Lord and the Lady of the house, whilst the floor downstairs—the first floor—was for guests and family staying over, and then the ground floor—with it's majestic ballroom, main hall, grand library, glorious drawing room, main foyer and a spacious music room in the back that opened into the gardens—was for hosting events and occasional callers.

Laurentine's heart thudded in her chest at the thought of sharing the beautifully spacious, yet still so intimate, second floor of the estate entirely with only her husband. It was a gorgeous mansion—perhaps the most gorgeous she had even seen—something that French Princes and Princesses of old might've commissioned for their secret retreats, and just the thought of living here made her feel like a Princess. Her own mansion in Paris was more than elegant, it was a chic nod to the poise and sophistication of the 1870s' Parisian interior design, and the Arsenault estate in Marseille too was a lovely suburban—if not a tad modern—twist on the elegance and glamour she so loved.

But this? This was simply exquisite. Bordeaux was straight out of a fairytale picture book and this mansion was but a castle château. Laur was almost afraid to breathe lest the image and euphoria all shatter.

"Over here, my lady," Manon's gentle voice nudged Laurentine out of her trance softly, and she turned to look at the maid, who was already standing in front of the study—the polished door to it, closed—to the left of the second floor.

Right adjacent to the study, Laur glimpsed the master bedroom again—the entrance to it left opened as two maids and two footmen could be seen working inside—the inside, glimmering with luxurious satin and furniture and blinding crystals adorned on the chandeliers and the gems embedded on the cushions.

To Laur's right, she noticed again the cacophony of private entertainment rooms. Music room, library, sun room—Mon Dieu, were the Lord and Lady of the house expected to indulge together privately to such an extent that there had to be a separate private library and sun room even? Laurentine blushed crimson as her thoughts rallied. She steered them in, an ache in her heart.

"You won't have to see my face as much, that I can assure you."

The words were piercing in her memory. When had he said this to her? The answer was quick to come. During their wedding reception when they had both been upstairs in Édouard's room at the Arsenault estate in Marseille. Laurentine doubted she would ever be able to forget anything he uttered to her, or when and where she was during the utterance.

"Rest assured you won't have to see my face even if we are under the same roof together. I will make sure of it."

What would he do? Stay out nights on account of her? Regardless of the sheer vastness of his estate? Or would he sleep downstairs in one of the guest bedrooms? Mon Dieu, what would the servants think? What would Manon think?

Laurentine bit her bottom lip to focus. It was true that her Parisian maid and confidante—as well as Laur's own sister and friends and Édouard's family, or even the whole of France for that matter—supposed the famous opera performer and the business tycoon plus bank CEO were in love. So why was Laur worried to be deceiving her truest friend when she was deceiving everyone? But was she even the one with the deception? She loved Édouard, it was he who was deceiving. If anyone should be guilty or worried, it should be him.

Laur's heels clicked elegantly on the floor as she walked over towards Manon, forcing a smile on her face amd holding Berlioz closer. Manon smiled back and turned to then knock gently on the door of the study. Only two knocks later Édouard's hard baritone was heard inside.

"Come in."

Manon opened the door, and stepping inside she held it open for Laur, letting her enter. Then, the maid curtseyed towards the Lord of the house, who stood behind his sleek polished oak wood desk with his hands pinned at his back. And then, with a smile in Laurentine's direction, Manon had left, clicking the door shut behind her and leaving the couple alone.

Berlioz purred at the sight of Édouard, wiggling out of Laur's hold and jumping swiftly to the ground before rounding the table and approaching Édouard's feet.

Laurentine watched as her husband—his injured hand still wrapped in her handkerchief—bent down to pick the wanting kitten up to his chest.

"Berlioz, darling, please—," She bit her lip, starting to approach to take her kitten away when Édouard met her eyes and shook his head once.

"I got him, it's alright."

"I'm sorry," Laur managed sighing. "He shouldn't be so asking at present, knowing you are hurt. But he's just a baby."

His hazel eyes were sharp yet.. careful, in hers.

"I know," He spoke the words, such simple words sounding deeper on his tongue than they were meant to sound, as he stroked the kitten's fur gently, cupping his stomach with his other hand.

"Your study is magnificent," Laurentine smiled, her voice wavering as she tried her hand at lighter conversation, turning around to take in the space.

She hadn't even properly observed the space yet, but still, her pre-mature words were not a lie. The study-cum-office space was wonderfully elegant. Shelves behind his desk were lined with business books—for she could spot multiple gold foiled business logos on dark spines. A wide window on the adjacent wall offered another view—a higher view—into the gardens on the estate grounds, and welcomed beautiful sunlight to light up the study.

On his desk, he had a handsome typewriter set in the corner beside an elegant globe model. But right in front and center were piles of fresh paperwork that looked banded together and not yet thumbed through—perhaps that was why it was front and center.

"So is your entire estate," Laur spun back to face him, suddenly nervous. "It's all wonderfully beautiful. Maman and Francine guided me on what to expect, but I never imagined this!"

"Mother and my sister have never been here," Édouard spoke, "So I doubt they could've given a mental picture to you at all. Still, I'm glad you approve. I wouldn't have you live under a roof you do not like."

Laurentine blinked, looking up at him. "I wouldn't just not like a roof my husband lives under. I wouldn't ever dislike anybody else's home, let alone the home of the man I married."

Édouard's brows furrowed as he shook his head, coming out from behind his desk to approach her, his eyes fixed in hers.

"I would have you tell me if my home is not to your taste, Laur, damn the niceties. If you were to tell me right now, I'll take you out this minute to select and purchase a new estate in Bordeaux. You are my wife—Édouard Arsenault's wife—and I will not have you uncomfortable."

Laur's heart pounded in her chest at the intensity of his words. He would let go of this lavish home he bought of his own choosing in a minute if she asked him to? Why? Why would he do such a thing for her? Why would she ever ask him to?

"I have arranged for Jean-Charles Adolphe to be here tomorrow," Édouard cleared his throat, eyes dropping briefly to Berlioz at his chest before he looked back at Laur. "The landscape architect from Château Borély. If you wish to have a Garden a lá française here too then it shall be done as soon as possible."

"Édouard," Laur spoke softly. "At present I'm so truly mesmerized by everything, I don't suppose I will ever have anything I want to change here."

"Try then," He uttered. "Take your time, take weeks if you want to. I will have Adolphe on standby. Even if its a single tiny change, it will be done."

"Alright," Laurentine smiled then, intertwining her hands at the base of her stomach. "I shall wander and think of something. Merci."

Édouard nodded once, as though he was merely agreeing on a contract's terms.

"We will receive Adolphe tomorrow at the estate," He spoke. "The man will want to get a look at the gardens, and of course, I'll have him meet you."

Laur tilted her head slightly, blue eyes sparkling in his.

"I will look forward to it," She let out, pivoting as her focus returned to observing the sophisticated—yet adventurous—study, her gloved finger trailing the edge of her husband's desk lightly—absently. She decided to take off her gloves, feeling the coolness pool against her skin as she set the gloves aside on the edge of Édouard's desk, making a mental note to retrieve them when she would leave.

"I do not know much of anything about landscape architecture, but his work at Borély is truly such a marvel, I'm afraid I shall be entirely enchanted by him," A light laugh punctuated her sentence as she spun back to face her husband.

But there was no shared sense of a jest passing on his features, except, Laurentine was startled into sobriety to find the earlier brief lightness on his face entirely snuffed out by the harsh reality of his stoicity.

"I do hope not," He uttered thickly, his hazel eyes hard in hers. "Having my wife enchanted by another man—even that thought does not bear well with me. I will go mad if it materializes."

"Édouard," Laur exhaled, shaking her head once, her heart tightening in her chest. Was he still referring to Charles Barbier and everything that man had said? Those falsehoods? Was Édouard still fixated on that? Or was she entirely misreading him?

"I didn't mean anything by it," She hastened, her eyes hopeful as she tried to only place his statement in the present case. "Regardless, does not enchantment come in many forms?"

Édouard's brow furrowed slightly as intrigue washed in his gaze—an intrigue marred with an anger and frustration.

"Which form were you referring to at present, then?" He ventured, walking up close to her so that they were only a feet away, Berlioz purring in his arms.

"The enchantment you had with Georges Bizet, or the one that bastard Charles Barbier has with you?"

"Édouard," Laurentine breathed, hurt escalating in her chest. "Stop."

She couldn't tell if he was mocking her with his statement about Bizet and her. She had told him of her infatuation with the composer during their dinner date. Laur had told Édouard that she had fallen in love—or something akin to that—with the thirty-five year old Georges Bizet when the man had come to Paris in 1874, and Laur had been just a girl of eighteen. Oui, soon she had realized that his work mattered more to her heart than he did. But still, that was a significant time in Laurentine's life, and though it does not hold much merit now, what could Édouard mean by pinning her and Bizet beside the made up fiction that Barbier had produced? What could Édouard possibly mean by trying to demean her—and her vulnerability—like that?

"Stop what?" Her husband spoke, his baritone tight and his eyes fixed in hers. "I'm merely asking you a question, speaking from what I know."

"You know what I've told you and what you've heard," Laur spoke, her eyes sharp. "You have seen none of it, Édouard, so don't—"

"Seen?" Édouard scoffed, fury lacing his voice as he leant slightly towards the desk and placed Berlioz carefully on the surface before facing Laur again.

"Do you mean to say I need to see you fucking Georges Bizet in a VIP opera box in the back after curtain call, or that Barbier drooling all over you, just to understand precisely what it is I hear or what you've told me?"

Laurentine's hand came in contact with Édouard's cheek hard then, and his face was whipped to the side as a resounding slap reverberating in the study.

Emotion choked Laur, thick and ugly like a stone lodged in her throat. She parted her lips to say something—to cry out before she broke down, but suddenly, Édouard had lifted his face to look at her and leant out his arm to grab her waist and yank her towards him.

Her hands held onto his arms for support as she found herself pressed flush against him, her face only an inch away from his as she peered into his eyes, feeling his firm grip on her waist cage her in—a welcome cage that made butterflies furiously flutter in the pit of her stomach.

"Trust me," Édouard breathed then, his warm breath on her face and his hazel eyes intense in hers. "Those words of mine were far more painful for me than this hit will ever be."

"Georges Bizet never touched me," Laurentine found herself speaking in a daze, holding onto her husband's arms as her gaze turned imploring.

"We never did anything but share a few kisses," She continued earnestly. "But he was kinder to me than you have been, Édouard, so don't talk about him like that."

Even as she said it, she knew it wasn't the truth. Georges Bizet hadn't promised to protect her or her sister, as gentle with his words as he was. He hadn't given an entire shop on his purchased land to Adelaide and Colette Blanc for a mere boutique and portrait gallery endeavor, no costs asked. He hadn't made a promise to protect her sister's interests—Mon Dieu, Bizet hadn't even asked if Laur had a sibling at all. Laur had told him of that fact herself once, but even then he had never mentioned it again. And Colette Blanc? Laurentine had introduced her to Bizet once but the very next day when the girl ran into the composer, he wouldn't recognize her!

"Fuck," Édouard exhaled, as if in defeat, his nose brushing against hers as he dipped his head low towards her.

"I could've crushed him had he lived long enough," His warm lips brushed against her cheekbone. "Do you realize that, Laur? It is 1881. No longer the damn 1870s. I could've brought him down to the ground, rolling in mud and gravel. No fucking composer has power enough to survive the world of today armed with only fucking sheet music. I would've been the first to take him out and the pleasure of that would've been so immense."

"I wouldn't have let you," Laurentine whispered, her hands trailing upwards until she intertwined them at the back of his hand.

"Oh yeah?" Édouard uttered in slight amusement, his hold tightening on her waist. "How? You think you'll tell me you love me and it would make my mind go fucking limp, and my body useless every time? Like you did when I tried to go after Barbier?"

Laurentine blinked, her heart pounding in her chest as she peered hopefully into his eyes, her fingers touching the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Mon Dieu, when had she discarded her gloves?

"Was that how it felt for you?" She whispered, enchanted. Did this mean he was in love with her too? Or were men supposed to feel something entirely else when they were in love? Goodness, why was this so completely hard to decipher?

"Because I do love you, Édouard," She continued, her blue eyes sparkling. "And yes I would've told you that if you would've gone after Georges. Regardless of it making you abandon your plans to chase after him. I would've still said it, because—"

"Because what?" He asked when she didn't continue, his face dipping some more as he touched his forehead with hers and spun her around, her back coming in contact with the edge of his desk.

"Because I say everything I feel," She responded softly. "At least, as long as it is not inconsiderate or rude."

"Damn it, Laur," Édouard breathed then, his form encased—bent in complete obsession—over her as though he was entranced, her hands so desperate that they shook.

"Who told you to love me?" He asked her, his voice angry as he dropped a hand from her waist to the surface of the desk, leaning in to roughly swipe away everything that was on the surface as everything clattered to the ground, before that same hand went to the back of Laurentine's knee as he suddenly picked her up and sat her on top of the desk.

"Didn't we agree that there would be nothing—," He broke off, words coming out with effort as though he was fighting against something internally.

"I told you that I can't—there's nothing in me that—," He broke off again.

Laur did not want him to continue that sentence, so she held his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his, kissing him as her senses exploded in a gorgeous pleasure, the butterflies going mad inside her and her skin rippling with shivers of desire.

Édouard took charge then, deepening the sensual kiss as he forcefully pushed her mouth open, his tongue meeting hers as he dominated the kiss. Laur kissed him back, trying to match his strength but failing. A moan slipped her lips when she broke away to breathe, tipped her head back, and felt her husband's lips latch onto her jaw, trailing kisses down to her neck.

She held him to her, one of her hands supporting her body on the desk whilst the other gripped the hair at the back of his head, fingers entangled in his curly dark hair.

Édouard reached up a hand and started unbuttoning the top buttons of her coat, his warm lips now latching onto her chest as she moaned softly again in pleasure.

His hand—the one with the bruised knuckles—had already abandoned the handkerchief Laur had tied around it in the carriage, and now the forgotten kerchief lay on the study floor like a piece of melody set aside for a composition. It was as if Édouard had forgotten the ache in his hand—though it could be supposed that there wasn't much of an ache felt by the gentleman at all to begin with—as he kept on unbuttoning her coat swiftly, having reached her stomach as the coat lay half open displaying Laur's body as though a nectar filled bud nestled in between layers of petals.

Her day dress was a stunning orange, and the diamond negligee necklace she wore sat a little askew in between where her collar bones met, her ample cleavage rising and falling as she breathed heavily, her skin seemingly vibrating with the pressure of the pounds of her heart inside her ribcage.

Édouard's mouth was on her neckline then—where her dress lined her breasts—he sucked her skin and pressed kisses into her that made her gasp.

He held onto her back with one hand, his other gripping the surface of the desk.

"Holy fuck, Laur," He let out then, lifting his face from her chest to meet her eyes.

"We only just arrived here, and I am already—"

"You're already.. what?" She breathed, her blue orbs peering in his as she caressed his cheek with her thumb.

"I'm already fucking losing the last semblances of my peace of mind—damn it, what you do to me Laur, it's crazy—I'm a weak imbecile in front of you."

Laurentine's brows furrowed slightly, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheekbone—a slow gentle kiss.

"I don't know what you mean," She offered, smiling. "I think you are the strongest man I have ever met."

Édouard exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as the front pieces of his short dark curls shook across his forehead, before he dipped his head to her chest and started placing kisses onto her skin again—more adamantly than before.

"I must have you, or I shall go mad," He groaned, as if in pain. "I desperately—chronically—want you, Laur. I'll do anything—any fucking thing—to have you right now."

"Then have me," Laurentine spoke softly, her hands around his neck as her own desire for him spiked by the second. "I'm your wife, Édouard Arsenault. If you want me you only have to ask."

Édouard's eyes sharpened in hers, and for a moment Laur feared that he would step away, but her fears were eliminated then because she was grabbed by her waist and taken off the desk.

Swiftly, one of Édouard's hands gathered her knees while his other held her back. She put an arm around his neck to steady herself, and from her periphery saw him carrying her out of the study as he kicked the door open.

"I'm not going to have my wife on a fucking desk," He let out, as though she had argued against it.

Outside Laurentine saw the butler hastily approaching with a first aid box, before immediately stepping to the side and respectfully bowing his head slightly to avert his eyes.

"Édouard, your hands—we first need to—" Laur tried, her concern returning full force.

"Fuck that," He blurted out, keeping his face ahead as he passed clean by the standing butler.

She watched as Édouard carried her to their room in swift steps. The stunning master bedroom of the estate enveloped her senses entirely as she was taken in, and she had to bite her bottom lip slightly so as to not gasp at the beauty of the furnishings in the room. Her eye for beauty and luxury tried its hardest to distract her from the fact that she was in Édouard's arms at present, and as she managed the glances around the room that she could, she noticed that it had been made up freshly, ready for their arrival, and she felt elated at the thought of that.

Édouard closed the door shut with his leg and brought her over to the wide King-size plush bed, laying her down.

Before she knew it, he had climbed on top of her and his face was in her neck as he sucked and kissed her skin, undoing the cravat tie at his collar roughly with one hand. Then he separated to unbutton his shirt quickly as Laur slipped out of her coat, trying to keep the heavy thing at the side before Édouard took it from her and effortlessly tossed it away before pressing her back into the mattress again, his shirt now open at his chest and flaring.

"Édouard," Laurentine moaned, holding the back of his head, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the heat of his mouth at her chest again.

Her clothed chest touched his bare—hard and muscled—one, and her toes curled just by the feeling of his body against her.

Quickly, he snaked his hands behind her and started undoing the ties of her dress at her back, yanking at the string swiftly as her dress came loose and he tugged the neckline downwards at her shoulders.

The sunlight pouring into the room was a translucent gleam of lush red—courtesy of the gorgeous curtains not yet drawn, that covered the two wide windows. And that soft lush red gleam washed over both their forms on the bed, creating an almost ethereal lighting and ambience that made Laur almost believe that she was in but another dream. The room's air smelled intensely of the sweet silken petals of fresh roses and she was almost tempted to call in a footman or a maid and inquire if a perfume had been used or if there was a pretty bouquet of roses emptied into a vase hiding somewhere in the room—for she couldn't presently see such a thing on the beautifully intricate vanity opposing the bed.

At present however, no other feeling was stronger than the feel of Édouard's warm hands on her body as he undid the strings of her corset, his lips attaching themselves to the tops of her breasts half spilling out and above the garment. Her stunning orange dress lay in a pool at the foot of the bed, as though it had always meant for itself to end up there from the start of the day, ever since Laur had put it on in hers and Édouard's room at the Arsenault Marseille estate before her departure for the train station.

With a desperate haste—bordering on frustration—he yanked the loosened corset away from her body, leaving her entirely nude save for the diamond necklace at her neck and the matching earrings in her ears.

Laur's arms reached for Édouard's neck, for there was nothing she wanted more at present than to have him near her—against her, on her. She did not want to separate from him, she wanted him to meld into her—as though she was the rose the room was smelling of, and he was the water that had been used to water the flower.

But Édouard let out a groan and separated from her, holding himself on his knees on the bed as he looked down at her with a certain.. insanity, in his hazel gaze.

"You're fucking beautiful, Laur—," He let out. "You're so gorgeous."

Laurentine—her back pressed into the mattress—reached her hand out for him, which Édouard immediately leaned in for and kissed her wrist before snaking his arm around her waist and attaching his lips to her breast as she put her hand at the back of his head, gasping softly as kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin of her nipple.

She touched the skin of his back underneath his loose shirt, touching his shoulders—caressing his skin and tugging gently at his hair and trying to memorize the map of his upper body in the whorls of her fingers and the lines of her palms.

Édouard moved downwards on her, kissing underneath her breasts and between her ribs as she gasped at the feeling, before holding his head and nudging him upwards to face her, as he reciprocated.

"Édouard," She spoke, a sudden desperation almost choking her.

He dived in to kiss her, a passionate kiss that almost took the last of her remaining breath away before she broke it.

"Édouard, my love, what will we be after this?" She asked, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to keep tears away.

He blinked his hazel eyes, the intensity of his gaze so sharp and empowering that she was afraid to lose herself in him entirely.

"I'm your wife," Laur tried when he didn't respond, "Will you keep pushing me away? Will you keep treating me like—I just want—please—"

"What?" He breathed hard. "What do you want, Laur?"

"I want you to love me," She spoke softly, her eyes glassing up as she caressed the skin of his face with her thumbs.

"I want you to love me like I love you," The tears spilled then as her vision blurred. "I thought you did—or you might come to—but I'm terrified that you don't, and never will."

"Laur—,"

"No," She blurted out, leaning upwards to kiss his stubbled jaw. "Please, I'm sorry for interrupting you—but just please let me say my piece."

"I have loved you from the start, Édouard," Laurentine managed through the thick emotion in her throat. "Through everything that has happened, and I will love you forever, despite everything you say or do to me. I simply adore you. I can never stop loving you."

"Laur," Édouard groaned, grabbing the side of her face as he touched her bottom lip with his thick thumb, his eyes angry but.. desperate?

"Who told you I don't love you?" He let out furiously. "Huh? Who the fuck told you I'm not yearning for you like a godforsaken dog for food?"

"Édouard," Laur breathed, shutting her eyes tight.

"I can't stand to look into your eyes, but they are all that I fucking think about. I'm so weak for you, Laur, I'll go mad for the want for you that I feel every single fucking day."

"But then, I don't understand—," She cried softly, "Why do you—why do you hurt my heart so?"

"I don't mean to hurt you," Édouard clenched his jaw. "I don't want to! Fuck, I'm trying so hard not to—I told you, my father—"

"You're not your father, Édouard!" Laurentine shook her head, eyes stinging. "You are not him, but you're hurting me more than anyone has ever in my life. Your coldness hurts me very much. If you treated me like your father treated your mother, it would hurt so much less than this."

Édouard's brows furrowed as hurt and anger infused his eyes. "You don't mean that. Tell me you don't mean that."

"Édouard, I love you!" Laur let out, touching his bare chest and wrapping her arms around his neck to gently pull him close.

"I love you so much, please, just—love me and let me love you back," She kissed his cheek as he leaned in close at her attempts, her own cheeks wet with tears.

"You have become everything to me, my love," She whispered, as he shut his eyes and breathed heavily against her, an internal battle going on in his mind that she tried to coax him out of.

Laurentine did not want to lose him to his intrusive—angry—thoughts. Not now when he had ventured out and was so close to her than he had ever been. She wanted to hold onto him and pull him out from whatever pit he had convinced himself to stay in.

Édouard stayed still for only a moment then, before he dipped his face back into her chest and started kissing down her body with new found vigor.

His mouth was scorching hot against her skin as he kissed above and below her navel, his mouth reaching the top of her bare vagina as she gasped at the electricity that coursed through her.

She reached her hand to entangle her fingers in his hair just as he put a hand under her thigh and picked up and rested her leg over his shoulder.

It was then that Laurentine startled. She had been holding her thighs together underneath him. Subconsciously, her thighs had clenched tighter together until suddenly even her subconscious had let go of the feat, dropping down all protective guard in face of her love for Édouard.

But realization was a wicked thing, and it shook through Laur, bringing all the protective guards rushing back.

She quickly sat herself up and pushed away from him, her thighs pressed back together as she tucked her legs to the side, her eyes wide in shock and her chest heaving. A strand of her blond hair—having dropped out from her now slightly messy updo—appeared in front of her vision, though her mind was dragged elsewhere.

A memory fluttered in her periphery, and it darkened the gorgeous room she was in, making her blind to the presence of Édouard in front of her.

She no longer smelled the roses in the air, instead the stench that hit her nose was that of mold and stagnant water in a dingy basement room. Laur was suddenly back there, except, she was a girl fourteen shivering against the cold wet floor without a single piece of clothing on, as a man—the dean of her last orphanage—stood over her, smoking a fresh cigar and grinning before he pulled it out from between his lips and crouched down, bringing the still burning cigar close to her.

As quickly as she had went into that memory, she was brought out, and now she found herself back in her present life—a young woman of twenty four, an accomplished opera singer, newly married and in bed with her successful husband in his gorgeous Bordeaux estate.

Her life had changed, yet, some memories refused to leave.

"Laur?" Édouard's voice floated into her senses as she looked at him, the expression on her face as that of a deer caught in front of a charging carriage.

She held her an arm over her breasts now, as though making up for the lack of clothes on her. Édouard had discarded his shirt, but he was still in his pants, he hadn't discarded those yet. He was still somewhat dressed, and Laurentine couldn't help but think that he was the second man in her life who she had been completely nude for, and like the first man—who had abused her as a child just for the sake of it—Édouard too remained clothed. The comparison was sickening to make—Mon Dieu, there was no comparison at all!

Why was the mind so.. antagonistic, to one's own self sometimes? Laur wondered if Adelaide could answer that question for her.

"Laur," Édouard let out then, more urgently, as he ventured close to her, snaking his thick arm at her bare back and holding the small of her waist in his hand.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," Laur shook her head, the feeling of lying like a bad liquid pouring down her throat and contaminating her insides. She hated the feel of it, Mon Dieu, this was her second lie in perhaps the past ten years of her life and she hated it.

"Nothing—I'm fine, I'm sorry I—I just—," She shifted further away, making him drop his hand from behind her.

"Was it something I did?" Édouard swallowed thickly, his jaw tight as lust still clouded his eyes, but not enough to make him lose his reason.

"No!" Laur cried, "You haven't done anything, you've only been everything I could want at present. It's just—I have some bad memories that I—"

The words slipped out, and Laurentine's chest tightened. Mon Dieu, why could she not continue to lie? Why was it so hard for her to come up with anything other than the truth?

"Bad memories?" Édouard blinked, his eyes sharp in hers before they widened slightly and his jaw tightened some more, a muscle angrily bulging out.

"Bad memories pertaining to what, Laur?" He asked slowly then, his voice hard and vicious as he tried to compose himself.

Laur didn't answer, but felt herself shaking. Trying to think of a lie was fruitless because at present she could almost believe that no feasible lie existed for her to tell. It was as though someone in the world had selfishly bagged all of the falsehoods and left none for her to save herself with.

"Laur!" Édouard shouted then, and Laurentine almost jumped out of her skin, shutting her eyes tight.

"I need you to fucking answer me," Her husband uttered with effort. "I need you to tell me nobody else touched you and hurt you. I need you to tell me that the bad memories you speak of have nothing to do with this."

Laur's blue eyes met Édouard's then, her chest lightening a little with the opening that she found.

"I need you to tell me that the bad memories you speak of have nothing to do with this."

Of course. No bad memories she had, had anything to do with her and Édouard! But then, why was she so.. scared at just the thought of.. opening her legs for him? Oui, her deep scarring from the cigar burns at fourteen were ugly, but in the ten years past, Laur had come to think of them as little circular flowers etched into her skin. But would Édouard think of them like that too? Or would he think they were entirely too ugly and be repulsed by her?

Mon Dieu, the scars were the only imperfection in her that no amount of expensive creams had remedied, and she was scared of anyone else's opinion on them—the thought of Édouard's opinion on them alone mortified her.

How would she explain them to him if he asked? He had been so altered by his mother and sister's verbal abuse at the hands of his own father, so how would the story of Laur's own abuse affect him? No, Édouard did not need more of that in his life, and Laur could never burden him with it. She had never burdened anyone in her life—well, except Colette Blanc, but she was there back then so how could have Laur hidden the feat?—with the knowledge about her abuse. The past was the past, was it not?

"No, they don't," She managed then, her voice firmer. "No bad memories have anything to do with us, Édouard. But I just need—I need you to give me some grace."

Édouard's eyes sharpened in hers.

"There are things on me that I don't want you to see," She tried, not knowing how else to phrase it.

"What?" Édouard let out. "Laur—what the fuck are you talking about? What things?"

"Things," She spoke hesitantly. "Marks—they are nothing really, I just thought they would heal with time, but they never did. I don't want you to think—"

She was making it worse. She had skirted so far away from trying to lie that she was closer to the truth than she had intended to be.

"Laur," Édouard uttered then, before he took hold of the arm she was using to support herself on the bed carefully, his eyes fixed in hers.

Then he brought her hand to his lips, kissing the top of it before placing kisses on her delicate wrist, the stack of her diamond engagement ring and wedding band glittering like stars on her ring finger against his jaw.

"Show me," He spoke, his voice tight as he tried to keep himself composed. "I need to see Laur. I need you to show me."

"But," Laurentine shook her head, her voice shaking. "But they are ugly and they don't matter. Can't we—can't we pretend they don't exist? That I said nothing—"

Édouard wouldn't be deterred. Carefully, he leaned in and placed kisses on her stomach, as she unraveled her arms from their tasks and wrapped them around him, holding him to her before he moved downwards, cupping her thighs with his hands and slowly moving them apart as his lips kissed her core.

Laur shivered—both from pleasure of his attentions, and the fear of discovery.

But then, just as she was on the brink of convincing herself that he would see, or wouldn't mind, or wouldn't make it matter—Édouard separated from her.

The absence of the contact of his skin with hers left a gaping hole in her chest, and she almost crumbled because of it.

"Laur," Édouard let out then, his voice choked, "Laur—these are fucking—"

She opened her eyes, her forehead aching from having her eyes clamped shut so tight. Bravely, she met his gaze—his shocked, distraught gaze—with her trembling one.

"These are cigarette burns, Laur," His shoulders slumped as he looked at her, his baritone cracking and the veins in the whites of his eyes reddening as his jaw shook. 

"No," Laurentine swallowed, shaking her head, tears stinging her eyes at the trauma in his voice and the defeat in his manner.

"No," She lied again, her throat clogging up as she tried to diffuse the lie with the truth. "They are just—just marks. It was a long time ago. They don't matter—it's nothing—please just—"

"Who did this?" He blurted out then, and through her blurred vision she saw him tighten, his defeated look molding into a raw hateful fury that shattered something inside of her.

"Laur, who the fuck did this to you?" He shouted, his loud voice seemingly pounding against every sense of hers.

Laurentine looked away briefly, tears pouring down her cheeks. Was he going to hate her now? Did the scars ruin everything they had just shared? Was it all over? All the last of her hope for his love, gone?

"Édouard," She breathed out, the effort of talking suddenly too much amidst her sobs. "I love you."

She saw disgust seep into his look of pure fury and hate, his eyes fixed briefly in a distance as something akin to determination flashed in his eyes.

He would hate her now, she was so sure of it. Who else could all this disgust, hatred and fury be for? It was Laurentine's skin, her scars, her body. Édouard did not even know how or when she had gotten them. Or who had given them to her. Mon Dieu, if she was in his place, she would hate herself too. What must she look like? A woman only parading and pretending to be dignified and respectable, when she had turned out to be soiled—touched and tossed away, rotten goods.

She could defend herself, Laur knew she could. Because she had only been harmed as a little girl, not penetrated. She hadn't been soiled in that sense, and if there was anything she was truly truly grateful for in her time in that orphanage, it was that. So oui, she could defend herself right now in front of her husband. But, oh Mon Dieu, where would she find the strength to share that part of her history when she had so long concealed it? Where would she find the strength to burden Édouard—the man she loved—with such things when he had clearly had so much to deal with in his own family?

"I will find out, Laur," Édouard uttered then, getting off the bed and tugging his shirt on furiously.

"And when I do, you and the man you are protecting will wish you hadn't married me."

Laurentine gasped, blinking through the tears, but before she could completely understand the look in his eyes or the extent of his words, he had left the room, slamming the door so hard behind him that the portraits lining the bedroom walls and the mirror on the intricately design vanity dresser, shuddered. 

***

A/N:
okayy, i'm thinking of scrapping this book and taking it off of here. i think my aladdin one is doing better than this and though i love this one too, i don't want to just waste effort on a book that isn't doing well :(