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Claudia St. Martine walked the narrow stone path toward the family cemetery at the back of her property. She hated this place. Hated it. But she was tied to the land and tied to the businesses belonging to the St. Martine family.

Passing the markers for her former in-laws, she touched the headstones and nodded. There was a small angel marking the grave of her daughter. If anyone had asked her, she would have told them she was dead.

Now, someone was telling her that she was alive.

She already knew that.

Touching the headstone of her late husband, she frowned.

Jacques Felix Christopher St. Martine

Son, Husband, Father

“Husband,” she spat. “You were no husband to me. I despised you. I still do. You took my daughter from me. You took away any chance I had at happiness, at having more children. I was never happier than the day you died.”

The warm summer wind kissed her skin, and she closed her eyes. At least once a week, she walked out here to confess her hatred for her late husband. Wherever he was, heaven or hell, he should know by now that he was not loved by his wife.

An arranged marriage by their families, Claudia never wanted anything to do with him. She was in love with someone else, but that didn’t matter. This was business. The families needed to be one.

All the photos of him with questionable women didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t matter the stories of his drunkenness and violence. It didn’t matter that he was caught in a hotel room with four women and two men.

“It’s a phase of his youth,” said her father. “He’ll grow out of it.”

Except he didn’t grow out of it. He got worse, and she had to pay the ultimate price for that. A price that came at the cost of everything she held dear and loved.

She spit on his grave, not for the first time. Feeling satisfied with that, she sat down and cried like she did every week. It was the only time she allowed herself such a luxury. When her phone rang, she wanted to toss it into the grass, but instead, saw a number she didn’t want to see.

“What do you want?” she asked harshly.

“We had a deal.”

“I’m aware that we had a deal. It’s not my fault that it wasn’t kept.”

“You know what this means, Claudia. It means war between the families.”

“You know what, fine. Let there be war. I’m almost ninety years old. I don’t give a damn any longer. Start a war. I’ll finish it. You still won’t have what you want. You’ll never have what you want.”

“I will have what I want and more. I despise you.”

“The feeling is mutual. I assure you.”

The call ended, and her hands were shaking so badly she wondered if she would be able to make the walk back up to the chateau. She decided that she didn’t care. She would sit here and remember why this was all happening.

“I love you, cheríe. We will find a way to be together one day soon.”

“I love you, too. But we both know that can’t happen. It won’t happen. It’s not possible. Jacques will go on a rampage and create more death than either of us has ever seen.”

“I can fight him. I will for you.”

“No. No, we can’t fight him. He’s too powerful.”

She opened her eyes and wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks. With one final look at the plot, she moved back toward the house and to her private quarters. Inside, she pulled a box from the closet and slowly opened it.

Gently, she removed the small layette once belonging to her daughter. Holding it to her nose, she inhaled, the scent of baby powder and lotion still prevalent. A small silver rattle was pushed aside, a hospital bracelet with her name on it.

Beneath the false bottom, she opened another space revealing a matchbook, a playbill from the theater, and a room key for a hotel in Paris.

“Memories,” she whispered. “How are they so powerful after all this time?”

Carefully, she placed the items back in the box and secured them in her closet once again. After straightening her dress and dabbing the tears from her face, she made her way back downstairs to the dining room.

“Are you ready for dinner, madam?” asked the butler.

“Yes. I suppose I am.” He started to walk away, and then she called to him again. “Samuelle? I know it’s an unusual thing for me to ask, but do you think tonight you and the staff could join me for dinner?”

“Join you? I-I’m not sure. It’s not usually done, Madam. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I believe I’d like some company this evening. I suppose getting older has made me feel nostalgic. We used to throw grand dinner parties here. Hundreds of people would attend. I miss those days.”

“Of course, Madam. I’ll notify the others. I’m sure they’ll love having their meal with you.”

Claudia knew that was a lie, but at least she could beat back the loneliness, even if just for one night. As much as she’d hated her husband, she loved being wealthy and having everything a woman could possibly want.

Except love. Love was always out of her reach.

Maybe she could give all of this up. Maybe she’d sell it all and buy a small place in the north of France or England. She didn’t need this huge chateau. She didn’t need the boats, cars, or airplanes. She could leave it all tomorrow, sell it, and find happiness in a smaller way.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I hate myself for it, but no. I cannot give up this life.”