Page 22 of Only You

Paris

‘Where’s Damien?’

Captain Cadieux closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, reining in his frustration.

‘I don’t know no more than what he said in his last letter,’ he said.

‘But you wrote back,’ Sabine insisted.

‘Exactly what you said to the letter and there has been no response since. More than likely, he is busy with his duties.’

‘Captain—’

‘Mademoiselle Kouassi, I have no new information.’

‘It’s—’ She caught herself before she could correct the guard.

It’s mademoiselle, not princess. She was a long way away from those days.

‘Just… I’m worried. He kept me much more informed than most.’ She narrowed her eyes at the soldier, and he sneered at her before catching himself.

He knew better than to push his boss’s guest.

‘Mademoiselle, I assure you, you’re well protected here. We can double the guard if you’re truly concerned.’

‘Look… Damien is my friend. I just want to make sure he is okay,’ she said. Cadieux’s eyes turned pitying, and she bit the inside of her cheek to hide her irritation. She was no lovelorn girl. Something was wrong and no one was telling her what.

‘He’s okay,’ Cadieux said kindly. ‘He’s simply on another assignment. You have nothing to worry about, Mademoiselle.’

She gritted her teeth at his words. He had said that last time as well. She doubted he even knew Damien’s condition, but she couldn’t press further or she would seem unreasonably invested.

‘Very well,’ she relented, turning on her heel.

She walked off and held back from rolling her eyes. These kinds of conversations were unfortunately common in the household now.

It had been a rough two months without Damien.

The letter she had received when he first left, delivered by Cadieux, was a surprise.

The words were hurried, saying that Roulet had called him back to the caserns to help with a situation on the outskirts of the city.

At first, she had worried, insisting on any and all pamphlets from the city, searching for news about possible conflict.

While she spotted many articles about unrest, talking about a growing division because of the Dreyfus case that still lingered over the city years later, there were none speaking of a crucial situation just outside Paris.

After that, suspicion set in. Why would Damien lie about going back to help Roulet? She asked as much in a letter she had Cadieux send him, and then in the next few. The only correspondence she received was letters from her father on how he was thriving back home.

Meanwhile, her activities began to, one way or another, centre on her staying in the house.

Because of her concern over possible unrest, General Roulet insisted on her avoiding going out as much as possible and had Cadieux accompany her whenever she wasn’t with Lamont or shopping with Madame Roulet.

It was technically the same arrangement as before she became engaged, but Cadieux had always followed the orders to the letter, truly never leaving her side. It was suffocating.

The only relief she had was Madame Roulet, who would let her stroll around town while they shopped or waited for her dress appointment.

That too, would soon end due to her trousseau being well-stocked and wedding dress almost done.

Now, her time mainly consisted of the tinier wedding details and, of course, visits.

‘Don’t stomp through the halls, dear.’ At the sound of her future mother-in-law’s voice, she did roll her eyes. But she made sure to smooth out her expression as she entered the drawing room where Genevieve was sewing a baby blanket for Laurent’s brother, who was expecting a son in a few months.

‘I apologise, Madame Laurent,’ she said. ‘I was in a hurry.’

‘Rushing is no excuse to lack grace. This is a proper household.’

Sabine took a deep breath and hid her balled fists behind her back, her nails digging into her palms. She would not lose her temper over a snide comment. Her father had taught her better.

‘Are you not going to join me? Your needlework could use some improvement.’

Sabine dutifully took her seat on a loveseat across from the armchair Genevieve sat in. She picked up the needlework she had abandoned when she went searching for Cadieux. The two women sat in silence as Sabine struggled to follow the sunflower pattern.

‘How is your son, Henri?’ Sabine asked politely, trying to break the silence. ‘Lamont told me he is expecting a baby in the new year.’

‘Yes, in the spring. We are very excited for the arrival.’

‘It should be an exciting visit for the family,’ Sabine mentioned.

Genevieve paused, giving Sabine a surly look. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘I… when Henri’s wife gives birth. Surely, you will visit and help,’ Sabine explained.

‘Why would I do that? She has a midwife.’

Sabine winced as she remembered what Madame Roulet had told her about childbirth customs in France month ago. Her face burned in embarrassment at the misstep. ‘Oh, um, my apologies. In my culture, mothers and aunts handle the care of new mothers. We even move in for a while.’

‘Understandable considering your conditions,’ Genevieve said dismissively.

Sabine felt her embarrassment evaporate, quickly being replaced by the low simmer of anger. She set her needlework down in her lap. ‘Excuse me?’

Genevieve sighed deeply before setting down her needlework. ‘Instead of focusing on your rural custom, perhaps you should study with Madame Roulet if you ever want your knowledge of our culture to be more advanced than your needlework.’

Sabine swallowed the indignation she felt. How dare this woman speak to her so callously. Her wealth depended on Sabine’s father and to act as if it were opposite was absurd. She couldn’t say that, of course, but she could draw the line.

‘Whether you like it or not, your grandchild will be half Ivorian.’

‘No,’ Genevieve said, without skipping a beat. It took Sabine aback.

‘No?’

‘No,’ Genevieve repeated. ‘Whether you like it or not, your child will be French. That is where your value lies and to pretend otherwise would be foolish.’

The words felt like a gut-punch. Sabine was left speechless, trying to find the right words to put together, something that would mask the hurt. Nothing she could say would be respectful and she refused to agree. Genevieve looked her over before sighing, focusing on her needlework again.

‘Please do away with the sentimentality, my dear,’ she said. ‘We’re all getting what we want. You will have your status, and we will have access to your lands. There’s no need to pretend much more than that. Simply do your duty and leave the rest to the civilised.’

Sabine rushed out the room, her body shaking from the effort it took to not lash out.

She rubbed her throat, trying to relieve the fury practically choking her.

She was no fool. She knew the opinions, had seen the looks and whispers.

But to have it said to her face how thoroughly inconsequential she and her country were viewed was different.

She left everything behind to be a stepping stone, her value rooted in a dead mother.

Slamming her bedroom door closed, she sat down on the edge of her bed.

She forced herself to stay still, despite everything inside of her begging to destroy everything around her.

She tried to take deep breaths as she gripped her bedspread, her giant engagement ring winking in the sunlight, as if it were mocking her.

What was she doing here?

She straightened up when there was a knock on her door. She opened it and saw Lamont.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Can I come in?’

She pursed her lips but stepped aside. ‘The general will be displeased to find you up here. Whatever you’ve come to say, you must be quick.’

‘I just wanted to apologise for my mother’s words. That was horrible of her,’ he said.

The apology took Sabine off guard, and she stared at him suspiciously.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Although, I highly doubt this will be our last time at odds. Quite frankly, she’s incredibly rude.’

‘I know. It’s maddening,’ he huffed out. He took her hand and sat down on her bed, urging her to do the same. ‘When I found out what she said, I couldn’t believe it. I told her, “Mother, just let her be!” Of course, you need time to adjust. Lord knows you grew up in a jungle,’ Lamont huffed out.

Sabine swallowed the lump in her throat. She should have expected it. She had been since he told her about his family business. Yet, the fact that that was his defence of her was appalling.

‘You both come from two different worlds,’ he continued.

‘Neither of you can control that. It’s a process.

You’ll settle soon and she’ll adjust. We’ll all get along.

Just give it time.’ He took her in his arms, hugging her tightly like a child.

She was stiff in his arms, unable to speak.

Her fury at Genevieve quickly faded into the background replaced by a hallow feeling in her chest, as Lamont’s words sunk in.

She, who had been insulted and belittled unprovoked, was a problem. And he was supposed to be her solution, her key to civilisation at last.

‘You should go,’ she said. ‘Someone could come looking for you and we don’t want to start rumours so close to the wedding.’

‘Of course.’ He stroked her face before kissing her cheek. ‘Don’t despair. It’ll all work in time.’

She nodded and he finally left her alone.

She listened to his footsteps disappearing down the hall before she covered her mouth with a pillow and screamed.

She hated this stuffy country. She hated her crass fiancé.

She hated all the rules, being proper and friendly but never close to anyone.

She hated how trapped she felt, how it was all her father’s fault.

Or mine , she thought between screams.