Page 5 of Only You

Paris

‘I don’t want you to leave,’ Sabine told her father as he packed the last of his things, which made little sense to her.

The villa was theirs and they were wealthy enough to fill it with whatever they wanted.

Beyond travel clothes, money and a blade – he would never forget that – her father didn’t need to take anything else to their home in the Ivory Coast. He only had a few keepsakes he never parted with, no matter where he went.

She had been one of them but too many things had changed over the last decade.

He clasped his travel bag close. ‘I’ll be back soon enough.’

‘For my wedding,’ she stated, hoping she hid her exasperation well.

Her father chuckled. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I have to pick your husband first.’

Sabine stood up and turned her back on her father to roll her eyes. ‘I have been too obedient to be shipped off like this,’ she mumbled in French.

They usually spoke in Fante behind closed doors and among family. French was for political gatherings and impressing foreigners. Yet, she slipped into her mother’s language as naturally as she would’ve when her mother was alive.

Amelie … Sabine contemplated the name for a moment.

It was not lost on Sabine that France practically owned her home country and used it as a means of production.

However, she also knew that unlike what most Frenchmen believed, it wasn’t a lone effort.

Rather, it was a collaboration, for better or worse.

Even knowing that, she was also aware her parents shouldn’t have met, they shouldn’t have married, and she shouldn’t exist.

It was supposed to be a family trip for her mother to see a new world with Sabine’s maternal grandfather, as he set up a trading post. Her father, full of charisma and an instinct for forming connections, was supposed to help.

Unfortunately, he had fallen in love with Amelie instead.

As a result, Sabine’s grandfather abandoned Amelie in the country, disowning her when he discovered the relationship.

Her parents had lived a quiet life, but her mother didn’t make it past Sabine’s eighth birthday. From then on, her father went back to doing what he did best: charming and connecting with people. He became key in making Ivory Coast an official French trading post.

Of course, no one from her tribe saw the full result of her father’s actions until much later. She barely understood the magnitude of his decision to strengthen their relationship with France. All she knew was there was no going back.

‘ Mon trésor ,’ her father said gently, turning her to face him.

He smiled kindly before tapping her forehead.

‘Your accent sounds just like your mother’s,’ he told her in French before switching back to Fante.

‘And you are right. You rarely disappointed me, which is why I must give you the best life possible. That will always be my intention for you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ she said just as she heard a carriage pull up. She looked out the window and spotted General Roulet stepping out before holding his hand out to steady his wife. ‘Be back soon, please,’ she pleaded.

He looked at her curiously, as he always did the few times she had allowed desperation to show.

‘ Ama .’ Sabine’s throat went dry at her day-born name, something he rarely called her since her mother died. His gaze softened before giving her forehead another kiss. ‘I always return. Always.’

The first night at General Roulet’s home was decent.

His estate was as grand as one would expect given his status, even standing shoulder to shoulder with the homes of other bureaucrats.

Sabine was awed by the pastel orange townhouse with its curved archways and intricate stonework, making each window look like a piece of art.

But despite it and the welcoming Parisian weather, something about it felt cold.

The staff were polite as they took her belongings.

Her personal maid, Sandra, was straight-laced and quiet, unlike most she had previously encountered who were intrigued by her background.

With them, she would usually pretend not to speak fluent French to avoid conversation.

With Sandra, however, it was unnecessary.

In fact, Sabine’s background was never a topic at all as Madame Roulet asked questions about what she wanted to do while in town and invited her to one party or another. The woman was sturdy and bubbly despite her greying hair, a splash of red colouring her pale face as she spoke rapidly.

She couldn’t help but think how far out of their way the Roulets must have gone to make her comfortable, from welcoming her, to the various open invitations.

It almost felt like staying with family with how at ease she felt.

And yet, the night still felt too cool, and the bed was too soft.

It felt like she was being coddled by feathers and stone.

Sighing, she looked out the window, watching the stars crawl across the sky.

She wished her father were here.

‘Good morning,’ she greeted the Roulets at breakfast the next morning.

She wore a burgundy day dress that Sandra helped her pick out from her minimal wardrobe.

Most of the clothes she owned didn’t fit the French style so she didn’t bother bringing them from the villa.

Besides, going shopping with Madame Roulet would probably be a good way to build their relationship.

‘Good morning, Sabine.’ Madame Roulet welcomed her with a bright smile. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Well, thank you,’ she lied. A servant placed a plate in front of her, a modest breakfast of bread, cheese and a small cluster of fruit with a cup of coffee. It was lighter than she was used to, but she made no comment, figuring today would be full of adjustments.

‘So, I was talking to my husband last night about taking you into town tomorrow,’ Madame Roulet mentioned. ‘He was a bit wary but promised me it would be safe enough for us to go. We can do some shopping and have lunch with a dear friend of mine, Madame Dupont. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds nice.’

‘Splendid! I’ll send a letter right after breakfast,’ Mrs. Roulet said excitedly. Sabine smiled back. She had a feeling the woman liked a full day on her schedule.

Surely enough, the general’s wife inquired, ‘Perhaps we should invite them over tonight for dinner? That way you can become acquainted with her and her husband.’

‘Isn’t that awfully soon?’ she asked, making her voice sound smaller and shy. ‘I don’t feel prepared. I still feel a bit tired. I apologise for my reluctance, but my nerves…’

‘Oh, no, no.’ Madame Roulet waved her hand.

‘You’re our guest. Of course, you need some time to adjust. I tend to get enthusiastic with newcomers, but by all means, please rest.’ Sabine wondered if she would have to apologise again but Madame Roulet had already waltzed on to the next topic of conversation.

Breakfast was the shortest meal of the day, so Sabine was left with plenty of time to explore.

The townhouse was smaller than her father’s villa but filled with imported vases, portraits that lined the halls and hardwood floors covered in exotic rugs.

It spoke the language of every house she had lived in for the past few years: unapologetically wealthy. Quite impressive, but equally bland.

She walked from the sunroom that overlooked the garden.

Again, it was smaller than she was used to, but the hedges were high, allowing for privacy.

There, she spotted someone circling the tree with a foil, carefully avoiding the flowers as they lunged and parried an invisible opponent.

She approached the window slowly, recognising the familiar face of Captain Damien.

Though it didn’t happen often, there had been men that had caught Sabine’s eye, whether for their looks or charm.

She didn’t mind conversation, but rarely met someone who could keep her attention.

With Damien, something felt strange. Alien, even.

Every time she had looked at him yesterday, she wanted to step closer. She was so curious .

His eyes were light brown, framed by black hair and russet skin.

He easily towered over her when they were side by side.

His gaze was cold, calculating, as he moved but she remembered the hints of a smirk from their previous conversation.

He clearly had the power of a soldier; the sharp angles of his face matching the small scars that appeared above his cheekbones.

Everything about him warned her that he was a threat; but his smirk, a look that she found sly and charming, made her think twice.

Her face flushed when she remembered the playfulness and heat in his eyes. She saw it again when he looked up from his imaginary sparring partner.

They stared at one another for a long moment before he motioned for her to join him. She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she stepped outside.

‘I wondered when you would wake,’ he said in lieu of a greeting.

‘I’m guessing you rise with the dawn.’

He shrugged. ‘A habit, princess.’

‘I think the technical term would be “mademoiselle”,’ she corrected him. He raised his brows at her before smirking.

‘Very well, Mademoiselle Kouassi.’ He did a shallow bow and she grimaced at his sarcasm. He chuckled when he saw her face, making her school it into a cool expression. She refused to be his amusement.

‘Why did you invite me over?’

He went around the tree and picked up an extra foil. ‘I was hoping we could start your fencing lessons today,’ he said, holding out the weapon to her. ‘Unless you prefer to rest.’

The challenge in his voice was clear, and it sparked her competitiveness. It would be smarter for her to excuse herself, as she told Madame Roulet she was tired. She grabbed the sword anyway. ‘I’m well rested.’

Damien smirked once more before stepping back and lifting his foil. ‘Let’s hope so.’ And then he lunged.

The lesson lasted for hours. Damien made it a mix of sparring to see her technique and practice to improve it.

Sabine thought herself to be a good sport, but as the sun crawled across the sky, she found herself doubting this fact.

She should have known better than to fight in a dress or challenge a soldier.

She held back a groan, wishing she had quit much earlier.

Sabine grunted as she lunged at Damien with what was left of her strength. To her embarrassment, he merely sidestepped her attack, letting her land on the ground. She growled before throwing the foil aside.

‘The least you can do is catch me,’ she spat.

Damien shrugged before kneeling in front of her. ‘The more you get acquainted with the ground, the less you’ll be defeated by it.’

Sabine huffed before standing. ‘I’m starting to regret replacing Seydou,’ she said, rubbing her back.

‘There will be no one to coddle you in the real world, princess,’ Damien chided.

She placed her hands on her hips defiantly. ‘May I remind you, again , that my technical title is mademoiselle and I doubt I’ll be flinging a sword around in real life.’ Sabine rolled her eyes at the notion. ‘I’d be better off with a handy pistol.’

Damien seemed unperturbed by her frustration. She would dare say he almost seemed smug.

Feeling bold and determined to gain some footing, she grabbed her foil and sauntered over to him.

She walked in a slow and steady circle around him, letting her blade drag behind her.

‘I’m well aware there is no mercy in French high society,’ she explained, her voice softening.

‘In that setting, I’m sure I’d run circles around you, Captain. ’

Sabine stopped in front of him, a hair’s breadth away.

A charge crawled over her skin when their eyes met that almost made her breathless.

She looked away as she took two steps back, pointing to the ground.

‘Don’t move from that circle,’ she ordered.

‘If I can take you down, then practice is done for today and tomorrow.’

Damien raised his eyebrows at the circle before smirking at her. ‘Very well, princess.’

He took a defensive stance and beckoned her to charge.

She took a deep breath, looking for a weak spot and lunged.

She lasted longer than before, even landing a few lucky hits until Damien drew her in too close with a false opening and struck.

Sabine hissed, clutched her arm, and lost her footing.

She prepared herself for the fall, not expecting the arms that grabbed her, pulling her upright.

She panted as she tried to reorient herself, breathing in the smell of him.

Under the sweat and grime was something smoky and inviting, his light brown eyes calming her.

However, just as quickly as the moment came, so did the piercing gazes of the house’s staff.

She could only imagine the gossip that would spread.

Before she could make the situation more scandalous, she stepped back, realising belatedly that she had been clutching his tunic for balance.

‘Well done,’ Damien commented after a moment. ‘You’re improving. Slowly, but you’re doing well.’ He took her foil from her hand. ‘We’ll continue tomorrow. You can go to another lesson. Perhaps, sewing.’

‘I despise sewing,’ she muttered, not missing his soft laugh as he sauntered off. She didn’t look as he left. Instead, she planted her feet and practised the manoeuvres she had been complaining about mere moments ago.

She found it was an effective way to keep the hum of desire under her skin at bay.