Page 7 of Only You

Paris

‘The weather is quite nice, don’t you think?’

‘Must you always start our strolls with the same observation?’

Sabine scoffed as she looked over her shoulder towards him. ‘You’ve yet to complain. Why start now?’

‘I believe two months is long enough to endure.’

‘Says the one never willing to contribute,’ Sabine said quickly. ‘If you have a more interesting observation, please delight us both.’

Damien smirked at the frustration in her voice, already amused by her impatience. Truly, it was the best part of his days. When General Roulet said protecting her would be one of his hardest jobs, he thought it would be due to Sabine being stubborn or helping her adjust to French society – but no.

There was a lack of anything to do other than watch her.

Most faux pas were avoided thanks to Madame Roulet, and Sabine was prim and proper at every turn.

She stayed home reading most days until she had to meet an acquaintance Madame Roulet invited to the house, which was practically every other day.

Those meant dinners and after-dinner conversations before finally retiring for the night to wake up and do it all over again without showing a hint of disdain.

The boredom he could endure, but the restlessness was new. His only outlet for any energy was their daily strolls through the Jardin du Luxembourg and their occasional fencing sessions. Seeing her facade slip for a moment was a relief; he didn’t understand how she hadn’t gone mad by now.

‘Mademoiselle Kouassi, you and I both know that is not my role.’

‘Perhaps, we should switch. You make conversation and I brood.’ She looked over her shoulder and frowned, scrunching her brows together in what he guessed was supposed to be an imitation of him.

‘Brooding is my specialty,’ he simply said.

‘How do you not go mad not speaking all the time?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder once more. He always stayed a few steps behind her, far enough to represent her status, near enough to interfere when pickpockets lingered too close.

‘The same way you don’t go mad having to make so many conversations about nothing.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Endurance.’

Damien almost laughed as they walked past a group of people listening to a street musician. They were too comfortable for the public setting. Quips during fencing practice was one thing but outside the house, there were many prying ears. He had to remember to be more careful.

When she looked back again, he made sure to observe the crowd. No angry commoners today, but the tide could always turn. Protests had occurred over less than a beautiful, wealthy foreigner strolling through the street.

Beautiful. Damien scoffed at himself.

‘And what do you find so funny?’ Sabine asked. ‘Life,’ Damien answered easily. ‘It’s ironic.’

‘How so?’

‘How not? People kill themselves to stay alive, which they can barely enjoy for one reason or another. Always family or position or something else equally petty. I assume C?te d’Ivoire is not so different.’

‘From what I’ve seen, you Frenchmen seem determined to enjoy yourselves to the fullest,’ she snapped.

Damien looked at her in mild shock, and she blushed at her sudden outburst.

‘I mean, there are bigger concerns at the moment. Right now, the main hope for my country is a peaceful… transition.’

Damien grimaced but understood. He had heard more than enough tales of Africa.

Everyday there were merchants seizing the chance to bring home exotic goods and jewels, and the lengths they were willing to go for them.

Gold, cocoa, ivory and diamonds all within arm’s reach, supposedly.

All at a cost , he thought, as he looked back at Sabine.

He was well aware of the price of France’s expansion – the amount of African blood spilled for it – but he felt separated from it.

He didn’t agree with his home country’s land race with the English and Germans, but he couldn’t help but wonder what price those in Mali and Benin had to pay for ‘French advancement’?

What did she have to pay for another country’s greed?

When they passed the crowd, he stepped closer until they were side-by-side.

‘That’s the wish of sensible people, but these are not sensible times. Not yet, anyway,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘Some people like to dance in the ashes of their own fires.’

‘I hope it keeps them warm at night.’

Damien chuckled and she looked at him curiously before asking, ‘What is your name? I mean, your last name. Everyone calls you by your first name.’

‘You already know it,’ he told her. She looked at him inquiringly as he joined her side. ‘I don’t have a last name, nor did I adopt one. I have no family. I grew up on the streets until the general found me. Damien is a name I chose for myself and the only one I care about.’

He waited for the look of pity or for her to insist on picking a name for him as so many had done over the years.

Instead, she said, ‘That’s… commendable.’

He tilted his head. ‘How so?’

‘Some men are so defeated in life they won’t even claim their name.’ ‘Have you encountered men like that?’

‘Almost…’ She paused at the window of a dress shop. It was adorned with dresses of all the latest styles in vibrant colours, beckoning them inside. Sabine seemed particularly mesmerised by the deep blue one off to the side.

‘My father seemed to be that way after my mother died,’ she said suddenly. ‘Many didn’t know they were in love or even married, though I found it obvious. I once hoped for a love as deep as theirs but now… seeing how destroyed my father was after she passed, I don’t know if I could bear it.’

Damien was silent, having trouble picturing Kwame in such a state. The man’s only leeway seemed to be with Sabine and even she had only so much sway.

‘I wish I understood,’ Sabine admitted. ‘It seems as though he would cast away the world for her. Even now, I feel as though his involvement in giving our country to the French seems to be in dedication to her. How can you be so captivated by someone? How can they rule your thoughts so effortlessly, even when they’re gone? ’

How indeed , he pondered as he stared into her forlorn eyes. He couldn’t imagine loving someone more than a few nights, much less a lifetime and beyond.

‘I’m sure that’s a mystery that has been pondered for centuries,’ Damien said finally. ‘Lucky for you, people don’t expect it of you. Many would prefer that you don’t give in to such folly.’

Sabine smiled but didn’t seem reassured by the words. ‘Yes. That’s the right thing to do.’

The wistfulness in Sabine’s voice made Damien curious. An interesting story laid there, waiting to be asked about. Words scratched at the back of his throat, itching to deepen the conversation, but he bit them back. It was neither the time nor the place and he had already risked enough.

Still, he didn’t step back as he asked her, ‘Have you received any word from your father?’

‘Yes. He has met with the Bassam kings once more. There’s some unrest in the city—’

‘Tell me the best part,’ he interjected.

It wasn’t her first time receiving a letter from her father.

It was always a summary of business, which Sabine would read aloud so he could update General Roulet.

However, the last paragraph was just for Sabine, to update her on what was happening at home.

That was his favourite part, the snippets giving him a glimpse of a different world.

They seemed to be hers as well as he watched a smile slowly spread across her face, her eyes lighting up as she reminisced.

‘He saw my grandmother,’ she told him. ‘He had arrived just in time for my cousin’s first child be born and they had a huge feast to celebrate. I’m jealous. I’ve craved my grandmother’s kedjenou since I read his letter.’

Damien watched her shoulders relax for the first time since they left the house and felt relieved before letting himself fall under the spell of her story of a world far, far away.

Today, for one moment, the grim reality could wait.

‘Kwame will be back from the Ivory Coast in a few days.’

General Roulet and Damien were in the general’s home study, standing on opposite sides of the general’s desk.

The room was the exact opposite of the rest of the house, which was bright and welcoming.

The walls were sapphire blue, books and charts filled the space, hiding away secrets.

Some were keys to victories while others were notes on defeats.

Roulet had allowed Damien to peruse the books at his leisure, but Damien had little patience for battle strategy, much to the general’s disappointment.

But Damien treated that the same way he treated the lingering concern in Roulet’s eyes over the years; he ignored it.

‘He and Sabine will be attending several parties over the next week,’ Roulet continued. ‘They have a few allies here but are looking for more, so there will definitely be plenty of mingling.’

Roulet pored over papers while Damien waited for instructions, his eyes glancing at proclamations and tactics he wouldn’t be a part of due to his post. Damien felt his restlessness surge up.

His hands itched for a sword, ready for battle.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly; he had to prepare for another battle, one harder for him to comprehend.

‘The party is fully staffed, but Kwame wants someone to keep a close eye on Sabine,’ he continued. ‘He wants to ensure she’s only connecting with the correct guests.’

‘I’ll make sure of that,’ Damien reassured him.

Roulet hummed, looking at him critically; he waited. ‘You seem better. Much calmer.’

‘Sabine insists on being active. Keeps away the boredom,’ he replied, which was true.

‘As long as no boundaries are being crossed…’ Roulet looked at him sharply, and Damien stopped himself from exhaling in exasperation.

‘I’ve kept my word. She is safe and well. And untouched .’