We spent the entire morning in bed.
There Knight took me over and over again like he was making up for lost time and all the time he hadn’t been in my life.
We ended our wild session with a bath together in the freestanding stone tub that made me feel as if I’d been transported to some exotic spa in the Middle East.
While we sat together with my back pressed to his chest and his arm around me, he smoked a cigar and gave me a history lesson about the house and the island.
The house, or rather the Chateau de Botticelli, is over eight hundred years old. It was built on the island as a getaway for a noble family who worked for the King of France during the Middle Ages.
It was also a secret hiding place used to smuggle, hide people, and other things. To this day, it isn’t on any map.
Much of the house still bears some of the original features, like the stone walls and gargoyles on the roof and archways. Knight renovated the rest of the house himself.
It has its own beach and a narrow strip of land with a road that takes you back to the mainland of Saint-Tropez.
That’s where we are now.
We’re cruising down the road in Knight’s two-seater classic convertible that looks like something from a 1950s James Bond film.
We’re on our way to meet Knight’s mom for lunch, and we’ll be spending the rest of the day with her.
As we speed along, I admire the lustrous sea on either side of us. I’ve never seen anything like it. From far away, I’m sure we look like we could be driving in the sea.
I keep looking around, wondering if this is really happening to me.
Am I really in Saint-Tropez?
With him?
I glance at Knight. He looks at me, too, and flicks his finger across my thigh, playing with the hem of my skirt.
It turns out I did have clothes here. All packed by Denise. Knight had placed them in the walk-in wardrobe, which I didn’t see in my panicked state when I first woke up.
We’re going to be here for a week.
One week of just the two of us on a private island where we can get up to anything we want.
I keep thinking I’ll wake up from this fantasy soon. But I don’t want to. Something has shifted between us and I like it.
I felt that shift from days ago, maybe even before that.
It makes me feel nervous and excited at the same time.
Weeks ago, I would’ve thought this would’ve been the opening I sought to getting what I want for Sunset Cove, but I haven’t even thought about that since the first time we slept together.
This is the first time since we’ve been in each other’s lives that I’ve been thinking about myself.
Knight has opened a door to something inside me, and dare I say it, it feels good.
He glances across at me again and speeds up. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Nervous?”
“About seeing my mother again so soon. If you don’t want her to do that painting of you, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
I smile back at him. “I actually want to do it, and I really like your mom. She’s cool.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” It’s been a while since I got on so well with someone so soon after meeting them.
I thought Knight’s grandmother was amazing, but I haven’t spent the same amount of time with her as I have with Knight’s mother.
“My mom is very cool. She taught me how to paint and sculpt. I don’t do many paintings. I never took to it the way I do with sculpting.”
He’s actually talking to me and telling me about himself, but not just that—his art.
“Why didn’t you go to art school? I’ve never seen anything like your sculptures.”
“Thank you, but you might change your mind when you see my mother’s work.” He presses his lips together and pauses for a beat. “I wanted to go to art school, but my duty as a Grayson was to work in the family business.”
“Couldn’t you have done both?” I can’t imagine why not with all the family’s wealth.
He shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t for me.”
“Why?”
“I had to prove a point that I could be the best in our business and the best anyone had ever seen.”
I have a feeling this has to do with his father and the other side of the family.
I’ve thought about the situation several times. Every time I want to ask about it, it feels like bad timing or just plain inappropriate. It feels like that now, but it also feels like the perfect opening.
“Is that because of your dad?”
When Knight glances at me again, there’s an unreadable expression on his face, but it soon softens, and I feel less guilty for prying.
“I suppose it was only a matter of time before you asked me about him and that side of my family. I’m sure you can tell things are tense between us, to say the least.”
“It was obvious. And they weren’t at the wedding?”
“No, they wouldn’t have been.”
“But it was our wedding. Why wouldn’t they be there? Why wouldn’t your father be there?”
“My father is not like yours, Aurora.”
“Given the fact that you and my father didn’t start off on the best foot, I’m not sure if you’re insulting him.” I felt it was best to check, although his comment doesn’t feel like an insult.
He gives me a slight chuckle before the seriousness returns to his face. “It’s not an insult. Your father is a real father. Mine isn’t.”
That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound so distant.
“Did you two have a falling out?”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that. I’m sure you’ve noticed he treats Jericho the same way too, and neither he nor his family speak to us.”
“I have noticed.” And I’m still waiting to be introduced to him.
“My father doesn’t acknowledge us as his kids.”
I hear him, but I can’t comprehend what he’s saying. “What do you mean he doesn’t acknowledge you? You’re his kids.”
“Not to him.”
“Really?” I would never have guessed that about Tobias Grayson. Although we’ve never spoken, the impression I got from him was that he was a respectable man.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Knight’s jaw sets, and the outline appears sharp enough to slice through stone. “It has always been that way.”
“Always?”
“Always.” In the second that he cuts me a glance, I catch a glimpse of a sad little boy lurking in the corners of his eyes. But the vision is gone just as quickly as I imagined it. “Jericho and I are only in the Graysons’ lives because of my grandfather.”
“You seem quite close to him.” That much I could tell straightaway from our first meeting.
“As close as can be. He became a replacement father.” He pulls in a deep breath and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “My parents got together when my mother was very young. My father had no intention of being with her, but she didn’t know. It’s just one of those things. She was young, in love, and didn’t know what he was truly like until it was too late. We lived in France because my mother couldn’t stand being in the US. The idea of going back here to be on the same plot of land as my father made her sick, but we went back every summer and Easter because my grandparents wanted to see us as often as they could. My grandfather wanted us to be part of the legacy he built, so Jericho and I went to live with our grandparents when we were in our early teens. My grandfather wanted us to go to high school there and college, and essentially train to take over the company.”
“Did you enjoy living with your grandfather?”
“He was strict as fuck, but I loved living with him. I seemed to take more after him than anybody else. I suppose I’m his protege in many ways. I always felt like I had to be the best because my father treated me as if I didn’t belong in their lives. I wanted to show him I was exactly where I should be.” He grins, but his expression is still stony.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you to have such a strained relationship with your father.”
“It’s one of the worst experiences of my life.”
“I’m sure you must know about my past with my father. I didn’t know him until I was twelve.” I assume he knows, like he does with everything else.
“He told me.”
“My life changed because of him in all the right ways. Maybe you could try to mend your relationship with your father by talking to him.” I’m aiming for positivity, but Knight laughs off-key at my suggestion, sounding as unhinged and uncanny as nails scraping across board.
“No, mon cherie. Been there, done that, won’t be doing it ever again. Like I said, my father is not like yours. Your father wanted you. Mine would kill me if he could.”
My stomach squeezes on hearing that. I can’t conceive such a horrid relationship with a parent, but now I feel more fortunate to have had two good parents who loved me to death.
As I stare at Knight, it feels like pieces of the puzzle surrounding him—this mysterious man—are falling into place, creating the picture of the layers that live beneath his iron skin. The picture I’m seeing makes me want to know more about him.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a tone best reserved for condolences.
“That’s okay. I got used to it. It hasn’t killed me yet, so it’s only made me stronger. Things turned out the way they were supposed to. My mom is extremely happy. She met Maurice a few years after we moved back to France, and she’s been with him ever since.”
“She looks happy,” I offer, remembering how she looked at the wedding.
“As long as she has the love of her life and her art, she’s fine.” He gives me a boyish grin, seeming less tense now that the difficult discussion about his father has passed. “The house we’re heading to has a big workshop, which I’m sure you’ll see. It also has a vineyard. My mother and Maurice are here for most of the summer, then back in Marseilles for the rest of the year.”
“I can’t wait to see it, and, um… I like it here. I really like it here. I didn’t expect this honeymoon.”
“Me neither.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I feel that shift again. Knight turns away first to look ahead at the road, and my gaze drops to my hands, to the ring on my finger.
Our marriage is a sign of our contract, but it doesn’t feel that way.
Whatever is happening inside me feels like something good.
I haven’t had that feeling in years.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Elodie says in a sing-song voice when Knight and I step out of the car.
Humble?
I look at the spectacular French Tudor country-style home before me and the vast expanse of rolling hills surrounding it. There’s nothing humble about the place, but it has a serene vibe or a homey presence of warmth every home should have.
Elodie approaches us with her long hair floating in the wind and her elegant arms stretched wide, reminding me of a swan or a ballet dancer.
Knight meets her half-way and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Bonjour, Mom.”
“Bonjour, I’m so thrilled you could join us.” She hugs Knight first, then me when I reach them.
“It’s nice to see you again,” I say, hoping she didn’t see me in my drunken state. I still can’t remember one iota of what happened. It’s like I blacked out of existence for that entire time.
“And you, my love.” She cups my face with awe. “You look so stunning, even better than on your wedding day.”
“Thank you.” Please, God, please don’t let her see that’s probably because of all the sex I’ve been having with her son. I’ve been in permanent afterglow all morning. “You look great too.”
“I do my best. Come on in. Lunch is just about ready.”
“Can’t wait to eat your delicious food,” Knight says with a relaxed chuckle, his entire composure softer for seeing his mother. I noticed he was like that at the wedding too.
“I made all your favorites.” A proud-mom smile spreads across her face, then she glances at me and hope sparks in her eyes. “Stuff I hope you like too, Aurora, as I’m told I’m a good cook.”
I smile back at her. “I’m sure you are, but I’ll eat anything.” I’ve always been grateful that I’ve never been a fussy eater. I’ve felt that being that way makes you miss out on all sorts of great food, especially when you’re in another country.
“Perfect, come on.”
Elodie leads us into the house, where I’m impressed even more by the interior décor.
Everything is the kind of breathtaking that would make you want to move house and country straightaway to have something like this.
Muted colors blend together with toil fabrics, extravagant lighting, and tapestries hanging on the wall. There are touches of gold here and there with the rustic touch of an artist.
It’s obvious an artist lives here, but also that the artist is a woman who loves the finer things of life.
My mother would have loved all of this.
Maurice walks out from the kitchen to join us with a bright smile on his face.
“Hey, everyone,” he greets us, and we acknowledge him. “Right this way.” He motions toward the dining room, and we follow.
Once inside, we’re greeted with a table covered in a delicious spread of excellence. There are all sorts of meats, from chicken to beef, pork and fish. Fried, baked, and roasted. The platters of vegetables and savory dishes of the same assortment. It’s like I’m looking at the feasts from the Harry Potter films.
Moments later, we’re seated and eating, then we eat and talk for eons.
The atmosphere is more relaxed than at the wedding because we know each other. I also figured that Elodie and Maurice must not have seen me in my drunken state, but if they did, they’re doing a good job of not bringing it up.
Our conversation feels like an extension of the one we had at the wedding where it felt like we talked about every and anything, except now we’re including traveling to life in France.
When we’re finished eating, Knight heads to the vineyard with Maurice, and Elodie takes me to her beloved workshop I’ve heard so much about.
The moment we walk in, I love it. The space is as spacious and endless as a warehouse and seems to go down on a slope.
On one side are her artistry tools and a workspace like Knight’s with tables, shelves, and a row of cupboards.
The other side holds several large pieces of sculptures and paintings covered in white cloth and plastic bubble wrap, so I can’t really see what they are.
“Those are for the show,” she explains, pointing at the display. “They’ve been prepped for transportation to the gallery in Marseille. Over here is still my work in progress.” She gestures ahead to the area sectioned off by a wooden sliding door.
It’s not completely closed, so I can just about see the edge of one of the sculptures.
“What I see looks great.” I smile back at her and try to get a better look.
“Wait until you see everything. I’m very proud of what I’ve done this year.” She nods. “That’s also where I’d love to paint you later in the week if we get the chance.”
I laugh. “Sure. I’ve never had anyone who wanted to paint me before.”
“Thank you for indulging me. I love painting people and landscapes. I obviously love sculpting too, but it requires more work and effort. Painting for me is like breathing. Not a day goes by when I don’t do it.”
“Really? That’s so impressive.”
“Thank you. Knight tells me you’re a writer.” As she looks at me, I wonder if this is the part where I’m going to have that one-to-one with her where she tries to get more information out of me about who I am.
It probably is, and I couldn’t fault her for it. I don’t know how much she knows about Knight and me, but even if she knew the truth, I would still look like some girl who’s hitched up with her son who’s worth billions. She’s bound to be inquisitive.
I’ve been preparing for this conversation, if it’s that, but I don’t want to lie to her.
“I want to write for a lifestyle magazine,” I tell her.
“He told me that too.”
I wonder if he also told her about my pen name. Probably not. He seems to have kept that as a saucy secret between us.
“I had a look at some of your old articles. I thought they were wonderful.” She touches her heart as if to show she really means what she’s saying. “Please tell me you’ll be writing for some fabulous magazine soon.”
“Hopefully. I’m applying for a writer position with People Magazine. Here’s hoping I get it.”
Her face brightens, and she gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “That would be fantastic. I pray you get it.”
“Me too. It would be a dream come true.”
“Then I hope for it to happen even more. Come, let me show you some of the pieces I just finished this morning for the show. You’ll get a first view of them.”
She takes my elbow and steers me through the doors to the gathering of her masterpiece sculptures.
There are fifty of them. All a little bigger than life-size.
Standing this close gives me a firsthand view of what Knight meant when he was talking about his mother’s talent.
She does the same bronze sculptures of living figures like Knight but has a Renaissance-meets-contemporary edge to her work.
Most of the sculptures are of women with long flowing hair and see-through dresses that look like air caressing their bodies. I was already blown away when I saw Knight’s work, but this has a different opulence to it that borders on legendary.
“My God, wow.” My voice comes out in a reverent rasp. “These are astounding.”
Elodie smiles. “I’m glad you think so. I went for something different this year. I tend to do figures of women anyway, but not so much like this. I call this collection Dance of the Sea Nymphs.”
“I’m in love.”
She laughs heartily and brings her hands together. “I guess my job is done, then.”
I walk around each piece, admiring the craftsmanship in her work. Everything is so precise and perfect.
“How long does it take you to finish them?”
She sighs and looks at each one. “Sometimes, it can take me a day, sometimes months. It depends on what I see in my mind and the inspiration behind it. This was the quickest one. I had it done within a few hours.” She points to a sculpture of a girl with a flower in her hair. The girl is smiling and reaching out like she’s about to touch someone. “This was inspired by a girl I saw in the park who’d just met her father for the first time.”
Of course, I think of myself the moment she says that. The girl also looks to be about the same age I was when I met my father.
The radiance in the girl’s eyes reminds me of that light that sparked in my soul when my father came into my life.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“I tried to capture the moment as best as I could. I don’t know her, and I’ll most likely never see her again, but she inspired me that day. I was simply sitting in the park and happened to hear their conversation. This was how she looked when she first saw him.” Pride fills her voice. “These, on the other hand, are the kind that took me months.”
She shows me a gathering of women who look like mermaids without the tails.
We walk around, and I get lost in the fantasy world she’s created, but I stop when I see a sculpture with a familiar face.
It’s Giselle.
She’s here, like a ghost haunting me. I walk up to her, and my blood runs cold all of a sudden.
This sculpture is no less perfect than the others in here, but I can tell from the crafting techniques that it wasn’t done by Elodie. It was sculpted by Knight.
This must be one from the same collection in New York and is the most beautiful.
Giselle is sitting on a rock with a rose in her hand. She always holds a rose, whether it’s intact or the petals are falling.
She’s looking ahead, gazing out to the distance with a thirst for life in her eyes.
Elodie comes up to me and rests her hands on my shoulders.
“Are you okay?” she asks, looking from me to Giselle.
“Yes.” I offer a half smile, but I know it looks forced. “Knight did this one?”
She seems surprised that I know that. “He did.”
“I’ve seen others of her at home.”
“I am hoping he’ll send those to me for the show. He gave me this one many years ago. It was the best in the collection. He’s supposed to be working on the final one, but he’s been doing so for the same amount of time I’ve had this.”
That sounds like a long time. She said years.
“Do you know who this girl is?” There’s a carefulness in her voice.
“Giselle.”
“Yes. Has Knight ever spoken to you about her?”
I won’t tell her that today was the first time Knight has opened up to me about anything. “He hasn’t, but I figured she must be somebody who meant a lot to him.”
“She was.”
“Who was she?”
“His first and last girlfriend.” The carefulness returns, but there’s a hint of sadness hidden in her words.
“What happened to her?”
“She died five years ago.”
My heart folds in on itself like a glove, then something sharp grips my insides, squeezing then pulling as if attached to tight ropes.
In all this time, I’ve never once thought that Giselle was dead. God, I even thought she was Chelle.
“She died?” I search her eyes.
She nods with the slowness of a mourner at a funeral. “It was a combination of different things, but that’s a discussion I think Knight should have with you one day.”
Translation—whatever happened was so bad she can’t talk about it.
“I hope so.” Invisible threads pull on my nerves, tightening my scalp with a combination of emotions that assail me. Sadness, shock, and…good old envy. I feel ashamed for feeling the latter.
“Just give Knight some time. My son can be very stubborn, but that’s because he never wants to appear weak. Weak is not a word associated with Knight Grayson, but every now and again, he’ll show you glimpses of himself.”
I might have witnessed that once. Maybe twice.
The drive here was one of them.
“I might have to wait a while for that to happen.”
“Don’t be so sure. You’re very good for him.”
Again, I wonder how much she knows. If it’s the truth, then I don’t think she would be saying that. But I’m interested to know what she sees.
“You think so?”
A smile inches across her lips. “Yes. I can tell from the way he looks at you, and the way he is around you.”
“What way is that?”
“As if he’s alive again.”
Her words bring light to my heart, and I return her smile. “That’s nice to know.”
“It’s the truth.”
I’ve learned two things about Knight today I never knew before.
Now I know what turned him into the ruthless being I’ve witnessed on countless occasions. It makes me want to peel away all the layers of darkness to find the real him.
Still, I like it all. His light and his darkness.
Everything that makes him, him.
Sometimes, the darkness is what protects the light.
