“Do you want to go?” He looks over my shoulder one last time then turns back to me. “No, I’m fine. I am heading to the bathroom, though.”
I nod and watch as he hastily makes his way out of the room.
Keeping myself occupied, chatting with people from the art community, I realize Louis has been gone for too long, and I’m becoming concerned. I make my way to the bathrooms and wait out there for a couple of moments hoping people don’t think I’m being some sort of creeper.
“Excuse me, is Louis Marchant in there?” I ask a man as he leaves the bathroom, that’s how desperate I’ve become. He shakes his head.
Where the hell is he?
I do another loop of the room, but he not here. Maybe he’s out in the garden. I’m going to kill him when I find him. I’ve texted with no luck. I’ve called him, and there’s no answer. I pace around the garden, but I can’t find him.
Now I’m really starting to become concerned. Last time this happened, he was screwing some woman in the bushes.
My stomach sinks.
No. He wouldn’t do that to me, would he?
He’s single, Emily, he can do whoever he wants. That realization stings, but maybe it’s for the best. Just because you have both been joking around the past week and no longer at each other’s throats, doesn’t mean he fancies you. I’m such an idiot.
“You must be Marchant’s new girl.” The voice comes from behind me in the darkness, and it surprises me. I turn with my hand over my heart and see Yves standing behind me, and he’s smoking a cigarette. His eyes lazily look me over.
“And you are the other man.” I look around and realize I’m in a darkened part of the garden with no one around but my boss’ arch-nemesis.
“I see he’s brainwashed you.” He lets out a puff of his cigarette, the smoke lingering in the air.
“Oh, no. I formed that opinion all by myself.”
Yves raises a brow at me. “You’re very beautiful.” The change of direction catches me off guard. “Marchant always had good taste in women.”
What a creep! My stomach turns with repulsion.
“Well, I hope you have a good evening.” I move away from him, but he blocks my exit.
“Why leave so soon? We’re just getting to know each other.” His finger runs down my arm, and I pull it away quickly.
“I’m okay.” I look for another escape route.
“You won’t find him.” He smirks, but I don’t answer. “Last time I saw Marchant he had disappeared with Elisabeth.”
My stomach falls.
No. He wouldn’t. Would he?
Yves catches my moment of weakness. “I’m surprised you’re not running after your girlfriend if that’s the case.” He moves closer, and I try to shuffle away, but he keeps shifting his position, blocking me in.
“Elisabeth and I have an understanding…” he touches my hair, and I take a couple of steps backward, “… if we see someone we want, then we can have them.” He throws his cigarette to the ground and steps on it.
“I’m not interested in your relationship.” I move to the side, but a bush blocks my path.
“And you know what I want?” He stalks toward me.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I want you tonight.” He grabs my arm and pulls me against him. I bounce off his chest, it’s that taut, but his arm is tight across me. I try and push myself away, but his grip on my arm is too tight. So much so I’m sure it will bruise.
“Let go of me,” I tell him firmly.
“No.” He smiles. “What’s Marchant’s is mine.” Yves tries to kiss me, but I knee him in the balls. “You fucking bitch.” He lashes out, ripping the sleeve of my dress as he tries to grab at me.
My heart is racing as I move from his grip. This dress cost a fortune, and now it’s ruined. Tears threaten as I run as quickly as I can back toward the party, but in my panic, I trip over the garden’s edge, falling harshly against the cement, ripping the sleeves of my dress even further. Blood begins to drip down over my white dress from the cuts on my elbows. I look at the red splatter across the contrast of the stark white material.
“Emily.” Louis is racing down the stairs toward me. “Are you okay? I’ve been looking for you for ages.” He notices my torn sleeves and the blood on my dress. His hand reaches out and touches the ripped fabric. His face is torn in confusion. “You’re hurt.”
“I want to leave, Louis.” Tears fall down my cheeks, and he notices my distress. His hand touches me, and I flinch. “Sunflowers, Louis, sunflowers.” I use our safe word twice as movement behind me catches his attention.
“You do have great taste in women, Marchant,” Yves calls out.
Louis looks down at me. All sorts of emotions flare across his face, but mostly it’s devastation followed by anger. “Did he?”
A look must come across my face that tells Louis everything he needs to know, and he tries to lunge at Yves, but I stop Louis putting myself in between them.
Louis doesn’t need a public punch up with his ex-wife’s lover in the middle of a society gala—that kind of publicity will kill all the good we have done.
“Did. You. Fucking. Touch. Her?” Louis’ voice rises as he fumes at Yves.
“Nothing she didn’t want,” Yves replies, cockily.
Louis looks at me, trying to work out if I’d do something with his nemesis.
“I would never.” The words come out in the softest of whispers, along with another tear that rolls down my cheek. “Please… Louis…” I tug on his tuxedo, “Sunflowers. Sunflowers, Louis.”
His body is primed for a fight, but I use my safe word again. I need to get him out of here. I tug on his suit one last time, his arm comes out and wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close as he
