4
1618 Words
Chapter Four
Zavier
“Mon amour, Dinner is ready.”
My wife's voice interrupts my thoughts.
She stands in the doorway for a moment and I look at her, a cigar between my teeth. Her long flowery gown hangs from her slender figure akin to a scare-crow. Her entire demeanour is in contrast to the slight smile on her face, which contrasts with her deep and sunken eyes, as if she has been crying for hours.
She appears ill though. It worries me so much that I can't stop staring even after she leaves.
I look away, multiple thoughts running through my head at once.
She'd normally never come down to call me for dinner herself. It was always Marie, the maid.
Something is off.
Has she finally filed for a divorce?
Why the hell does she look so happy yet so Ill at the same time?
I stand in the same spot for a few more minutes, finishing the cigar and staring at my shirt, hanging in the wardrobe.
My mind travels to a few nights ago to the minute the woman was fondling those buttons.
I shake my head and try to get rid of that memory, but I can't help but miss every second of it.
I want her back as much as I want her to remain a mystery for—
“Monsieur Du-Montes,”
Marie's voice suddenly cuts through my thoughts.
When I turn around, her eyes widen and her cheeks flush pink at the sight of my bare chest.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice lower and more gravelly than I intend it to be.
“Madame Céline wants you to join her for dinner on the balcony.”
“The balcony?” I ask. Why would Céline want to eat at the balcony when we have two large dining rooms set for us down here.
“Yes, sir.”
I look down and think about it for a second.
“I'll be there.” I say to her, before she excuses herself and shuts the door.
Why on earth is she willing to have dinner with me?
She made it in our marriage contract that she doesn't want me or anyone interrupting her dinner or night times.
That's the main reason why we don't even sleep in the same room, but I shrug the thoughts away and change into my night clothes.
It's just dinner, isn't it?
Why am I so anxious all of a sudden?
I reach the balcony after a few minutes of rethinking having dinner with her, and meet my wife leaning on the railings, her dress hanging loosely from her thin frame as the wind blows her hair.
She holds a glass of what I believe to be alcohol in her hand, swirling it from side to side. I can't help but notice how beautiful and, most importantly, how cheerful she looks.
Then again she's acting odd these days. It could be the alcohol, or maybe drugs, if she's even into them.
“Mon Chérie, I knew you would come” she leans in and places a kiss on my cheek.
“What is this?” I ask, confused. “Why have you called me here? Why not downstairs, as always?”
“Can't a woman spend time with her husband anymore?” She interrupts with half a smile.
I look at her in shock before a laugh escapes my lips.
“Is that what this is?” I say, placing my hands on the railing.
“What else is it supposed to be?” She sips a bit of wine from the glass.
“Wine?”
“No thanks”
“Come on, it's a special day. At least pretend to be in love with me so that…we can have a little bit of fun.”
“What's so special about today?” I ask her with my brows arched.
Is it her birthday? If not, why can't she just tell me and let me be instead of dragging me all the way up here in the cold.
“Of course I don't expect you to remember. It's been a year since we celebrated the last one anyway.”
“Just spill it already.” I roll my eyes.
Céline sighs, her rosy lips twisted to the side as she looks away from me and towards the expanse of fields and cars below us.
“It's our third wedding anniversary, Zavier”
“Oh.” I suck my teeth, “that…”
Just that.
Is that why she called me here for goodness sake?
“At least pretend to be happy, Zavier; Three years isn't something to be smug about.” she says, her voice a bit louder than before.
I can tell she's getting agitated though I don't quite understand why.
It's our anniversary, yes, but when have we ever been happy or bothered about it?
There's no love to celebrate, unless she wants to celebrate three years of us being stuck in this so-called marriage.
“When have you ever been excited about this, Céline?” I eye her in suspicion.
“I’ve learned to move with the times. The sooner we accept that we're not ever leaving this marriage, the happier we'll be” Céline says just as Marie arrives with a tray of assorted whiskeys and food.
Why is she talking like this? She's always been the one avoiding me ever since we got married.
Now she's trying to get all comfortable around me all of a sudden.
What's she trying to get from me?
I move closer to her and notice that her eyes move from the fields to my eyes. Her cheeks turn red for a split second;
“Are you drunk?” I ask, breaking the silence.
She smiles, “And what if I am?”
“Well no wonder you're acting this way” I say, backing away. “You're drinking too much. You need to quit drinking so much, Céline, so that you could stop saying things as absurd as these.”
Céline doesn't reply. Instead she waves Marie off and leans against the railing with her back to the fields.
When Marie shuts the door, leaving us all alone, she drops her—now nearly empty—glass of wine on the table and moves farther down the balcony.
I can tell that she's angry and offended because of what I just said, but I don't feel the need to pretend to be in love with her just because of what today is.
“Let's just have dinner.” I say dismissively. “We can discuss other things over the meal.”
“You’re insufferable” she says, sucking her teeth.
“You know, a little hug would be fine.”
“Mm” I shake my head, not taking my eyes off my plate.
At this rate I just want to get my meal over with and leave, but Céline doesn't seem to want that.
She places a small silver box on the tray, next to my food, making me pause for a second.
“Pardon me if it's too small. It's really not that easy to figure out what a billionaire would want as a gift.”
“What is it?” I pick the object, weighing it in my hand.
“Your anniversary gift.” She replies plainly.
A gift?
Inside the box is a silver chain dotted with all sorts of precious stones. Being a jewellery enthusiast for almost all my life, Its appearance alone tells me that it's worth close to a hundred thousand euros.
I love every bit of it, but I don't feel comfortable with Céline being the one giving it to me, especially today.
“That's my grandfather's first piece; He never wanted to sell it because it was incredibly precious to him… or something like that.”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
There's no way she's taken a part of her family's assets and given it to me.
I place the chain back in the box and toss it back onto the tray, “That's an incredible family heirloom to carelessly give away.”
“You don't want it?”
“It'd be better off in your family’s possession—
“Other people would be ecstatic receiving that, you know.”
“I'm not like others, Céline” I say with a mouthful of food just as the door swings open.
Céline sucks her teeth once the yellow light from the inside spills into the balcony, her eyes narrowing at the young girl standing in the doorway.
“Don't you have manners?”
“It’s fine.” I stop her, brushing my fingers on her knee.
“What's the problem, Marie?”
“You have a ph—phonecall, Sir.” She starts.
“From who?”
“Andrew.”
Andrew?
Why the hell would Andrew call me at this time of the day?
I pick up the phone after excusing myself from the balcony, and soon enough Andrew's cough greets me.
“Bonsoir”
“Monsieur Du Monte's, you need to come to the office.” he bellows.
“At this time? Can't it wait till tomorrow?”
“I'm afraid it can't.”
“Why not?”
“I—I can't explain it over the phone, sir.”
He replies after a pause.
I ponder over it for a second, since it'd be rude to leave Céli
ne all alone on the balcony.
Especially since today is supposedly a special day.
Then again, Andrew's urgent calls are nothing to be taken lightly.
“Alright then. I’ll be there”
- Writer
