Chapter 4: If You Want, I Can
2241 Words
It was like tossing pebbles into a still pond.
For four years, Sophie Martin had been sending her little “surprises” to Antoine Lefevre, rippling the calm surface of his life. Each year, like clockwork, she would text him for his mailing address, and Chloe, his secretary, would place the letters at the top of his paperwork, as though they were something to be anticipated.
Each letter, each thank-you note from Sophie, was like a delicate ripple. Small, seemingly insignificant, but each one reached him. These were not grand gestures, but they were a continuation of something unexpected, something unguarded.
Antoine had grown used to it, this strange tradition between them. Whether it was the charity project she had proposed years ago, the casual million euros he had given her to fund it, or the thank-you letters she sent in return. It was all part of a dance Sophie didn’t even know she was leading.
Antoine raised his hand and locked the door to the study.
“Do you have everything?” he asked.
Sophie nodded, clutching the small stack of envelopes tightly in her hands.
Antoine pulled out his phone and calmly dialed the police. He didn’t care about the relatives waiting outside. Chloe was already handling them.
The police arrived quickly, followed by Chloe, who strode in confidently, her black hair tied neatly at the back, her sharp business attire making her look like a force to be reckoned with. She was the kind of woman who commanded respect without saying a word.
Chloe stayed behind to speak with the officers, while Antoine ushered Sophie out of the villa. The car was waiting outside, air conditioning cooling the interior, offering Sophie a much-needed breath of relief.
In her hands were the three letters she had meant to give Antoine. They were her “thank-you” notes for the year.
“One is from a girl named Lisette,” Sophie began, turning the envelopes over in her hands. “I’ve been sponsoring her for four years, and she just got into the top middle school in her district. You might remember her from the last letter. Another is from the school—they thanked me for providing sanitary supplies for the girls. And the last one is from a teacher. They used the donation to renovate the playground.”
Her voice was calm, as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t just been cornered by her father’s greedy relatives.
Antoine glanced at her. “What happened to your arm?”
Sophie froze for a moment, then looked down at the red mark on her skin. “Someone grabbed me when I tried to leave. It’s nothing.”
“Why did you come today?” Antoine asked, his eyes narrowing.
Sophie held the letters a little tighter. “I thought it would be a surprise to give them to you tomorrow in person.”
The car was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning. Sophie could almost hear the sigh in her own heart. She had wanted to give Antoine a surprise, a thank-you. Instead, she had caused a scene.
“What were you doing before I called you?” she asked, her voice soft.
“What do you mean?” Antoine replied, turning his attention to her.
“I mean, what were you doing before I called?” she repeated.
“I was in a meeting,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“So early?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Time zones,” he said simply.
“Sorry for interrupting your meeting,” Sophie said, her apology sincere.
Antoine glanced at her. “Where’s yours?”
“My what?”
“Your thank-you letter,” he clarified.
“I was planning on writing it today,” Sophie admitted.
“Make sure you write it well,” Antoine said, his voice even.
Sophie hesitated, surprised by his seriousness, but she nodded.
The trees lining the street blurred by as the car drove through the early morning light. Before long, they arrived at a restaurant—one of Antoine’s newest ventures. Sophie hadn’t realized it until they pulled up in front of the sleek, glassy façade. It was a high-end hotel, with a rooftop restaurant named Le Ciel Bleu.
She looked over at Antoine as they stepped inside, the cool air and the scent of fresh roses filling the space. The restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, offering a breathtaking view. The tables were set with white linens, the chandeliers overhead sparkled like stars, and the walls were adorned with European art.
They took their seats by the window, and Sophie picked up the menu, flipping through a few pages before handing it over to Antoine.
“You choose.”
Antoine ordered nearly everything on the menu.
Sophie stared at him, wide-eyed. “I can’t eat all of this.”
“It’s fine. We’re here to try the food,” Antoine said with a small smile.
It dawned on her then—this wasn’t just breakfast. Antoine was inspecting the hotel, checking on his investment. He had mentioned he would be spending more time in France, focusing on the domestic hotel industry. Sophie was relieved. He wasn’t staying just for her; she wasn’t the reason for his presence here.
For once, she didn’t feel burdened by the weight of his kindness.
The dishes arrived one by one, and Antoine passed half of each to her, a quiet invitation to share the meal with him. It was strange how comfortable it felt, sitting across from him like this. They had only met a few times over the years, and yet there was a familiarity between them, a sense of ease.
When Chloe called to update Antoine on the situation at the villa, he listened carefully before informing Sophie that the security cameras had been removed and that legal action was being taken against the relatives.
“I won’t be pleading for them,” Sophie said firmly.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Antoine replied, his tone neutral.
The clink of cutlery filled the space, and after a moment, Sophie leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table.
“You seem to know me pretty well,” she said, her eyes meeting his.
“I’ve known you since you were sixteen,” Antoine replied, cutting into his steak.
“We’ve only met a few times,” Sophie insisted, still trying to make sense of the familiarity between them.
“I like to form impressions of people the first time I meet them,” Antoine said, his voice casual.
“And are you usually right about them?” Sophie asked, genuinely curious.
“In my thirty years, I’ve never been wrong,” he said, his tone confident, but not boastful.
Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded arrogant. But with Antoine, it felt more like a simple statement of fact.
“What did you think of me?” Sophie asked, setting her fork down and leaning in further.
“I thought you were interesting,” Antoine replied.
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Interesting?”
“Someone worth paying attention to,” Antoine clarified.
Sophie pondered this for a moment. “So, in your eyes, I’m like a circus act?”
Antoine laughed, the sound low and genuine. His long fingers deftly sliced the steak into even pieces before placing a portion on her plate.
“I don’t feed circus acts Wagyu beef,” he said with a smirk.
Sophie gave him a look, but couldn’t help smiling as she took a bite. The meat melted in her mouth, rich and flavorful.
After a few moments, Sophie’s expression grew more serious. “Can you tell?”
“Tell what?”
“That I’m not really… grieving my father anymore.”
Antoine paused, his fork suspended in mid-air.
It had been nearly a month since her father’s death. The first week had been the hardest, with Sophie unable to attend classes or even leave the house. Her professors had been understanding, giving her time to recover.
But after that first week, something shifted. The sadness that had once consumed her seemed to dry up. She wasn’t numb, but the tears stopped, and the fear began to creep in. Fear of the future, fear of the company falling apart, fear of everything unraveling.
“My father and I… we weren’t that close,” Sophie admitted, her voice quiet. “He was a good man. He provided for me, gave me everything I could ever need. But we weren’t close. He wasn’t the kind of father who was… emotionally available. We didn’t have that bond.”
She glanced at Antoine, watching his reaction. When the server came with another dish, Antoine waved them away, signaling for privacy.
He was listening, really listening, and it gave Sophie the courage to keep going.
“Maybe I’m just not that… emotional,” she said, her brow furrowing as she tried to explain herself. “But the truth is, a week after he died, I was more worried about myself than I was sad about him.”
There was a heavy silence between them as Sophie lowered her gaze, staring at the edge of the table.
“It’s a little inappropriate,” Antoine said calmly.
Sophie’s heart sank.
“If it were me,” Antoine continued, “I would’ve been worried about myself the first night.”
Sophie blinked, looking up at him in disbelief.
Antoine leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Self-preservation is human nature. As long as you’re within the bounds of the law, putting yourself first is natural. Once you’ve secured your own future, you can afford to grieve for a little while. I didn’t realize this was bothering you.”
Sophie had judged Antoine the moment she met him, just as he had judged her. And now, as she looked at him, she realized how different he was from her father. He wasn’t the distant, authoritative figure her father had been. He was Antoine, the man who found her “interesting,” who had given her a million euros without a second thought, who had, in his own way, made her feel seen.
“How long should someone grieve a parent?” Sophie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Antoine’s lips curved into a faint smile. “There’s no standard for that. It depends on the person. But, Sophie, I want to remind you that no one is judging your grief, or your relationship with your father.”
His words cut through her like a surgeon’s scalpel, precise and clear. And for the first time in a long time, Sophie felt like she could breathe again.
“After the funeral, I’ll go back to being the Sophie Martin I used to be,” she said, her voice steady.
Antoine raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of Sophie Martin is that?”
“The interesting kind,” Sophie replied, her lips curling into a playful smile.
Antoine chuckled. “I’ll be waiting.”
The funeral on Sunday was a quiet affair. Few relatives showed up after the drama of the past few weeks, and Sophie was glad for it. She didn’t want to deal with any more facades.
Antoine had handled all the arrangements. The venue was high-end, the service dignified. He had even arranged for a bouquet of flowers to be placed by her father’s casket, a final gesture of respect.
When the service ended, a light drizzle began to fall, misting the air with cool drops. Sophie didn’t bother with an umbrella, letting the rain fall on her face.
She didn’t have many clear memories of her mother, but her father had been a constant presence, even if he hadn’t always been emotionally available. He had provided for her, given her the best life he could. And now, he was gone.
Antoine approached, holding an umbrella over her head. “Ready to go?”
Sophie nodded. “Yeah.”
The ride back to the city was quiet, the rain picking up as they drove. The windows fogged up, blurring the world outside. Sophie caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
Antoine finished a work call, and Sophie turned toward him, reaching into her bag.
“I brought this year’s thank-you letters,” she said, handing him a folder.
Antoine took the folder, flipping through the letters. He barely glanced at the ones from the students and teachers. His eyes went straight to the last letter, the one from Sophie.
He pulled it from the envelope, his fingers tracing the edge of the white paper. The first line read: Antoine Lefevre, thank you.
It was the first time Sophie had addressed him by his full name.
Antoine’s eyes flicked up to meet hers as he continued reading.
If you want, I can.
Sophie was dressed in a sleek black dress, her long hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her dark brows framed her wide eyes, and her lips were painted a deep red. There was something resolute in her expression, something final, as if she had made peace with the decision she had been turning over in her mind.
Antoine raised an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping across his face.
The fruit had ripened, and it was offering itself willingly.
- Writer
