Chapter 3: The Thank-You Letters
2087 Words
How bad could he be? Worse than the vultures circling her father’s company, those uncles who had swooped in before her father had even taken his last breath?
Antoine wasn’t like that. He was the one who had taken care of her father’s affairs, married her to keep the company from being torn apart by greed, and ensured her father’s legacy wouldn’t be lost. As far as Sophie could tell, there wasn’t anyone else she could rely on now.
It was ironic. When her father was alive, she’d never felt this helpless. They used to have dinners with those very same uncles and relatives, all smiles and small talk. But the minute her father passed away, their true colors showed.
Now, she was alone, inexperienced, and vulnerable. The roof she had always assumed would protect her had been ripped away by a sudden gust of wind, leaving her exposed. Antoine was the only one offering her shelter.
“Bad guys don’t invest in charity projects,” Sophie said quietly.
“I didn’t invest in the project,” Antoine replied. “I invested in you.”
“What’s the difference?” she asked, her voice softer now.
Antoine smiled, that familiar guarded smile. Sophie had known for a while that his smiles were rarely genuine, but he was good at hiding it. He always kept up appearances, never letting his expression fall in public.
But it wasn’t mockery or scorn in his smile. It was more like a shield, something to put others at ease while keeping himself distant. And oddly, whenever Antoine smiled, Sophie felt like everything might be okay, like the world wasn’t as bad as it seemed.
She smiled back, though hers was shaky and half-hearted. She was exhausted, in every sense of the word.
It was Friday. She would normally have had a tennis class, one she had only ended up in because she couldn’t pick her courses fast enough. The thought of playing under the blazing sun had been enough to make her take a day off, using their wedding registration as an excuse.
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
“Want to see your room?” Antoine asked.
Sophie nodded.
She wasn’t worried about him trying anything—he didn’t need to. The apartment had two bedrooms, both bright and spacious, and hers was on the right side of the hall.
“Stay here during breaks, alright? Try not to go back to the old house,” Antoine said, his tone as steady as always.
Sophie nodded again.
Her old house—the family villa—had been bought in the company’s name, a tax strategy her father had implemented when he was alive. No one had questioned it then, but now that he was gone, the relatives were circling, using every excuse to try to get their hands on it.
“I’ll be staying in France for the next two years,” Antoine said, his gaze drifting across the room. “Except for business trips. I’ll be here.”
Sophie looked at him, surprised. “Why the sudden return? Don’t you already have hotels here?”
“I want more,” he said simply. “The hotel industry is booming, and I want my share.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is it a good business?”
Antoine’s lips twitched into a smile. “It’s profitable.”
“‘Profitable’ as in millions, or billions?”
He laughed softly, the sound warm and amused. “Billions.”
“Must be nice,” she mused, a hint of envy in her voice.
“Still worried about money?” he asked, his smile fading slightly.
Sophie nodded, unable to hide her concerns. “I know you’re a good person, and I trust you’ll give the company back when the time comes. But I can’t help worrying. I don’t know how to run a business, and I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything my father built. I’ve been thinking… maybe I should just sell it, put the money in the bank. It would be safer than watching it fail under my control.”
Antoine studied her, his expression thoughtful. “Do you want me to tell you something comforting or the truth?”
Sophie blinked, surprised by the question. “Can I choose neither?”
Antoine chuckled. “Of course.”
Sophie smiled, feeling some of the tension ease. She turned toward her bedroom door. “This is my room. And the one across the hall is yours, right?”
“That’s right.”
He wasn’t planning on sharing a bed with her, and for that, Sophie was quietly relieved. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but this arrangement was already overwhelming enough without that added complication.
The conversation had run its course, and she knew she should just head to bed, but something made her pause. She couldn’t quite bring herself to walk away from the safety Antoine had offered her. The weight of everything was still pressing down on her, making her eyes blur with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.
Antoine tilted his head, looking at her carefully. “I don’t remember you being so emotional.”
Sophie wiped at her eyes quickly, not wanting to cry in front of him. “You don’t know me that well.”
“Don’t I?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“We’ve only met a few times,” Sophie said. “It’s not like we’re close.”
“You’ve written me letters.”
Sophie couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing, the sound sudden and bright. “You make it sound like I’ve been sending you love letters.”
“Well,” Antoine said with a grin, “Chloe—my secretary—seemed to think so.”
Sophie’s laughter grew louder. “Who’s Chloe?”
“My secretary. She thought some young girl had been sending me love letters for four years.”
“And what did you tell her?” Sophie asked, wiping away the last of her tears.
“I told her the girl was too young, and I wasn’t interested in going to jail,” Antoine said, his tone deadpan.
Sophie doubled over, clutching her sides as she laughed harder. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, catching the light as she bent forward. When she finally straightened, her cheeks were flushed, but she felt lighter, less burdened.
Antoine walked over and turned on the lights. The sun had set, and the room was growing dim.
“Better now?” he asked.
Sophie nodded, still smiling.
“Good,” he said, his voice soft. “Now go get some rest. Sleep for an hour.”
“What about you?” Sophie asked, her tone quieting.
“I’m not coming into your room,” Antoine replied.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” he said, his eyes steady. “But you’re still not sure whether you can trust me.”
Sophie hesitated, unsure how to respond. She knew Antoine wasn’t playing games with her. He wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t. But maybe that’s what made him so hard to read—he was honest in a way that left no room for illusion.
Still, she felt… safe. At least, as safe as she could feel with someone like him. He had spent time with her, taken care of her when he didn’t have to, and even now, he was trying to ease her burdens.
“Thank you,” Sophie said one last time, more seriously this time. “Goodnight.”
She closed the door behind her.
It was late afternoon when she lay down, but when she woke up, the room was pitch black. For a moment, Sophie thought it was morning and that she had slept through the night. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fumbled for her phone, only to realize that it was still Friday evening.
She sighed, relieved, and switched on the bedside lamp.
Antoine was gone. She wasn’t surprised. He was always deliberate, leaving her space and time to adjust to this new reality. Tomorrow was Saturday, and the funeral for her father was set for Sunday. They had agreed that after the funeral, they would return to the villa to gather her belongings and leave the rest behind for now.
Friday night passed in a blur. Antoine didn’t come back, leaving Sophie with more freedom than she had expected. But despite the quiet, she didn’t sleep well.
The next morning, Sophie woke early, her mind restless. She dressed quickly and ate a simple breakfast of cereal and milk before heading out the door. The morning air was still cool, the sun not yet high enough to burn through the early dew.
Sophie took the bus back to the villa. Since March, she had received several thank-you letters from students her charity had helped. She wanted to collect them from the study before she saw Antoine again, thinking she might hand them over to him as a small gesture of appreciation.
By the time the bus reached its stop, the sun was higher in the sky, and Sophie began the walk up the hill to the villa. It wasn’t far, but it was steep, and Sophie had never walked it before. In the past, cars had always taken her where she needed to go.
Now, though, she felt like she needed to walk. She needed the effort, the discomfort. It reminded her that she was no longer the sheltered girl she used to be. Her father was gone, and the life of privilege she had taken for granted was slipping through her fingers. She had to learn how to stand on her own.
Halfway up the hill, the sun began to beat down more intensely, and Sophie wiped the sweat from her forehead. She reached for the electronic lock at the villa’s gate, but it wouldn’t open no matter how hard she tried.
Alarm bells rang in her mind. Stepping back, she scanned the area and noticed a small camera installed near the entrance, one that hadn’t been there before.
When Antoine arrived, Sophie was sitting in the villa’s living room, surrounded by a group of her relatives. They were flushed with anger, having already engaged in a heated argument with her.
Antoine had warned her not to return to the villa. These relatives, who had gained nothing from her father’s estate, were not going to let Sophie off easily.
Though the villa had never been theirs to claim, her father had left behind only Sophie, his young, vulnerable daughter. That made them think they could get a piece of the pie.
Antoine didn’t rush to pull her out of the mess. Instead, he calmly suggested that they talk in the study. Her relatives, after some deliberation, allowed them to go, probably assuming they couldn’t run away anyway.
Once they were in the study, Antoine closed the door behind them, and Sophie went straight to the bookshelf. She crouched down, searching for the stack of letters.
“You argued with them?” Antoine asked from behind her.
“Yeah,” Sophie said, still looking through the papers. “And I lost.”
“I thought you understood why I told you not to come back here.”
“I do.”
“Then why come back alone?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration.
“I thought it was early enough that no one would be here,” she muttered, her eyes scanning the floor. “They’ve installed cameras.”
Antoine sighed. “Sophie—”
“Sorry, Antoine,” she interrupted, using his full name.
He stopped mid-sentence, watching as she stood and turned to face him.
Her cheeks were flushed, either from the heat or the confrontation, and her eyes were red around the edges, probably from holding back tears. But her expression was determined as she held up a small stack of letters.
“I came back to get these,” she said, waving the letters at him. Her voice was steady, though her eyes glistened.
Antoine’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of her, standing there with her thank-you letters in hand, like they were the most important thing in the world.
“Mr. Lefevre,” she said, her smile growing wider as she held the letters higher. “I came to give you this year’s thank-you letters.”
- Writer
