Mathéo Boucher: A Christmas Deal

Chapter 2: Eloise

I smiled as convincingly as I could, fixing my attention on Amber and doing my best to appear engaged. It wasn’t easy. I hadn’t wanted to be here—not tonight, not at all. The idea of socializing felt exhausting, almost cruel, when all I truly wanted was to be curled up at home in my pajamas, a pint of ice cream balanced on my stomach, some ridiculous romantic comedy playing in the background while Leah and I mocked every predictable plot twist.

That had been the plan in my head. Comfort. Familiarity. Safety.

But my father had been immovable. Once Tobias Hayden made a decision, it was final—unchangeable, unquestionable. And so here I was, dressed impeccably, hair styled just so, standing beneath crystal chandeliers instead of the soft glow of my living room lamp.

“I mean, now the night has just turned twenty times better,” Amber gushed, her excitement spilling out of her as she flicked her hands animatedly. Amanda Darlington had already been pushed aside by her enthusiasm—something all of the Nightwall sisters had a talent for. “I cannot wait to see what kind of trouble we’ll get into tonight.”

She was referring to a version of me that no longer existed. The Eloise she’d met when I was fourteen—the girl who had thought the world was wide open, limitless. The one who climbed trees at summer camp, who sneaked out after curfew, who skinny-dipped in the lake a few miles from the cottages and laughed like there would never be consequences.

That girl had been real once.

Now, she felt like a memory I’d borrowed from someone else’s life.

“Especially now that you’re single,” Amber continued, grinning as she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Eloise Hayden—single, and most definitely ready to mingle. Am I right?”

The words stung more than I expected. Because I wasn’t ready. Not even a little. The thought of mingling—of smiling at strangers, of entertaining interest I didn’t feel—made my chest tighten. Everything with Ashton had left marks I hadn’t yet figured out how to hide properly.

Mother had been… gentler than I anticipated. She’d told me it was normal, that heartbreak was inevitable when the first boy you truly loved walked away. She’d brushed my hair back, murmured reassurances, and told me I would heal in time.

Father, however, had reacted exactly as I should have known he would.

Tobias Hayden was a proud man. A stoic man. A man who measured worth in legacy and optics rather than feelings. Hayden Jewelry had been passed down through generations—from eldest son to eldest son—dating back to the eighteenth century. He carried that weight with rigid pride, wore it like armor. Being the CEO of a billion-dollar company wasn’t just his job; it was his identity.

And he was deeply unhappy to have a daughter who couldn’t keep a man satisfied.

He had sat me down when I was thirteen, his posture straight, his expression severe, and explained—calmly, clinically—the responsibilities I would shoulder as his eldest daughter. I was to marry well. Influence mattered. Reputation mattered. My future husband needed to be capable of taking over the company when the time came.

He’d told me how a wife should behave. That I should be educated, but never intimidating. Intelligent, but never boastful. Beautiful, always. Composed, at all times. To keep a man, I needed to look a certain way, speak a certain way, be a certain way.

When I began mentioning Ashton during school breaks, Father’s interest sharpened. He asked questions—about his family, his lineage, his prospects. He was almost pleased to learn Ashton was the second son of William Clarksworth III, a powerful figure woven tightly into Britain’s upper class, a man whose influence in the stock market was spoken of in hushed tones.

To Father, Ashton had been perfect.

But that wasn’t why I fell in love with him at sixteen.

I loved him because he was kind. Because he laughed at my jokes. Because he looked at me like I was something precious rather than strategic. His green eyes were warm, his light brown hair always slightly tousled, his dimples giving his youthful face an almost unfair charm.

I loved how easy it felt to be his.

We met at boarding school—the one Mother insisted I attend in hopes it would tame my wild streak. She believed structure would mold me into the woman I was destined to become. Instead, I rebelled. And perhaps that rebellion was what drew Ashton to me. Maybe that was what intrigued him. Maybe that was why he chose me.

God, how I loved being his.

The way his hand fit perfectly in mine. The way he kissed me without caring who might see. The way he’d call my name down the hallway, his accent curling around it like a promise. He adored me openly, loudly, without shame.

He had been my first everything—my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first time. And now, he was my first heartbreak.

When Father found out, he had me sent home immediately, telling the school I needed extended leave for the holidays. At first, I thought it was concern—that he wanted me close, wanted to make sure I was alright.

I should have known better.

The moment I stepped through the door, his expression hardened. He scolded me. Asked if he hadn’t taught me well enough. If I was incapable of keeping a man by my side. And then he moved swiftly into damage control.

Which was precisely why I was standing here tonight.

“Oh, I am so ready to mingle,” I said, pasting on my most convincing smile as I turned back to Amber. “In fact, why don’t you help me navigate this whirlwind?”

Father had given me a choice—though it hadn’t truly been one. I could either become his favorite daughter or his greatest disappointment. Failure was not an option.

I needed to find another prospect. A man suitable in my father’s eyes. Someone influential. Someone respectable. Someone I could tolerate, at the very least. Someone I could give heirs to. Someone I could build a life with. And maybe—if I were lucky—someone I could learn to love.

“I would love to,” she beamed, linking her arm through mine as she immediately began guiding us forward, her energy infectious despite my lingering reluctance.

The Winter Auction was a yearly event—one I had never attended before, yet one at which my presence was suddenly deemed essential. According to my mother, being invited was already an honor, but being elected to host it was the highest form of social praise. Something she herself had coveted for years. Tonight, Ava Kim held that distinction, and the entire Upper East Side had turned out to witness it.

The room was overwhelming in its excess. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished marble floors, the air heavy with expensive perfume, champagne, and quiet ambition. Everywhere I looked, I saw tailored suits and couture gowns, polite smiles masking sharp intentions. This wasn’t a gathering—it was a marketplace. One where reputations were weighed, alliances were tested, and futures were quietly negotiated.

“Well,” Amber began as we wove our way through the bodies of New York’s elite, clearly in her element. “We have all of the familiar names,” she said, nodding subtly toward the men she passed as she spoke. “Christian Howard is here—people say he’ll take over his father’s company any day now. And Joshua Wilkins, of course. Guaranteed wealth and prosperity, but both of them are notorious players.”

I nodded, committing the names to memory even as my stomach twisted slightly. I had been raised to observe, to catalog, to remember. If this were to be my hunting ground, then I needed to know exactly who populated it.

“Then there’s Clint Konnell,” Amber continued, gesturing toward a man standing near the edge of the room, his posture relaxed, his smile warm as he spoke to a woman beside him. “His mother just announced that he’s more than ready to find a fiancée.”

I studied him briefly. Late twenties, perhaps. Auburn hair slicked back neatly, thin black frames accentuating intelligent blue eyes. He wore his suit comfortably, like it was an extension of himself rather than a costume. There was an ease to him that suggested confidence earned, not inherited.

“It was a scandal when he decided not to follow his father into the stock market,” Amber added. “He went into media instead. But his latest documentary is getting Oscar buzz, so suddenly everyone’s forgiven him.”

I filed that away too.

Amber continued listing names as we moved through the crowd, offering background, scandals, advantages—everything I needed to know. She might have been exhausting at times, a true socialite to her core, but she was observant, informed, and precise. I made sure not to miss a single detail.

Then I saw him.

“Who’s he?” I asked quietly, my voice dropping without conscious intent as I gestured toward the most handsome man I had ever seen.

He stood slightly apart from the rest, his presence commanding without effort. His skin carried a subtle warmth beneath the lights, his dark hair combed back neatly. One large hand cradled the stem of a glass filled with deep red wine, the liquid catching the light as he moved. His suit fit him impeccably, tailored to perfection, emphasizing broad shoulders and a lean, powerful build.

There was nothing flashy about him. Nothing desperate.

And yet, I couldn’t look away.

“Oh, that’s not for you,” Amber laughed softly, shaking her head. “That’s Mathéo Boucher—the second son of Antón Boucher.”

I turned to look at her, interest flaring unexpectedly. “He’s already taken?”

“God, I hope so,” she nearly groaned, her expression bordering on reverent. “I’ve been making eyes at him all year. Hopefully, tonight he’ll finally make his interest clear.”

I merely nodded as Amber led us toward the bar. The waiter immediately handed us two glasses of champagne without question. At events like these, rules were flexible. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t yet twenty-one. It mattered that I was a Hayden—and Haydens were never told no.

“Uh,” Amber muttered, her voice dropping as she took a sip, “he’s coming this way. Quickly—tell me something.”

I frowned slightly. Shouldn’t she want me gone? Out of the way? So she could have him to herself?

“Like what?” I asked.

“What kind of man do we need to find for you?” she asked, her gaze fixed just over my shoulder, her attention already drifting elsewhere as I began to speak.

I didn’t hesitate. I knew this script well.

“I need someone who understands business,” I said, listing the requirements my father had instilled in me. “Someone who wants to be in the game. Someone ambitious, driven. He needs charisma. He needs to be dramatic and stoic—but not loudly so.”

Amber hummed in response, no longer even pretending to focus. I could feel it then—the awareness creeping up my spine, the unmistakable sense of someone standing directly behind me. Heat brushed my back, unfamiliar and unsettling.

“But what do you want?” she asked, surprising me by still listening at all.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What do you want in a man, Eloise?” she repeated, amusement lacing her voice. “I know what your father wants—it’s the same thing mine wants. But what do you want?”

The question caught me off guard. I bit down on my lip, unsure how to answer. I wasn’t certain I’d ever truly been allowed to consider it.

Before I could respond, the waiter behind me spoke, his voice smooth and practiced.

“Mr. Boucher, how can I assist you?”

And then I heard it. His voice.

It slid over me slowly, rich and textured, like it reached directly into my chest and wrapped itself around something fragile and exposed. It wasn’t loud or dramatic—just assured. Controlled. Unapologetic.

“Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. Two thousand nine.”

The accent alone sent a shiver down my spine. The way he pronounced the words—precise, effortless—made my pulse stutter. I had the strangest thought then, fleeting and ridiculous, wondering if I had always been susceptible to accents, or if it was simply his.

“Well?” Amber prodded, impatience edging into her tone.

I straightened my spine, forcing myself back into the present, back into control.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I said quietly. “It matters what I need.”

And with that decision—spoken so calmly, so decisively—I set myself on a path of hollow dates, strained conversations with my father, and a heartbreak that never quite healed.