“Give me a second,” I uttered.
Gina knocked again, with more insistence this time.
“I’m coming!” I yelled, my frustration seeping through my voice.
I yanked the zipper shut with a final tug and swung the door open.
Eloïse stood on the other side, arms crossed and a scowl pulling at her face.
“Finally!” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “Are you deaf or just ignoring me?”
“I was busy,” I shot back, matching her irritation.
She scrutinized me with a raised eyebrow, her gaze flickeringover my appearance and the overstuffed backpack.
“Not getting ready for dinner, I hope,” Eloïse laughed, marching into my room as if it were hers. Well, I guess, in a way, it washerroom.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Eloïse shut the door behind her with a sharp click, her eyes scanning the room. When she didn’t find anything worth her attention, she turned back to me.
“You and I,” she said, pointing a finger at me, “we need to talk.”
She wore a sharp black suit, her open shirt revealing just enough. Her stiletto heels clicked with each step, echoing off the floor, and her straight brown hair framed a stern face that unsettled me more than my encounter with Laurent Dubois ever had.
Part of it might have been because I didn’t understand the Bastian-Eloïse-Gina dynamic or what role I played in it. But if I had gotten the right idea out of Antonia Hawtrey-Moore’s favourite child, I was sure she knew what she was doing. She had said it herself: monogamy wasn’t her thing. So, if she was with Bastian, it had to be casual. It was possible it was just to gather information on Saidi.
“And? Do you know why I’m here?” she said, brushing her hair out of her face.
“I can make a guess.”
She laughed.
“Go ahead.”
“You’re here because of Bastian.” My voice came out in a sharp, strained tone, betraying the anxiety that had tightened in my neck and strained my vocal cords.
Eloïse laughed louder.
“Because of Sebastian!” she echoed, pronouncing his name with a French accent. “No, no. Do you think this is jealousy? Is that what you think?”
I looked at the woman in front of me. Unfiltered, unretouched. So different from how I had seen her on social media or in gossip shows. Eloïse Hawtrey-Moore in the flesh, in her natural state. Jealousy was not Eloïse’s style. In two days and one night, I had learned that much. She struck me as the type who would dismiss jealousy with a wave of her hand, saying something like, “Oh, Vera, jealousy is so last century.” That was the kind of woman she was. When she showed up at your door with that intense gaze, it was clear that something far more significant than petty jealousy was at play. This was personal. This involved her family.
“I know Bastian has lost his mind over you,” she said with a sly smile. “I’d dare say that, when we met months ago, he didn’t use his brain much, already. But what more can you expect from a man?”
“What about Gina?” I asked. If I could extract something in favour of my friend, that would be even better.
Eloïse’s smile transformed before my eyes into a more cheerful one, which she quickly masked with a denial. Her hair fell over her face again.
“Apart from Bastian… I don’t think my love life is any of your business,” she said, changing the subject. “Come on, I’ll give you another chance. What brought me here, Vera? I don’t have all day.”
I didn’t mind the change of subject. Her expression told me everything I needed to know. Gina was lucky. In less than two days, she’d won over the most talked-about woman of the moment, and one of the richest. Well played.
As for why Eloïse was in my room… I thought I knew. The conversation I’d overheard in the living room had made it clear she held just as strong an opinion of me as I did of her.
“Okay. Second guess: you’re here because of Enzo.”
She wrinkled her nose.
