Chapter 23
Elena
When I descended the staircase, my hand gripping the banister perhaps too tightly for someone who was supposed to look effortlessly elegant, Étienne was standing in the foyer examining his phone. The click of my heels on marble made him look up, and his entire body went still.
The phone lowered slowly to his side, forgotten. His eyes tracked over me with an intensity that made heat bloom beneath the silk—starting at my pearl earrings, traveling down my throat where I could feel my pulse jumping visibly, across my bare collarbones, following the fitted bodice down to where the champagne silk parted with each step.
My breath caught. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the dress's neckline, my fingers tightening on the banister until I thought the wood might splinter. When his eyes finally returned to my face, something in his expression had cracked, and I felt an answering crack somewhere in my chest.
He looked at me like I was something he wanted and couldn't have, and that look sent heat pooling low in my belly, made my knees feel suddenly unsteady. I took the last few steps carefully, hyperaware of every movement, of the way the silk whispered against my skin, of the way his gaze followed me.
"Elena," he said, and my name sounded different—rougher, weighted with things unsaid. I felt my lips part slightly, my breath coming faster. He cleared his throat, and I watched the spell break as he remembered where we were, who we were supposed to be. "The dress is... You look..."
He stopped, jaw tightening. The silence stretched between us, charged with everything he wasn't saying, and I found myself leaning slightly forward, drawn toward him despite myself.
"Magnifique," he finally managed, but the word came out strained. "Absolument magnifique."
"Thank you, Uncle Étienne," I replied, deliberately emphasizing the title, and I saw something flash in his eyes—pain, maybe, or frustration. My own chest felt tight, and not just from the boning. I saw his fingers tighten around his phone, saw the muscle jump in his jaw, and I felt a small, dangerous thrill at having affected him this way.
Before the moment could stretch into something we'd both have to acknowledge, Isabelle's voice rang out from the drawing room. "Elena, chérie, come help me choose which necklace to wear!"
I had to force myself to move, to break away from Étienne's gaze. My legs felt shaky as I walked toward the drawing room, and I pressed one hand briefly against my stomach, trying to calm the butterflies rioting there.
I found Isabelle standing before her jewelry case with three stunning pieces laid out: diamonds, sapphires, emeralds.
She turned as I entered, her eyes sweeping over me with the practiced assessment of someone who'd spent decades navigating high society. "Parfait," she said, reaching out to adjust my shawl with gentle fingers, and I had to resist the urge to lean into her touch, to seek comfort the way a child might. "The dress suits you beautifully. You have the figure for couture—all those years of training have given you the kind of lines designers dream of."
She paused, understanding flickering in her eyes, and I felt my throat tighten with unexpected emotion. "Though I suspect you'll be grateful when the evening ends and you can breathe properly again."
"The boning is... constraining," I admitted, my hand moving unconsciously to my ribs.
"Beauty often is," she replied with a wry smile that made me feel less alone, then gestured to the necklaces. "Now, which do you think? The diamonds are classic, the sapphires match my dress, but I'm drawn to the emeralds."
I studied the pieces, grateful for something concrete to focus on, something that didn't involve the confusing tangle of emotions in my chest. I remembered everything Mother had taught me about reading social cues, and I straightened my shoulders, channeling her voice. "The emeralds," I said, my confidence growing as I spoke. "They're distinctive without being ostentatious. They'll stand out in photographs, which matters for a birthday of this importance. And they suggest confidence—you don't need to match because you're secure enough in your taste to create contrast."
Isabelle's smile widened, and I felt a warm glow of approval that I hadn't realized I'd been craving. "Spoken like someone who understands how these things work." She lifted the emerald necklace. "Will you help me with the clasp?"
As I fastened the heavy piece around her neck, my fingers fumbling slightly with the intricate mechanism—I had to try twice before it caught—she caught my eye in the mirror. "I have something for you to give me as well. From your mother."
I withdrew the velvet box from my clutch, my hands steadier now with purpose. Inside lay emerald earrings that had belonged to my grandmother—pieces Mother had held onto through everything, pieces she'd refused to sell even when money was tight. Just looking at them made my chest ache with a complicated mixture of homesickness and grief.
"She wanted you to have these for your birthday," I said, my voice going soft as I opened the box. "They were my grandmother's. Mother said they're meant for someone who understands the weight of family legacy."
Isabelle's hand trembled as she took the box, and I saw genuine emotion cross her face—the kind of raw feeling that made my own eyes prick with unexpected tears. "These are exquisite, Elena. And the sentiment..." She blinked rapidly, and I found myself doing the same. "Please thank Nadia for me. This means more than she might realize."
I nodded, not trusting my voice for a moment, my fingers twisting together in front of me.