Page 19 of The Exception

She considered me, and I wondered if she was going to answer me. Finally, she said, “Between traveling for my blog and restoring the château, I’m beyond exhausted and overwhelmed. I used to love traveling. Part of me still does, but I need a break. But without the income from my blog, I’ll never be able to renovate the château. Even with it, well…” She blew out a breath, her shoulders slumping.

She was right. I knew how costly a renovation like that could be. Even so, I hated seeing her so defeated.

“Maybe everyone’s right,” she continued. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing and I should just give up and sell the château.”

I gnashed my teeth. I knew what it was like to have to fight for your vision. It was part of the reason I was so determined to gain control of the board. I didn’t want to have to answer to them ever again.

I couldn’t help but draw some parallels between Liliana’s situation and my own. I glanced at the dahlias, wondering why they’d stuck out to me. Why I’d thought of my gran. I saw flowers every day, and yet it wasn’t until now, until I was with Lily, that I’d remembered my gran’s coded messages.

My eyes lingered on the petals of the dahlias.Kindness. Steadfastness. Creativity.

I might not believe in fate, but this moment, this meeting, felt like the universe was trying to send me a message. And what I was about to propose was nothing short of creative.

“Maybe I can help,” I said. “Maybe we could help each other.”

CHAPTERFIVE

Help?How in the world was I going to help Graham?

His expression had turned contemplative, and I wanted to know what he was thinking. Part of me wanted to take back my confession, erase my moment of weakness when I’d told him the truth about the château and my blog. But another part of me felt such a profound sense of relief, of release.

Graham understood. And it was nice to know that I had someone like him—powerful, business-savvy—in my corner. Even if it was only temporary.

A knock at the door to his suite interrupted my thoughts. Graham was already on his feet, answering it and returning with a bowl.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Dry rice. For your phone.” He went over to my phone and placed it in the bowl.

“Thank you,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if it would actually work. Like my efforts to save the château, it might be too little, too late.

He grunted, returning to the bar, pouring himself another drink before holding up my almost-empty glass. I hesitated then said, “Okay. Maybe a little more.” I held up my thumb and forefinger.

While his back was turned, I patted my hair, paranoid that my wig had moved out of place even though I knew it was unlikely. The wig was made to look natural and to allow me to do any number of activities, from dancing to swimming. I knew that. And I knew how well it could hold in place, but I still found myself checking it frequently.

I wasn’t ready to feel completely naked before Graham. The fact that I was wearing nothing but a robe while he was dressed in slacks and a crisp button-down shirt was bad enough.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him in anything else. I wondered if that was exhausting. To always seem so put together. So on top of everything. If he wore his uniform like a shield, just as I wore my wig to cover my insecurities.

He placed our glasses on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch once more. “How much do you think you need for the renovation?”

I sank back down into the cushions, taking the glass in my hand. “My architect and I plan to do it in phases. Right now, we’re working on getting the roof and stone facades restored.” That had been a huge relief, even though it was far from finished. Once it was, though, the west wing would be watertight, and I’d finally be able to start on some of the interior projects.

“For that portion alone,” I continued, “the estimated cost is one million euros. With a projected timeline of two years. Fortunately, the DRAC agreed to support sixty percent of that.” The maximum amount of funding theDirection régionale des affaires culturellescould provide.

“And you pay the other forty percent?”

He acted as if €200,000 was no big deal. Though, I supposed, to him—a man with billions in his bank account—it wasn’t.

“Yes. For that phase of the works.”

“And after that?” he asked.

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

I explained how the heritage funding worked and what it did and didn’t include. I was overwhelmed just thinking about the scope of the project and the potential cost.

“If you had to guess…”

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