Page 61 of Enemies to French Kisses
I take a long gulp.
“As lovely as it is to relive an old rivalry and older betrayals, I do have better moments to live tonight.Au revoir…” She wiggles her fingers as a wave goodbye and thankfully saunters off.
“You’ll want to be careful with her,” Charlotte says low, following Capucine with her eyes. “She can be… unpredictable.”
I lean toward Charlotte, confused by her change of tone since we last met, but none the less grateful for the social steer. “More like bat-crap crazy.”
Marc was in the middle of taking a big sip of champagne, which I’m sure he regrets as that bubbly just got spat a good foot in front of him and is worthy of the disgusted stares around us now. “Bat-crap crazy! Do you have any idea who Capucine is?”
I shrug. “If you have to ask the question…”
“She’s so new,” Charlotte says and then hooks her arm through mine, leading me to the edge of the ballroom. Marc looks panicked, but I remain flat-out confused by this about-face. “Everyone at this event has a background, and everyone has an agenda.”
“For example—” Marc leans over my shoulder, sandwiching me between him and Charlotte. He nods at a very tall, very skinny man with a mop of flowy hair. “See him? Son of the president.”
“I see.”
“And him?” Charlotte points with her nose, lowering her chin. “Heir to the LMA Corporation.”
“Wow,” I gasp, “the import-export company?”
Marc mutters, “As intheimport-export company who threatens to take over all other import-exports in Europe. And her?”
“Her face looks familiar.”
Charlotte pulls my chin close to whisper in my ear. “Descendent of the Louis dynasty.”
My eyelids pull up as I examine the woman. “Royalty? There’sroyaltyat your buddy’s engagement party?”
“Shhh,” Marc hushes. “The French don’t do well with the concept of royalty. You might recall what happened with her ancestors.”
“I heard she lost her head.” I giggle a little too enthusiastically and both Marc and Charlotte give me playful but reprimanding looks.
I’d better back off the champagne.
“Did something happen when you went to talk to Charlotte?” I whisper in Marc’s ear as Charlotte looks the other direction.
He nods and offers me a comforting smile. I’m sure he’ll explain everything later, but curiosity killed the cat, and this cat is rather perplexed by this turn of events.
“Oh, look!” Charlotte points with her champagne glass. “I absolutely have to tell you the story of Madame Baillairgé. It is a drama and a half!”
They spend the next fifteen minutes pointing out politicians and famous families and decision makers who will own a good part of the country within the next ten years, if they don’t already.
This party is a who’s who of twenty-somethings of French aristocracy.
Marc is mid-sentence about a perfume mogul when my stomach growls loud enough to bite him.
“Well then,” Charlotte cocks her head, “hungry?”
I cringe, blood rushing to my cheeks. “I might be.”
“You had better eat while you can. We don’t have long before Gabriel and Amelie will call us in for speeches, and those two are not known for their conciseness. Speaking of those two, let me find them and introduce you.” Charlotte squeezes her way through the crowd, and I finally have a chance to get some answers.
I grab Marc’s arm and pull him toward me. “What in the name of a swimming armadillo was all that about?”
“Charlotte listened to me. For the first time in at least fifteen years.”
“And she decided to be friendly?”
