Page 51 of Only You
Roulet left his hand on Damien’s shoulder as he stared at the floor. He was grateful for the gesture, not strong enough to move just yet. He may have only received half of Roulet’s love growing up but, at that moment, it was enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Paris
October 1896
From her bedroom window, Sabine could see the preparations for her wedding underway in the garden. Lamont wanted to go all out for the celebration. It wasn’t surprising; she was used to her future husband’s lavish taste by now. Today, it was simply magnified, especially thanks to her father’s suggestion that the wedding venue be changed to the Laurents’ estate to truly ‘make a statement’.
Arrangements were quickly adjusted and expanded. More flowers, more food, and more guests. The French may supposedly be private about their weddings, but she would not be surprised if the entire city knew all the details of the affair.
She was sure many would be envious of the layered bright white gown she wore. It had a high collar, and sleeves buttoned at her wrist. Jewels randomly adorned the full, lace-covered skirt. The only adornment left off were ruffles – a small victory on her part. She picked at the skirt, barely looking at herself in the mirror. She was more than happy to close her eyes as Madame Roulet pinned the veil in her hair, letting the fabric fall over her face carefully.
She couldn’t help but think about how her hair was down for once, the curls falling down her back past her shoulders. It looked just like it had in the rain… she turned away from her reflection.
‘Beautiful,’ Madame Rolet said, and Sandra agreed with happy tears in her eyes. Sabine didn’t bother mustering a matching smile. She was doing her duty, but she wouldn’t walk into it with a smile. It was the only thing her father couldn’t force her to do. Her lack of enthusiasm permeated into the atmosphere and Madame Roulet shifted awkwardly. ‘Sandra, could you see if they are ready to start?’
The maid nodded, quickly disappearing out the door. Only when the door closed did Madame Roulet return her attention to Sabine. She went to the vanity in the corner of the room – Sabine’s future room – and grabbed a handkerchief out of her bag. She lifted the veil and dabbed gently under Sabine’s eyes. Sabine blinked in surprise before touching her face.
She hadn’t realised she was crying.
She was about to scrub her face but Madame Roulet stopped her hands, squeezing them tightly while giving her a pitying look. It was something she had done since the day Damien left. No doubt the general had informed her of what had happened, which was embarrassing in one way and devastating in another. Yet, Madame Roulet said nothing, taking over as much of the wedding preparations as possible. It was the only thing she could do and Sabine tried her best to appreciate it.
‘We have to put on the gloves now,’ Madame Roulet reminded gently. Sabine nodded solemnly, letting go. She slipped on the white silk gloves that were waiting on a table nearby. Her outfit was complete just as there was a knock on the door.
‘Madame, they’re ready,’ Sandra said through the door.
Madame Roulet motioned to the door, eyes more despondent than she thought possible for the lively woman. ‘Shall we?’
There was only one answer.
The wedding was beautiful, a perfect and traditional French affair. Sabine looked beautiful in her snow-white dress and diamond encrusted jewellery, courtesy of Madame Laurent. Lamont looked equally handsome, wearing a formal black suit and white shirt. She contemplated the unintentional black-and-white theme of her wedding. All she could see was the contrast. Light and dark. Foreign and domestic. Before and after, one becoming the other after all papers were signed and the chaste kiss the ceremony called for.
They quickly transitioned to thele vin d’honneur, a dazzling reception in the ballroom. Tables were laden with wine and gifts despite it being so early in the day. People milled around in their finest as they drank glasses of champagne. Every person she passed congratulated her on a marvellous event, stating how beautiful she looked in her dress. She barely had enough time to thank them before she was being pulled along to meet someone new. It was dizzying and the wine did nothing to help the sickness in her stomach.
‘Excuse me, Madame Laurent,’ a familiar voice spoke from behind her. Sabine whipped around quickly, freezing when she spotted her father with a proud look on his face.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Father.’
Her cold reception took him aback, but he quickly adjusted his expression to that of a joyous father. She could probably blame the alcohol for her lack of fear as he approached. Or maybe it was the finality that erased any intimidation she would have felt otherwise. Her father took the glass from her hand as he kissed her temple.
‘Should I be concerned with how much you’re drinking?’ he continued quietly under his breath.
‘It’s a party,’ she said through her teeth. ‘One you have arranged perfectly.’
‘Sabine, smile,’ he warned. ‘It’s your wedding day.’
She scoffed. ‘I’ve secured your business ventures. Now, all I have to do is force a baby out and I’ll have used up all my importance for everyone in this room. Enjoy the dinner.’ She started to step away when her father pulled her back.
‘You don’t talk like that to me, Sabine,’ he snapped under his breath.
She stared daggers at him, truly offended at the insinuation that she was still his to control. ‘Madame Laurent,’ she corrected. ‘I now have more power than you. And after tonight I will use it to make sure I never have to see you again.’
‘Sabine.’
‘I willneverforgive you,’ she whispered. Her father’s eyes widened and his grip loosened. She ripped her arm from his and stepped back from him. She hoped he could see that her loyalty was gone. She was free to hate him as much as she wanted.
The tense moment was interrupted when Lamont came over.
