Page 8 of Only You
‘Curious.’ Something stirred inside him as he remembered the way their eyes had met and recalled the defiance in her gaze. He looked up to see Roulet looking at him suspiciously.
‘You seemed to be reluctant about the job in the study. Though Kwame can be persistent, I can smooth things over with him if you’re not comfortable.’
‘You would champion for a fool like me?’ Damien teased.
‘Answer honestly,’ he commanded, facing him. ‘What do you truly think of Sabine?’
Damien sighed. Not for the first time, he wished that Roulet was like him. It would be much easier to explain how he saw more similarities between him and a stranger than the comrades he’d made over the years. Not just her insistence on annoying the most powerful person in the room, but different like him.
African with no tribe. French with no name. Caught in a world that didn’t know what to do with them.
Looking at Sabine, he could feel a sense of kinship, a chance for once, not to be the only one in a crowd. It was a foolish reason to take a job, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity.
‘I think it’ll be interesting to see her father convince her to marry. She’s a fighter,’ he said. ‘The job pays enough, and my assignments are a bore. Maybe a change of pace will be useful.’
The general hummed before checking his timepiece, as if he were trying to seem relaxed. Damien knew the general well enough that there was more on his mind. He counted forty-seven seconds before the general spoke. ‘She’ll have a lady’s maid attending her,’ General Roulet mentioned. Damien almost chuckled.
So, that’s what worried his superior offer, not that he blamed him. Her beauty combined with her father’s confidence made Sabine undeniably intriguing. But there were many women in Paris and more who would not cause a potential headache for him down the road.
‘She’s pretty, but nothing special in any other regard.’ The words tasted like ash on his tongue.
‘If you’re sure…’
‘I am,’ he said confidently. ‘I won’t disappoint you. You have my word.’
Chapter Four
Paris
March 1895
‘I don’t want you to leave,’ Sabine told her father as he packed the last of his things, which made little sense to her. The villa was theirs and they were wealthy enough to fill it with whatever they wanted. Beyond travel clothes, money and a blade – he would never forget that – her father didn’t need to take anything else to their home in the Ivory Coast. He only had a few keepsakes he never parted with, no matter where he went.
She had been one of them but too many things had changed over the last decade.
He clasped his travel bag close. ‘I’ll be back soon enough.’
‘For my wedding,’ she stated, hoping she hid her exasperation well.
Her father chuckled. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I have to pick your husband first.’
Sabine stood up and turned her back on her father to roll her eyes. ‘I have been too obedient to be shipped off like this,’ she mumbled in French.
They usually spoke in Fante behind closed doors and among family. French was for political gatherings and impressing foreigners. Yet, she slipped into her mother’s language as naturally as she would’ve when her mother was alive.
Amelie… Sabine contemplated the name for a moment.
It was not lost on Sabine that France practically owned her home country and used it as a means of production. However, she also knew that unlike what most Frenchmen believed, it wasn’t a lone effort. Rather, it was a collaboration, for better or worse. Even knowing that, she was also aware her parents shouldn’t have met, they shouldn’t have married, and she shouldn’t exist.
It was supposed to be a family trip for her mother to see a new world with Sabine’s maternal grandfather, as he set up a trading post. Her father, full of charisma and an instinct for forming connections, was supposed to help. Unfortunately, he had fallen in love with Amelie instead. As a result, Sabine’s grandfather abandoned Amelie in the country, disowning her when he discovered the relationship.
Her parents had lived a quiet life, but her mother didn’t make it past Sabine’s eighth birthday. From then on, her father went back to doing what he did best: charming and connecting with people. He became key in making Ivory Coast an official French trading post.
Of course, no one from her tribe saw the full result of her father’s actions until much later. She barely understood the magnitude of his decision to strengthen their relationship with France. All she knew was there was no going back.
‘Mon trésor,’ her father said gently, turning her to face him. He smiled kindly before tapping her forehead. ‘Your accent sounds just like your mother’s,’ he told her in French before switching back to Fante. ‘And you are right. You rarely disappointed me, which is why I must give you the best life possible. That will always be my intention for you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said just as she heard a carriage pull up. She looked out the window and spotted General Roulet stepping out before holding his hand out to steady his wife. ‘Be back soon, please,’ she pleaded.
