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We all stood by the mirror, and I had to say we made an elegant trio. Angelique was in a flowing, off-the-shoulder dress in deep burgundy, while Thierry looked dashing in a tailored suit with a colorful tie that matched his personality, and I suspected was afuck youto the formality my father insisted upon.
The doorbell rang, and my stomach flipped. I took a deep, hopefully cleansing breath. "That's probably Duncan."
We made our way to the door, and I opened it to find Duncan standing there, looking incredibly handsome in his suit. His eyes widened when he saw me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something softer, almost vulnerable, in his expression.
"Ma douce, you look…stunning, amazing. I don't think I have the words." His voice was rough, and I felt my heart lighten at his unpolished compliments.
"Mille mercis," I replied, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "Angelique was my fairy godmother."
"Thank you, Angelique," Duncan murmured, but his eyes were on me. "You're a vision, baby."
"Are we all going to stand here or enjoy champagne in the limousine?" Angelique demanded sardonically.
"Yes, ma'am." Duncan offered me his arm. "Come on, wife, let's do this."
Chapter 20
Duncan
Jean-Luc Moreau had spared no expense to show off his new son-in-law. The grand ballroom at Le Meurice was nothing short of spectacular.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the high, detailed ceilings, casting a soft golden light over the guests. Lavish floral arrangements sat on the tables, their bright colors standing out against the white linens and polished silverware. The event was designed to impress, a clear display of wealth and power.
I hated that he was putting his daughter on display because said daughter was nervous as hell. She looked like a dream, fucking beautiful, but I could see and feel her anxiety.
I held her hand as we walked into the ballroom; with Thierry and Angelique behind us.
"What's got you so worried,ma douce?" I asked softly, brushing my lips against her ear.
"I don't like this," she replied, her eyes downcast. "Mamman always kept me away from Papa's world. And now, it's like I'm the…how do you say,center de l'attention, in English?"
"Center of attention."
"Yes, that. I don't like it. Everyone is looking at us."
I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, my eyes flitting to find my family. Being with them, I hoped, would calm her nerves. If I needed more proof about how far she was from her father's business, here it was. Her uneasiness was obvious.
My eyes fell on Dom, and I all but rolled my eyes. He was standing next to Moreau, and I could guess which one of his legends he was using. My money was on an obnoxious American arms dealer he loved to play, Jett Percival.
"Ça va, ma chérie?" Moreau bent down, gently brushing his lips against each of his daughter's cheeks, one after the other.
"Tres bien, Papa," she whispered.
"Let me introduce you to one of my good friends," Moreau pulled Elsa away from me and toward Dom, "Jett Percival. He's from Chicago."
Elsa shook hands with Dom demurely. "Welcome," she said politely.
"Congratulations on your nuptialsandI hear you and Duncan are going to become parents," Dom said smoothly, his eyes insolently resting on Elsa's stomach.
Son of a bitch, he'd just announced to my father-in-law that he knew me. I didn't know what game Dom was playing, but I didn't like it. Moreau's eyes brightened with awareness.
"You both know each other," he mused, his hand on Elsa's shoulder.
"In passing," I muttered, glaring at Dom.
He grinned. "Ah, come on, Archer, you wound me." He turned to face Moreau, "Duncan and I had a wild night in Cannes once."
Wild was one way to describe getting shot at while running with a rolled canvas worth millions that had been painted on by Picasso.
