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"What's going on?" I asked, my voice tinged with worry.
Vincent's eyes were dark with concern. "Pascal Fournier is making a move against your father. Jean-Luc is in danger but I worry that Fournier may come after you to legitimize his takeover of your father's position."
A cold tingle crawled along my back.
Pascal was ruthless, and if he was targeting Papa, there was no telling what he might do. Well, he had hinted that he was into pregnant womenandwidows.Merdé!
"How do you know?" I whispered, genuinely scared.
He cocked an eyebrow, and I sighed. Another man who thought he kneweverything. And Vincent probably did. If hewas as big a warmonger as Dom thought, then maybe he had his ears everywhere. It behooved me to listen to him.
"You need to be careful," Vincent warned. "Watch your back, and don't trust anyone, especially now."
I nodded, trying to process his words. "How about you?" I challenged.
He smiled. "Absolutely,ma chérie, especially when it concerns your safety."
"Do you deal in chemical weapons?" I asked, fully aware I was revealing that I knew more than he probably liked—putting myself in danger, isolated in my kitchen with a war criminal.
Elsa, tu es une idiote. Elsa, you're a fool!
"Non," he said quietly.
Just that one word.No. Could I believe him? I wanted to. But I'd been wrong about Duncan; what right did I have to believe my own instincts anymore?
"I know thattheythink I do," Vincent said softly, smiling reassuringly at me. "But I will never ever work with chemical weapons."
I nodded. "Theyare determined to," I paused, unsure of how much to tell him, but something inside me convinced me I could believe Vincent, "get into your house."
He grinned. "I know."
I licked my lips.
"Ma chérie, I'm grateful that you didn't abuse your relationship with my father to helpthem."
This man did knoweverything. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, feeling unbearably tired.
"How's thebébé?" Vincent asked, looking at my hands that were on my belly as if I could protect my child by merely holding on.
"Good." I smiled then.
"But you're not." He wasn't asking a question.
"I'm good too," I lied.
"Now,ma chérie, I can clearly see the dark circles around your eyes. And I know your man is drinking himself to death at the Ritz."
My shoulders slumped. "He's not my man. I don't think he ever was."
"I think he wasandis. Do you want to talk about what happened between the two of you? I'm an experienced—"
I heard the chimes on the door and looked apologetically at Vincent. "I have customers."
"Oui. You take care of yourself and if you need me,ma chérie, you call me. I'm there for you."
I patted his shoulder. "Merci beaucoup, Vincent."
I kept busy for a few hours, but as soon as I had another lull at the boulangerie, I called my father. He answered on the third ring, his tone only slightly impatient.
