AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They couldn’t be more wrong.
That might be the life I wish I led, and from the outside, it looks glamorous. But what is glamor when it’s shrouded in obligation and duty?
The tabloids don’t see that side. They’re not interested in what happens behind closed doors, nor the truth. To them, I am just a character in a story they love to tell, the one that sells magazines.
Instead of living luxury, I’m spending my Monday reviewing marketing proposals from firms who have promised to help Dubois Estates take over the world. They speak of dancers, of great reveals, of royalty gracing our restaurants to draw in a new crowd. Stacks and stacks of marketing proposals, each one like the next, with glossy pictures, swirling fonts, and empty promises. All of this comes at a cost we just don’t have available with our current cash flow. Father’s model for the restaurant always relied on procuring the best ingredients in the world. And that comes with a price tag that only increases year on year. But it would be easier to repaint the Eiffel Tower with a ten-foot ladder than to get Father to change.
My phone pings again, and I am tempted to put it on silent. I’m not interested in anything she has to say right now. She, like the paparazzi, creates her own story that is loosely based on reality. Simone has not changed since we were children; I never knew if she was speaking the truth or just a version of it.
I try to focus on the proposals, though I don’t know that any of them are going to make a difference.
They all think the purpose is to take Dubois Estates to the next level. What they don’t know is that we need to swim out of the quicksand. Between the rising costs and the bad publicity, we’re struggling more than we ever have in our history, though only the family knows how bad it has become.
The phone pings again.
I flip it over to find six unread messages from Simone. No, Simone. Not today.
The phone rings in my hand, sending me nearly flying off the chair. I answer before I can stop myself.
“Olivier!”
“Simone. What a pleasure.”
“Don’t you ‘what a pleasure’ me. You’re ignoring me, and I know it.”
“I’m just very—”
“Busy. I know. Busy, busy, busy, and yet the restaurant’s books continue to be unbalanced.”
“I’m trying to—”
“Do what you must, Olivier, but remember that we have tickets for the opera. The Bettencourts, Pinaults, and Wertheimers are all going to be there, and we must be among them on arrival if we are to reap the publicity benefits.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Your father has already approved the plan.”
Leave it to Simone to go behind my back to create social plans with my father that implicate me without my approval. Father is too petrified that I’ll be a permanent bachelor and give up the family business that he bends to anything Simone says.
And then holds me to it.
“Wear your Gucci sunglasses. They look good in photos.”
“It will be nighttime…” I say to an empty phone.
As I’m about to flick the switch to silent, the phone rings in my hand, once again sending my heart into my throat. My father’s image fills the screen.
“Hello, Father. How is Italy?”
“Olivier,” he says in that tone of voice I know means I’m about to get an earful of everything he thinks should happen, could happen, would have happened, and will happen regarding the Opera and the wine event on Friday.
He’s nervous, I get it. It’s been hard for him to let go of managing the restaurants himself, but he had to. His heart simply could not deal with the stress of managing a multi-million dollar business. It was time for his to rest. It was a privilege for me to take up the reins from him. Now I need him to step even further back and let me lead the way that I feel best.
“Olivier, Olivier.” He shakes his head as I tell him about my plans. “No, no, no.” The next twenty minutes are overtaken by his anxieties. What if no journalists come on Friday? What if those who come already have a preset idea about who we are and what we’re trying to do? What if the wines aren’t received with the grandeur they deserve?
I do my best to reassure him, but after the recent scandals—which had nothing to do with the menu but rather with our service to customers—we have had to pivot. A fact I remind him of. At last, Father nods.
“That will do,” he says and hangs up abruptly.
