The Consequences of Champagne and Murder

Chapter Sixteen - Wherein Deals are Positively Awful

This entire idea was a disaster, and I wished to say as much before Jacqueline embarrassed herself in front of French royalty. But then Renée asked, “Your Majesty, may I speak with my brothers alone for a moment?”

The king waved a conceding hand, lifting himself from the chair and joining Jacqueline by her stolen clock.

And I was left alone—still confused and hurt and more than a little angry—with my siblings. The second the king left, Renée ran to Étienne, burying her face in his chest and grasping her hands around the folds of his powder blue frock coat. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said into his coat lapels. “Olivier is far more obnoxious when I have to deal with him by myself.” 

I scoffed. “Right. Just forget about how I tried to keep you safe when that man attacked us at the opera.” 

Étienne gently pushed Renée away, brows creased with concern. He took her chin in his hand and turned her face this way and that, as if searching for injury. “What happened? Were you hurt?” 

She shrugged. “A man attending the opera chased me out of the Palais-Royal with a pistol, and both Olivier and Jacqueline had to help stop him.” 

Étienne swallowed as he lowered himself onto a velvet stool next to Renée. He turned his head to the other side of the room, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. His eyes were distant, worried. Nothing at all like the brother who took me by the shoulders when I was panicked and asked me to look at him—so I could see that as long as he was in my life, I would never be alone. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think—I just wanted—” He let out a shaky breath, fingers curling around the stool’s golden tassels. “I never imagined you two would involve yourselves in this.”

Renée placed her hand atop Étienne’s. She opened her mouth to say something, but I blurted, “That’s right, you didn’t think.” 

Étienne’s gaze moved to meet mine. 

“Why in God’s name did you believe we wouldn’t help you?” I asked. “And what on earth was running through that book-clogged brain of yours when you decided to traipse around confessing to crimes you didn’t commit?” 

Étienne didn’t have any idea what I’d gone through to keep him from hanging—pleading with the king at the opera, my nervous fit, the desperate plans I’d made with Jacqueline and Renée. He didn’t know that I’d do it all again, do it ten times over, if it meant saving him from death. And he had the audacity to say he didn’t think I would help?

Étienne gave me a confused look, eyebrows crinkled together. It was the same expression he wore whenever he was reading one of his boring-to-tears astronomy texts and came across a concept he didn’t quite understand. “Jacqueline has no one but me to save her. You and Renée have each other. You’re twins, for God’s sake. Neither of you need me, and if I’m gone—” 

I shot up from the chaise, so quickly, a gilded candlestick holder next to my arm clattered to the floor. “Is that what you think, then?” I let out a mirthless laugh. It sounded more like a choked whisper. “You think Renée and I don’t need you? That if you died, we’d be all right with it and carry on with our lives like nothing happened?”

“Olivier,” Renée said quietly. “We won’t solve anything this way.”

But all Étienne did was lower his head and say, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

I turned to the window and watched moon-tipped clouds pass across the darkening sky. Fifteen years of Étienne coming into my room at night when he thought I would be scared and unable to sleep. Fifteen years of helping distract me from my panic, of assuring Renée there was nothing wrong with her because of who she had feelings for, of huddling up with us by the fire while we talked about our deepest wishes and fears. And even after all that, he thought we didn’t need him? That I could stop my anxious fits? That Renée could face a world in which something she was born with was considered an unforgivable sin? That we could both do it alone, without our older brother?