ma chérie | cl16

chapter fourteen

Charles was sitting at his piano in his apartment in Monte-Carlo. He didn't have any lights on; only the streetlamps outside were lightening up the room a little through the big windows.

His forehead was rested on the music desk. His eyes were closed, and his hands were gliding across the keyboard, creating a sad melody full of pain.

He'd been so excited about today's celebration, and he'd done everything to succeed today. However, it hadn't been enough. He had failed. But what was worse, his team had failed him.

Charles glanced at his vibrating phone resting on the top of the piano. He took the phone to his hands, seeing that Pierre was calling him. Charles ignored the phone call because he knew what Pierre wanted to tell him—the French driver had already texted him a few minutes ago, anyway. He was sorry, trying to talk Charles into attending the party.

However, Charles wasn't in the mood, even though he was happy for Carlos. He didn't want to ruin someone's celebration with his bad mood; that wouldn't be fair to Carlos, or to anyone. It wasn't their fault.

He could have seen Adeline, though.

Charles put his phone back, resting his head against the music desk again. He was frustrated and sad, but also confused. Whenever he closed his eyes, he didn't see today's failure. He saw her. He saw her blonde locks of hair resting on her shoulders. He saw her lips that were tinted by red wine. He saw her rolling her eyes, which was her habit whenever she was annoyed. He heard her laughter in his ears. He felt her touch, which caused him to shiver all over his body.

She was on his mind constantly—even today. She was still there.

He remembered the first moment he had laid his eyes on her in the café. She had seemed angry, but Charles had quickly understood that this was just her common resting face. That's why her smile was even more beautiful and precious. But there was also something more behind her tough mask—even though she was tough, for sure. He saw the pain in those beautiful, dark green eyes.

He liked her.

Or did he—no. That wasn't possible.

A loud doorbell interrupted Charles from his thoughts, making him shake his head. What the hell was he thinking about? And who the hell was standing by his door? He stood up from the piano stool and slowly walked toward the door. When he opened it, he was ready to say that he wasn't in the mood to go anywhere. However, his breath was stuck in his throat.

Adeline.

Was he still imagining her or was she real?

"Now, I know that you don't want to talk to anyone, but listen," Adeline said, which reassured Charles that she wasn't his imagination. She was very real, standing at his door. She looked absolutely breathtaking in her black pantsuit, and she was holding two... bags?

"I just talked some Michelin chef into making lasagna to go, even though he wasn't going to do it. Believe me, he was looking at me like I was some freak. But I was so annoying, that he eventually made it," she sighed, handing Charles one of the bags. "Then I went to the store and bought your favorite stracciatella ice cream. Also, you may not pay taxes, but that shit is expensive!" She kept on talking, and Charles thought to himself that this was the longest monologue he'd ever heard from her. "Oh, and I have Pretty Little Liars on flash disk, so you simply have to let me in. Otherwise, the ice cream's gonna melt, the lasagna's gonna be cold, and you won't find out who -A is! Also, do you know how bloody exhausting it was to run around Monte-Carlo in these heels?!" Adeline exhaled; she was almost going out of breath.

For a split second, Charles was staring at Adeline, trying to understand what she had done for him. Then his face lit up as his mouth curved into a smile. "Come inside, Addy. I would never send you away."