Champagne Problems

T W E N T Y F I V E

The sky was a heavy shade of gray as Chantal, Remy, Daphné, and Benoit stepped out of the car in front of the Grimaldi estate. The air felt still, suffocating with the weight of grief and expectation. It was the day of the funeral—a day none of them were truly prepared for.

Each of them was dressed in black, their somber attire mirroring the mood that had blanketed Monaco ever since the death of Monsieur Grimaldi. Today wasn't just a funeral; it was an event that the entire world would be watching, wondering what it meant for the future of Monaco.

As they made their way toward the entrance, Daphné felt her hand shake slightly. Her dark, form-fitting dress clung to her, but it wasn't just the cold making her shiver—it was the pressure of the eyes she knew would be on them. She glanced at Benoit beside her, who gave her a small, reassuring smile, though his face betrayed the same worry.

"I can't believe this is happening," Chantal murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her usually vibrant personality was dulled, subdued by the gravity of the situation. Remy, who stood beside her, placed a hand on her lower back. He looked out toward the horizon, his jaw clenched, unwilling to show any emotion.

The grand doors of the estate opened, and Vincent appeared, dressed in a sleek black suit. He seemed more composed than the others, but Daphné could see the cracks in his exterior. His eyes, red from sleepless nights, flicked toward her.

"Thank you all for coming," Vincent said quietly. His voice was firm, but there was a tremble beneath it. "We're almost ready. Evian is inside, making sure everything's in place."

As they entered the estate, the scent of lilies, the traditional flower of mourning, filled the air. The halls were quiet, filled only with the soft rustling of people preparing for the event. In the background, the low hum of cameras being set up echoed—a reminder that this was no private family affair. The eyes of the world were on them.

Once inside, Vincent motioned for Daphné to follow him into a more secluded room, away from the others. Benoit gave her a questioning look, but she nodded, signaling she'd be fine.

When they were alone, Vincent closed the door softly and turned to face her. His expression, which had been stoic outside, now cracked with concern. "We need to talk."

"I know," Daphné replied, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. She could feel the weight of what was coming. The ruse they had agreed upon—the fake relationship to keep her family off her back—was about to be put to the test in front of an international audience.

"We have to look like a real couple out there," Vincent said, pacing. "Everyone is going to be watching. They'll expect us to show unity, to grieve together. This isn't just about us, Daphné. It's about keeping up appearances for Monaco's sake."

Daphné sighed, understanding but hating every moment of it. She wasn't just pretending for her grandfather anymore; this was a charade for the entire world.

"And Riley?" she asked, her voice barely audible. She hadn't told Riley about the arrangement yet. She wasn't ready for that conversation, but she knew it was inevitable.

Vincent stopped pacing and met her eyes. "Does he know?"

"Not yet," Daphné admitted, feeling a pang of guilt. "I'm going to tell him. I just... I'm waiting for the right moment."

Vincent nodded, his gaze softening for a moment. "You care about him."

She didn't respond right away, but the silence between them was enough of an answer.

"We need to focus on today. We'll deal with the rest later," Vincent said, his voice gentle. "For now, we have to get through this together. We'll hold hands, stay close, and make sure we look like a couple in mourning."