Chapter 25

Gracie

What’s the password to your Netflix account?

Octavia rolled her eyes but sent Gracie the password anyway. Seconds later, her phone beeped with a response.

Gracie

thanks.

Octavia

Don’t watch that new Anime show without me.

Gracie

Fine.

Octavia

Damn. Wish I was home.

Gracie

Y? Not havin fun?

Octavia

Ugh. Food is disgusting.

Gracie

Figures. Did he flip out at your dress?

Octavia

No. But I’ll bet he wanted to.

Gracie

Lol. he must B piling you with work.

Octavia

Actually no. I’ve spent most of the time just standing next to him.

Gracie

…And?

Octavia

and that’s it. He got me a glass of champagne. And we talked. And then I stood there.

Gracie

The hell did he need you to go for, then?

Octavia

???? Maybe just to punish me at that spa-thing place.

Gracie

Sounds more like a date than work.

Octavia

There’s no way that would be it.

Gracie

U got any other ideas???

Octavia

…I dont know…I feel like he’s tryin to kind of…get me to fall for him maybe????

Gracie

WTF????

Octavia

Like since the whole incident, he’s being WAY nicer. But this is a new level of nice. its like he wants me to be impressed by all this…the luxury spa, the clothes, the fancy party.

Gracie

Lmao. Like any of that will work

Octavia

I’ll bet it has worked for him before. Apparently, there have been “others”

Gracie

but Y wud he do it tho?

Octavia

2 neutralize a threat, I imagine.

Gracie

Makes sense. Getting the enemy to fall for you is pretty good insurance.

Octavia

I’ve seen it in a few movies

Gracie

so r u going to play along or wat?

Octavia was still thinking over her reply when a voice behind her and a hand at her shoulder stopped her mid-text.

“Where have you been?” Raemon demanded, a storm building in his eyes.

“I wanted something to eat,” Octavia said, slipping her phone back into her purse in a huff. “But apparently there aren’t any edible appetizers.”

“You should have come right back then.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Why? To witness another person’s display of their lack of self-respect?”

Raemon frowned. “You don’t want to be here?”

“Umm, NO,” Octavia said. “I’m tired of listening to all those people groveling. It gets old. And there’s no food. You said there would be food!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I assumed it, and you didn’t bother to correct me.”

“You’re here to work not eat.”

“What work then?” Octavia demanded, flinging out her arms. “What is it I’m supposed to do? Take notes? Fetch drinks? Stand on a table and juggle champagne glasses? What?!”

Before he could answer her, a voice said behind him, “Raemon, my boy, fancy seeing you here!”

Raemon Kentworth whipped around, and Octavia inwardly sighed, preparing herself for another sycophant’s speech.

But whoever this man was, and the elegant dark-skinned woman hanging on his arm, Raemon did not regard them with cold detached civility.

His dark eyes went first to the man who’d spoken—a short, pale person whose white tuxedo shirt was stretched under a protruding middle—and his face took on a glint of fury.

But in an instance, he noticed the lady standing next to the man and all the anger was washed away.

“Maman,” he said in a tone Octavia had never heard from him.

The woman was a few inches taller than the man she walked with and dressed in a cream-colored gown with wide straps for sleeves folding over her ebony, delicate, graceful shoulders.

The dress had a high waist and billowing silky skirt of thousands of folds extending down her long frame.

The contrast of the pale fabric against her dark skin and the way her dress draped over her slender body made the woman before them seem ethereal and regal all at once.

Octavia stared as Raemon stepped forward and brought his lips to each of her cheeks in a greeting kiss. The woman stepped back to look at him, her eyes filled with pride and happiness at the sight of him.

Octavia noted her high cheekbones, prim little nose, and full deep-red lips as well as the glossy mane of hair that was curled and styled into a simple elegant bun on her head.

Her face barely betrayed a wrinkle.

~So this is his mother,~ Octavia thought, taking in the sight of her. After being hired by Raemon, Octavia had finally bothered to do a little research on her new employer.

She knew his mother had been a model—looking at the woman, she could see why—and that she had emigrated from her birthplace in Mauritania to France, eventually moving to the USA. Marjorie Kentworth had met her husband, Mr. Duncan Theodore Kentworth, on one of her photo shoots in England.

They had fallen for each other immediately and had a passionate romance—at least, that was what the papers said. Then Marjorie had to leave the country, and Duncan didn’t know she had become pregnant.

It was only years later that they reconnected and were shortly married. Duncan had just finalized a divorce from his first wife, and Marjorie was still single.

By then, Raemon was an adult and CEO of the fastest-growing technology company in America.

It was a big thing when Raemon’s parents married. For one thing, Duncan Kentworth was an actual duke.

He was, in fact, His Grace Duncan Theodore Worthington Kentworth, with a slew of ancient lands assigned to his name.

It was just as well Marjorie and he had lost touch when she became pregnant, the newspapers said with passive venom.

No way would she have been accepted as a duchess, being an immigrant, a former model, and—heavens!—having a child out of wedlock. That the child was Duncan’s did not seem to matter.

But years had passed. The world was getting more progressive and blue bloodlines less relevant. Also, some shrewdly remarked, royal families were getting less wealthy.

Could His Grace Duncan Kentworth seeking to revive a relationship with his former lover have anything to do with her son’s remarkable fortune? Who knew?

Octavia observed the man beside Marjorie. The resemblance between Marjorie and Raemon she could see.

They had the same eyes, the same curve to their lips that gave Marjorie an alluring pout and Raemon that enticing, dark, brooding look. But with his father, the similarities were harder to spot.

Their opposing skin colors aside, Duncan Kentworth was on the shorter side. His balding head had only a fringe of gray left forming a lopsided ring around his temple.

And his face lacked the look of distinction that Raemon and his mother possessed.

Marjorie had a face you’d remember—sparkling eyes and beautiful smile. Raemon had a face that could strike fear into the eyes of anyone. He wore every expression with an arresting intensity.

Duncan Kentworth on the other hand just looked like a man.

But looking closer, Octavia could see the clear resemblance in some places. Their eyebrows slanted in the exact same way, and Raemon’s nose had more of his father in it than his mother.

Octavia also quickly noticed that while his mother received a softened version of his usually grim face, as soon as Raemon’s eyes landed on his father, a burst of the same old fires flooded back into them.

“Raemon,” Marjorie said affectionately, “I did not know you would be attending this gala.” Her accent was thick, a mixture of French and English tones.

“It was a last-minute decision,” Raemon answered.

She shook her head and tut-tutted. “You never tell us anything, Raemon. But I am glad to see you. You should come visit us more often.”

“Yes, yes, my boy,” Duncan Kentworth agreed enthusiastically. “Kentworth Manor belongs to you as well.”

Though Octavia was sure he would have despised anything his father said, those words seemed to affect him especially.

“I’ve been kept away by matters of business,” he said coldly.

“Of course, of course,” Duncan said jovially.

“Promise me while I have you here Raemon,” Marjorie said, “you will come this Christmas, no?”

Raemon gave a heavy sigh. “I will see, Maman.”

“No,” Marjorie demanded, “you will come. We must see you. We’re your family, Raemon.”

“I will try,” Raemon answered noncommittally.

“I hope you can manage it,” Duncan said. “Your brothers and sister will be happy to see you.”

It seemed every time words from Marjorie softened Raemon’s features, Duncan’s voice would turn them back to stone.

“Really? I had no idea my stepsiblings desired my company. Especially at the family home,” Raemon said.

“Of course, they do! Whatever made you think they didn’t?” Duncan said.

“They did. I specifically remember Edith saying I had no business being associated with the lot of them,” he replied dryly.

“Oh. Heh, heh…that’s just…a little sibling teasing, you know. No harm in it,” Duncan said nervously.

Marjorie’s face had fallen. She put a hand on Raemon’s arm. “You come to see me, Raemon. That will be enough.”

An Ethiopian diplomat who had been an old acquaintance of Marjorie—and recognized her son—took that opportunity to rush up to her and greet her, then seamlessly extend a greeting to Raemon.

Octavia admired the diplomat’s courage. If Raemon had appeared detached before, now he was clearly suppressing a blinding rage.

The conversation went on between the diplomat, Marjorie, and Duncan, all three of them occasionally turning to Raemon, expecting some response.

Raemon would give short, one-word answers, except to his mother, who would receive a full sentence.

Eventually, the Kentworths excused themselves. They had been on the way out before bumping into their son.

Marjorie kissed Raemon on both cheeks again, reminding him to visit her with one last mournful look into his eyes before slipping her hand back into Lord Duncan’s and the two of them walking out the entrance.

Duncan had only tentatively patted Raemon on the arm, saying, “Splendid work you’re doing, my boy,” before they left.

Once they were gone, Raemon remained looking after them with a cold, steely look in his eyes.

“Mr. Kentworth!” another voice said as a man in black and white approached him. “I was just coming over to talk to you about—”

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait,” Raemon cut in. “I’m on my way out.”

“Oh! But I just… It will only take a few minutes—”

“I don’t have the time,” Raemon said definitively. He then turned to Octavia. “We’re leaving.”