Simone shook her head and skirted around an area rug on the floor as she made her way over to me. “Yes, it does look incredible. But don’t be fooled, not everything is as finished as it seems. In fact, this is all just for show. Look . . .” She lifted the area rug she’d just stepped over to reveal a large hole in the wood floor. My eyes widened. “Yeah, don’t step there, or over there.” She pointed to another small rug across the room. “But don’t worry, they’ll mark the places where it isn’t safe to walk when you film the finale.”

“Wait, it’s staying like this? This is the finished product? This is how I’d get the house?” I asked.

“Pretty much. They just need it to be staged adequately to where they can shoot around the space and make it appear like the renovation is complete. Just enough to get the necessary footage.”

“I see,” I said, disappointed that there was one more thing I had either misunderstood or been duped by in this agreement.

“Good luck with the show, Ms. Everly. It has been nice working with you.” Simone extended her hand, seemingly oblivious to the mental short-circuit I was currently experiencing inside my head.

“Oh, yeah. Same, Simone, thank you,” I responded and then watched her walk out the front door.

I drew in a long, deep breath and stood enjoying the stillness. In spite of the phony decor and staging, I could finally see Château Mirabelle’s true potential.

I heard the soft growl of Bastien’s Vespa putting its way up the drive. My heart started to race, and I was afraid I’d lose the nerve to stand up for myself when it came down to it. The snap of the front door opening caused my palms to sweat, and I raked them down my jeans before he saw me. Finally, he walked into the foyer and our eyes met. I expected to feel the familiar sensation of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, but it seemed they’d migrated north, fuzzying my head with too many thoughts at once.

“Plum, ma cherie,” Bastien started.

I expected to erupt with anger, but instead, all I could manage was, “Please, don’t do that.”

He stepped closer. “Kate told me about your conversation earlier. She told me how upset you were.”

“Upset is an understatement, Bastien. You lied. You both lied to me. And then filmed it to make a fool out of me.” My voice was escalating along with my blood pressure.

I paused to take a breath and recalibrate. This was not the way I wanted this conversation to go. I shook my head and looked him in the eye. “You can’t imagine what that feels like, to be betrayed by someone who I thought cared about me. It’s happened to me more times than I can count, and I just . . . I didn’t expect it from you.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Plum. I thought we were having fun and, though I was asked to be flirtatious with you and make bigger my affections, I did not know their true intention for the show. I didn’t know it was te tromper . . . um, to trick you. They just told me that they loved the scenes with us being séduisant and charmant together, and when Kate came to see me a few weeks ago, she told me that the test groups couldn’t get enough and asked me to keep it up, keep it going, keep you interested. I asked about the renovation, I did. They said it was secondary to la magie happening between you and me on-screen. Nous étions comme des feux d’artifice.” He gestured, his hands pantomiming fireworks in the sky. “So I gave them more of what they asked for. And I thought you were doing the same. But I’m not a bad guy, Plum. I promise, I did not set out to hurt you.”

“Bastien, I am just so confused. How am I supposed to know what was true and what wasn’t? What was for the show and what was authentically you? It feels like every interaction we’ve had has been a lie, and I don’t know how to parse out what was real. I genuinely thought I liked you. And after everything I’d been through with Rhys, it was nice to be thought of, to be considered, to be romanced. But now, I . . . feel like the butt of a sick joke.”

Bastien grabbed my hand and held it in his. “I never meant for that to happen.” He led me to the salon, the couches and chairs arranged around a rustic coffee table and set in front of the majestic fireplace adorned with the Adélaïses’ coat of arms. I went to sit in the cream-colored chair with rose stitching, across from him, but he grabbed for me before I could drop my weight into the seat.

“Pas là! Don’t sit on that one. The left back leg is attached with a zip tie. You’ll end up right on your cul. Asseyez-vous ici.” He stepped over a loose floorboard and gestured for me to take a seat in the other rose-stitched chair instead. I eyed it warily before gently testing its limit. Seemed fine, for now. I sat back and watched Bastien perch on the arm of the Queen Anne couch on the other side of the coffee table.

We sat in silence for a moment, either waiting for the other to speak or just trying to decide what problem to tackle first.

I finally started, “I had a pretty enlightening conversation with Odette today.”

Bastien lifted his eyes to meet mine, and his self-assuredness gave way to a flash of dread. “Oh? I’m afraid to ask . . .”

“She actually defended you.”

His posture stiffened, and his brows jumped in surprise. “She . . . she did? But why? I mean, uh . . . what did she say?”

“She explained to me how much your family’s past mistakes have haunted you, following you around like a ghost. If anyone understands having to bear the weight of their family’s decisions, it’s me.”

His eyes filled with tears. “I don’t deserve your sympathie, but I do appreciate your empathie. It takes a person qui est très spéciale, someone who can see beyond themselves, to put aside their own hurt to recognize someone else’s. I wish I had been more honest with you from the start. It’s just I have been plagued by my past for so long, it’s affected the way people treat me, the opportunities I’ve had, and the chances I’ve never gotten. I was ashamed, and I wanted you to get to know me without being tainted by the stain of my family’s mistake.”

How could I fault him for wanting me to get to know him apart from the story his family’s legacy told? It was the exact problem I’d been facing my whole life, six thousand miles away on the other side of the world. It didn’t excuse it, but damn if I didn’t understand him and his motives in a new way. I nodded. “But now that everything’s out in the open, I need to ask you a few things. And I need you to be one hundred percent honest.”

“Of course. You deserve that. Et maintenant, what else is there to lose?”

“Did you ever really work on Château du Val d’Été? Or was that a lie too? Was our date just part of the fantasy you were trying to sell me?”

“Non! I did work there. Je jure devant Dieu.” He gestured with a quick cross marked over his heart. “But I was just one of the members of the construction crew, not the foreman or the lead designer or anything like that. But, as I’d told you on that tour, all the research I did on the moat, and the seventeenth-century detailing, all of that was true. I took you to Val d’Été not to trick you, but for you to see the potential Château Mirabelle had as a similar project to Château du Val d’Été.”

My brain was catching up one piece at a time. “That’s why the security guard there didn’t recognize you . . . why you’d gotten into the heated argument . . . huh . . .” I nodded and continued to sort through my memory of that day. “And that’s why we had to sneak around the back to access the salon.” I mentally sorted through my time in Maubec, starting back at the beginning, and my gut clenched at the recollection of our first night out together. “Bastien, please don’t tell me—it . . . it was you who called the paparazzi that night at the club in Avignon, wasn’t it?”

He cast his eyes toward the floor. It was all the answer I needed. Jesus, I had it all wrong from the very start—about him, about the show, all of it. I blew out a breath.

“I know, I know,” he started, “that was reprehensible. But . . . I was just so excited that it was all happening. I could see the show becoming a big success and me finally getting my chance to make amends for good. I didn’t really know you then, and what I did know and had been told about you by Kate led me to believe you’d be on board. I thought I was doing us all a favor—hyping up the show, creating buzz. I thought you’d be used to it and that it wouldn’t be a problème.”

He stood up, his nervous energy fighting for an outlet. He started to pace behind the couch. “Honestly, Plum, I knew I was never qualified for a project like this. Not by a long shot. When they’d advertised the casting in town I felt like maybe, just maybe, that by renovating Château Mirabelle I could atone for my grandfather’s sins—set history as right as I could from this side of it. I wanted to do right by the Adélaïses. I wanted to do right by all the people he wronged. I thought if I could make the house perfect again, maybe Maubec would finally see that the fruit can fall far from the tree.”

He continued, “When I met with Kate, she loved my look, and though she appreciated my passion for the project because of my personal connection, she was certainly more interested in how I appeared on camera and how much I could amplifier my charm. She assured me we’d have professionals on-site to help with the construction. And when I saw René Laroque, I believed Kate lived up to her end of the agreement. She never told me that she’d sold you a completely different bill of goods. I thought we’d both signed on for the same project, and I see now that wasn’t the case.”

Finally, he stopped pacing, placed his hands on the back of the couch, and looked me straight in the eye. “Kate didn’t ever explain that the show was a setup. She told me it was a love story framed in a home renovation show but made me believe you were game too. She said we’d work perfectly together, and as soon as I met you, I knew she was right. We had an instant spark. I know you felt it too. That night in my apartment. That was all real. I swear it. I would never have—”

I was glad to hear him say it, even if I still wasn’t sure what to believe. But there was something in the tone of his voice and the sincerity of his stance that convinced me he was telling the truth.

“I did . . . I do care for you, but I was led astray . . . by fame . . . by Kate. All I could think was how much the world was going to love us and our show, and even though some of it was smoke and mirrors, I’d finally get my chance at redemption. But I ended up making un tas de merde, more than I could’ve imagined. Plum, I am so profoundly sorry.”

“Thank you for saying that. I appreciate your apology, and I do believe you did not set out to hurt me, but nothing about this is easy. Your confession. Kate’s manipulation. This decision. It all feels like a ticking time bomb, and I know the only one who can contain the detonation is me.”

The silence that fell between us was punctuated by his heavy sigh. “Will . . . will you do the finale?” he asked.

I looked up at the mantel and saw the clock Elliott and I found together at the Brocante de Beaucaire—the clock that may have belonged to the Adélaïses—and wondered if it was the one and only authentic thing in the entire room? The entire château? My entire life?

“I think all the smoke and mirrors are making it hard to see and breathe. I need to go and clear my head,” I said.

Bastien nodded, his understanding evident in the gentle dip of his head. “Whatever you decide, I’ll understand.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Like a siren song, Saint Orens called out to me. I remembered what Bastien said the first time we visited, that anyone could seek sanctuary at a church, at any hour, day or night. Hours after our conversation at Château Mirabelle, I found myself alone, walking up the cobblestone road lined with charming old houses with blue wooden shutters toward the baroque cathedral. I wasn’t sure what I was in search of—sympathy, understanding, or the ability to forgive—but I figured Saint Orens was as good a place as any to look.

I pushed lightly on the large oak doors and stepped into the empty chapel. To my surprise, Father François was still inside cleaning up from the evening Mass. He spotted me from the dais and came hurrying down from the altar to greet me.

“Plum, what are you doing here? Unfortunately, we just concluded our evening prayer service,” he said.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to disturb you, I just . . . I don’t know . . . I needed a quiet place to think, and this was the first one that came to mind.”

“Oui, of course, our doors are never closed to those in need. Take as long as you wish.”

“Merci.”

Taking a seat in a pew at the back of the church, the bench squeaking loudly as if welcoming me in, I rested my back against the unforgiving wood and took comfort in its refuge. Even though I’d been here before, I hadn’t really stopped to appreciate how beautiful it was inside. The large stained-glass windows reflected colored light from long, tapered candles placed all along the chapel walls, so that almost everything shimmered with a golden hue. Like all of Provence, it too was magical.

Father François made his way up the aisle and sat down beside me. “I was going to retire for the evening shortly, but before I do, is there anything I can help with, mon enfant?”