Elise spared an apologetic glance at Remi.
“I’m sorry, Madame Cuvilyé,” Lamotte said carefully. “You are not the intended party.”
“Yes, we are,” Beline argued. “We have every right, don’t we, Remi?”
Remi stopped short of her aunt by two steps. Lamotte caught her expression and relaxed.
“Good morning, Monsieur Lamotte.” Remi bobbed her head. “Tante Beline, would you be so kind as to watch over the house while I am absent? Your guidance would be appreciated.”
Her aunt’s face changed three shades of red. “I will do no such—”
“As you said,” Remi shot her a weary look, “there is much work to be done.”
“Come with me then if you will.” Lamotte spurred into action, interrupting the older woman as he put himself between the two. He offered his arm, which Remi took easily. “I have the young master waiting for us in the study.”
“Ben?” Remi blinked.
“Go on, Maman and I will check in on the dining arrangements,” Elise beelined for her mother and linked arms, pulling her around the corner before she could protest.
“I’m terribly sorry to do this to you now,” Lamotte said as he led Remi to the study.
Remi nodded, focused on the end of the hall, unable to shake her nervousness.
Lamotte pushed open the study doors to reveal Ben dressed in black. He seemed to tower over everything in the room, a scowl on his face. She was hardly prepared to maneuver his terse behavior, especially when her aunt had thoroughly shredded her nerves.
Don’t let him intimidate you.
“Please have a seat,” Lamotte commanded.
Remi tried to ignore Ben as they sat, but it was difficult to do so when his legs stretched out far enough to graze the hem of her skirt. He took up so much space that the chair could not contain him. Despite his fists being balled in his lap, his elbows hung far over each side, and the top of his head reached over the backrest.
Lamotte shut the doors and rounded to the seat behind her late husband’s desk. “Your father would have been overjoyed to see you in his study, Benoît,” he commented.
“How unfortunate that he’s dead now,” Ben replied with a humorless smile. “Were he alive, we could all have tea and talk about the weather.”
A moment of awkward silence passed between the three of them. Remi squeezed her hands together in her lap and swallowed a lump in her throat whilst Lamotte continued nervously shuffling papers.
“Then again,” Ben went on, ignoring the obvious tension. “I wouldn’t be here if he were alive, would I? You would have your husband, Madame, and I would have my dark little corner of Paris. So, we shall never truly know what sort of emotions I would elicit, will we?”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me, she thought. I won’t let him get to me this time.
“Nonetheless, it gladdens me to see you again after so long,” she managed politely. “It is a terrible thing to grieve alone, but to be home after so many years? I’m sure the adjustment has been an enormous strain.”
“Enormous, indeed.” He scowled.
“Excuse me.” Lamotte coughed, drawing their attention. “I do apologize, but I have another appointment approaching. Might we manage the task at hand?”
“Monsieur.” Remi nodded her acknowledgment. “You may have the floor. That is, if Benoît is finished?”
“Quite.” Ben sat back in his chair, folded his fingers across his stomach, and smirked, holding her gaze.
Heat bloomed in her breast, but she held her composure. He wouldn’t best her today; she would make sure of it.
Lamotte cleared his throat and began to read.
As his voice droned on, Remi’s eyes grew heavy. Edgar’s statement was long and precise but written as an academic and lacking sentiment. She knew him well enough to glean that much about his character from the short time they’d spent together. He could be affectionate, but she only ever saw that when she caught him staring up at his late wife’s portrait. Or on the rare occasions when he mentioned his children, Ben and Soleil.
“...finally, the award of my estate and all properties contained within shall be shared equally among my widow, Remi Leone, and my son, Benoît E. Leone.”
Remi’s back straightened.
Ben, to her immediate surprise, did not seem phased.
“And lastly, he makes mention of a hidden sum...” Lamotte peered at them hesitantly from the top of the paper. “A small fortune which he refers to as the ‘family treasure.’”
“Treasure?” Ben asked, suddenly at the edge of his seat. His entire manner changed at the mention of it. “Not the treasure?”
“Treasure?” Remi inquired, her eyes falling on Lamotte.
“Yes.” The lawyer eyed the paper again. “It has been long rumored that the Leone family has a stash of treasure somewhere on the island. Though, for all it’s worth, our dear Edgar makes no mention of its whereabouts. I suppose he meant to make it a secret?”
Ben groaned, sinking back into his chair. “He wouldn’t make it obvious, no. Especially not in his will.”
“But if he mentioned it,”—Remi sat forward— “wouldn’t he have known where to find it? He’s left it to us, after all.”
Ben sneered at her from behind a curtain of dark hair. “Oh? Thirsty for my family’s wealth?”
“Pardon?” Remi’s eyes widened. She had never counted herself among the young women who might have been starry-eyed at another’s wealth, but Ben’s opinion of her person had soured over the years. “I am insulted that you would even suggest it.”
