Chapter 93.1

Chapter 93.1

In Central Park, the fine-dining restaurant Tavern on the Green, located west of the vast Sheep Meadow, was especially beautiful after sunset.

Strings of lantern-lit bulbs hung over the outdoor terrace, surrounded by the park’s lush greenery. Against the deep navy sky stretched above the glittering skyline, the evening air had cooled after the day’s heat, carrying with it the soft strains of jazz piano.

But the table where André and Lorraine sat was frozen solid, like Bethesda Fountain in the dead of winter.

André’s tone was firm, unyielding.

[Three months. Then the divorce. No room for compromise.]

Lorraine snapped back, her face blazing with indignation.

[Three months? Don’t be ridiculous! I already told you—I need the full three years to unlock the second trust fund!]

[If you can’t accept it, stop wasting my time and find someone else.]

He paused briefly, then added as though it had just occurred to him:

[Ah… in that case, I won’t be bound by confidentiality.]

It was a veiled threat—his way of saying he had no intention of keeping her secrets. Though today’s meeting was supposed to be for negotiations, André hadn’t planned to give an inch.

Lorraine, who dabbled in art dealing as a hobby, was no match for him in this game. He had turned the sharp blade pressed to his own throat until it hovered at hers instead. Even if it cut his hand, he intended to take everything he could.

[André de Lafayette, are you threatening me right now?]

Lorraine’s voice shook as she raised it.

[Lower your voice, Lorraine Cabot.]

André flicked his eyes toward a nearby table where Walter Huntington and his wife, Arabella, were seated. Arabella, famously talkative, belonged to the same social circle as Lorraine’s mother, Madeline Collins.

As members of the Central Park Conservancy’s women’s committee, they hosted the annual Hat Luncheon, a charity event where society women appeared in elaborate hats. Arabella had been sneaking glances at André and Lorraine for some time.

André cut into the lamb steak on a bed of cheesy polenta and forced himself to chew and swallow. Lorraine, pretending to pick at her sea bass in coconut curry sauce, lowered her head.

[You’re the one who dragged me into this. You should have known the risks. And my conditions are only beginning. I’m warning you, sit quietly and listen.]

Lorraine slipped a tiny piece of fish into her mouth, chewed for a long moment, then swallowed with effort. She looked up, eyes blazing, but her lips curved into a bright, practiced smile. It was her signature expression.

[Fine. Go on then. Let’s hear it.]

[Collins’s entire Lafayette–Lowell stake. Transfer it to me the moment we’re married. And bring the shareholder proxy as your dowry.]

Lorraine drew in a sharp breath to protest, but André lifted a hand to silence her.

[When we divorce, the Lafayette–Lowell Group’s hotel division will sponsor your man. A three-year contract to produce a set number of works for display in hotel lobbies and lounges. You know better than anyone that I’d be handing a struggling artist a once-in-a-lifetime ladder to success.]

[He is not my man!] Lorraine spat.

It was a retort that avoided the heart of the matter. The way she dropped her gaze, pressed her lips together, and sipped her wine betrayed how tempted she was by the offer.

André’s proposal cost him little. Several hotels were scheduled for renovation, and collaborations with new artists during redesigns were common.

Even André had to admit Lorraine Cabot’s eye for art was exceptional. She wasn’t the kind of fool who would inflate a man’s talent simply because she loved him. From what André had already looked into, the critics’ reviews of the man’s work were solid.

André ignored her and continued.

[We’ll skip the engagement. The wedding is Monday, September second. We’ll bring only our witnesses to City Hall and file the papers. It needs to look like an impulsive, secret marriage, so when we divorce there’s an excuse that it was a rash mistake. The divorce will be finalized by Monday, December second.]

He set his fork and knife neatly on the right side of the plate and lifted his chin slightly. His arrogant gaze cut down at Lorraine from the bridge of his nose.