France, North of Paris
Tuesday, December 15, 5:40 p.m.
Lucy Gaines swapped her heels for flats for the short walk home from her new job. Her employer’s butler watched patiently, opening the door when her heels were tucked into her tote.
“Have a lovely evening, Miss Gaines,” he said in precise, formal French.
“Merci,” she replied, crossing the threshold. Outside, she paused on the top step and breathed in the crisp evening air as the butler closed the magnificent oak door with a near-silent whoosh. Every day she marveled that she worked here, lived here.
December in France. It seemed her new reality might never sink in completely. Just over a month ago she’d been staring down the dark emotional tunnel of a melancholy holiday season in Chicago. Her life had once more taken a U-turn and this time she couldn’t be happier. Practically skipping down the steps, she tugged at the collar of her wool coat, keeping the dropping temperature at bay although the brisk winter air here was balmy compared to the bite of the Windy City this time of year.
She lived and worked in a dream world. Chantilly and Paris were only a short drive away from this sleepy, rural neighborhood that barely qualified as a town. Commune, she corrected herself with the French term. Growing up, she and her sister, Gwen, had dreamed of trekking through Europe after college, immersing themselves in history, culture and new discoveries with each day. They’d made it, though the timing and circuitous route of ups and downs had been grueling for both of them.
Technically, Lucy’s MBA from Stanford University made her overqualified for a position as a personal assistant. But Dieter Kathrein was no ordinary entrepreneur. A French billionaire known for his business acumen and reluctance to socialize, he’d promised her an experience and connections that would make even the interview worth her time.
Odd how she’d thought he was overselling it then, only to discover he’d left several perks off the original attractive list. Being able to walk to and from work was merely the start. Mr. Kathrein had shown an unexpected degree of generosity when he added a car and driver along with a rent-free cottage to her benefits package. With those worrisome personal details handled, the scales had tipped in favor of her accepting the position.
Obviously pleased to have her on board, his sharp gaze had turned misty under his bushy white eyebrows as he shared his family’s rich history in this pocket of France. Lucy had been sucked in immediately, thoroughly captivated by the sad and brave story of Dieter’s parents, killed while assisting the French Resistance against the Nazis. The sole survivor, barely out of his teens, he’d pledged his life to preserving the family legacy and ensuring the security of future Kathrein generations.
He’s certainly done that, Lucy thought, soaking up the views and serene environment. Day in and day out, everything she could see belonged to the Kathrein estate. He and his wife must have been delighted to raise their two daughters in such an idyllic area—the perfect balance between the past and present, vibrant cities and quiet countrysides, staggering history and a lovely, hope-filled future.
She marveled that the man whose extreme preference for privacy and solitude had so graciously shared a corner of this sublime region with her and her remaining family. At the time he’d said, in his cultured French accent, “Family is the only reason to do anything in this world.” She couldn’t agree with him more.
Following her interview, once she’d signed the contracts, Dieter had entrusted her to the estate manager, who’d given her a full tour, culminating with a walk-through of the cottage. Considering the regal elegance of Dieter’s sprawling residence she shouldn’t have been so stunned by his definition of cottage. The four-bedroom manor house had two parlors, a dining room, a renovated kitchen and a sunroom downstairs—all fully furnished. The modern updates throughout the house had been expertly crafted to blend seamlessly with the original, old-world charm. She’d fallen in love with the space immediately, knowing this would be the fresh start she needed.
When she rounded the bend of the lane, the front door of the house came into view and Lucy’s shoulders relaxed as the last of the day’s challenges fell away. At ninety-six, and firmly set in his ways, her elderly boss could be more than a little difficult at times. Those speed bumps would smooth out in the weeks ahead. This wasn’t her first experience with an eccentric boss who expected people and details to fall into place. For her part, she knew it was simply a matter of acclimating to his personality, communication style and priorities. The holiday season, with the influx of family and happy traditions, would help them both bridge that gap.
For now, work was behind her and she’d be home momentarily. Home in France! The lovely thought brought a smile to her lips. In a minute or two, she’d be able to see the progress Gwen had made with the Christmas tree today and then she’d tickle a smile out of her nephew, Jackson. Only eight months old and already the little guy was an incurable flirt. On a second wind infused with happiness, she picked up the pace and hurried along the lane.
This wasn’t how she’d pictured her life would be at twenty-six, but she thought the three of them were settling into a pleasant and hopeful routine as a family. Despite the headache of the overseas move—no one hated flying more than Lucy—Gwen seemed to smile more often, the grief fading from her eyes with each new day. Lucy celebrated every small, positive change in Gwen after the heartbreaking and unexpected loss of her husband only two months after Jackson’s arrival in the world.
Having her sister and nephew around gave Lucy a much-needed anchor as she learned her new job and let go of her own heartbreak. Her loss had been mild in light of Gwen’s tragedy, but moving from California to France, embracing a new career and direction in life, had helped them both.
“I’m home,” Lucy called out as she walked through the front door. She set down her briefcase and purse to shrug out of her coat, hanging it on the antique hall tree. The house was quiet and she didn’t hear any of the typical noises or catch any savory aromas from the kitchen. Maybe Gwen and Jackson were playing in the garden out back.
Lucy dropped off her purse and briefcase in the smaller parlor room at the front of the house they’d repurposed as her home office.
Kathrein had requested she keep flexible hours regardless of where she chose to live, since he had an unpredictable sleep pattern. Lucy had yet to seek out a social life, so it didn’t bother her to be available whenever her boss woke with a concern or fresh idea.
“Where’s my favorite little man?” Lucy singsonged as she walked down the dim hallway. Her shoe caught in something and she bent for a closer look. One of Jackson’s cotton blankets, she noticed, picking it up. How strange. Gwen, older by four years, had always been a bit compulsive about keeping things neat and tidy.
Lucy slid back the pocket door and stepped into the larger parlor they used as a family room. Her mind went blank. She couldn’t make any sense of what she was seeing.
It looked as if a tornado had ripped right through the room, overturning furniture and twisting everything in its path. The fresh Christmas tree Dieter had had delivered to the house just days before was toppled over. The pine scent rising from broken branches and crushed green needles weighted the air in the room, making her queasy. The antique glass ornaments they’d inherited from their grandmother were scattered and crushed, strewn along the floor like sparkling, hazardous confetti.
No. No. The word echoed through Lucy’s mind. This disaster didn’t make any sense. Gwen would never make this kind of mess or leave it for someone else to find. Where are they? Lucy’s heart stalled out in her chest.
“Gwen.” What she’d intended as a shout came out as a rasp. She cleared the terror from