The CEO's Wife

Prologue - Before the storm

♡

Sara's POV

France, Normandy

April

My breath came out stuttering, hitching.

My throat was awfully dry, making it hard to swallow.

The palm of my hands were getting slightly wetter with each passing second.

I couldn't stand still anymore, moving from room to room, trying to distract my busy mind with something! anything!

I nervously glanced around, shifted, moved down the hall - the chateau, our chateau, had been decorated beyond recognition - the already golden walls with biblical painted scenes were brightly lit up by the thousand of white candles the servants had placed around and lit. Golden flower vases stood on every clear table, all of them white, per my choice, all of them giving the home a floral scent. 

Anne-Marie had done her damn hardest to make this place attractive to us - from the colour scheme down to the scent. As the De Beaumont heads, we would spend a fair amount of time here.

Last minute preparations prior to the grand dinner were being made as I was strolling around frantically - the servants checked if the cutlery was well-polished and placed down in the right angle, the maids dusted off the counters a third time, the carpets were rolled out, the driveway was cleaned of anything that didn't belong there, the musicians practiced their pieces in the hall that would hold the guests before and after the dinner, the rooms that were non-accessible to the guests were locked (which would be around 16 out of 22) and the servants slowly but gradually took their positions, awaiting the swarm of people patiently and calmly.

Unlike me.

I tugged at the long cape and frowned.

And I was dressed to the nines - my attire was from Dior, and the price that Anne-Marie had named had made my ears ring. The French head of the servants had used my stunned silence to twist my hair in the most complex up-do, one worthy of the royal families out there. She chose my jewelry, long earrings that went to my prominent collarbone and was an eyesight (or so she said) as well as a delicate Swarovski armband on my left hand. On my right hand, on my ring finger, I bore my engagement and wedding ring, that had been polished just a few minutes ago and caught every natural and artificial light in every angle beautifully.

And now I was left here, in the foyer, a door separating me from the ball room, another from the dining room, a third door from the salon and library, and lastly a door that was off-access for me, the kitchen. The cooks forbid me from putting one foot inside there. The head cook (I was still bad with their ranks and titles) had forbidden me to even as much as raise a finger near him, so I quietly left him and the others be.

Maybe I should go to the orangery, since nobody needed me ... From what Anne-Marie had told me, it was 75 m2 big and to the north of the house, specially designed and built by Glasshouses of England, had underfloor heating and radiators. Antique tiled floor too, if I remembered correctly. You could access it from the dining room, the kitchen and the garden. There was also a stone staircase to the first floor, with a double cloakroom on the half landing between the two floors. If I wanted some peace and quiet, then I would need to march through the garden so the servants wouldn't see me.

I stopped myself and laughed out loud, but it was a dry, nervous laugh.

I laughed at the situation I was in.

Crazy to think how my life could change so drastically in just a year.

Before I had met the love of my life, Micháel Philippé de Beaumont, I had been Sara Atkins, married to Noah Atkins. A normal girl, that had Bosnian roots, had lived in Austria prior to moving to America, and I had certainly not been royal. I had met an American in Austria, married that loser, moved countries for him and left everything behind in my stupidity.