The CEO's Wife

Chapter 9 - I worry, mon amour

♡

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.

Today was the day. Today was Friday. In a few breaths, the dinner would commence.

I couldn't stand still anymore, moving from room to room, trying to distract my busy mind with something! anything! I checked the kitchen and their process, checked the set tables again and again, moving cutlery, picking at the artfully folded napkins, checking if all the candles were lit, if the drive way looked good - then went back inside to the main hallway.

Trying not to move around again, I took a deep breath and forced myself to think of something else.

But I couldn't.

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. Every one of them, I checked religiously at least three times.

Golden flower vases stood on every clear table, all of them white, per my choice, all of them giving the home a floral scent. White roses, white peonies, daisies - anything France could offer me quickly.

Anne-Marie had done her damn hardest to make this place attractive to us - from the colour scheme down to the scent.

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 checked everything again. Let the servants be as they looked at me worryingly. I retreated once again.

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.