The silent treatment continued, and it disturbed the man who scraped more 3D simulations on Sketchup and Rhino in an hour than in the last five years of his career.

Some would say it was no big deal, but the compression point in his chest proved otherwise. Jonas had advanced on the Monopoly game that was their flat-sharing. The man felt as though he was back in the start square. No, he was in jail emotionally speaking, and their brawl just underlined genuine feelings the man had.

The following day Jonas watched as Sierra prepared Leone and his belongings. Jacob's words came crashing into his mind," you're the only one she trusts."

Efficient and straightforward, the words weighed, and Jonas found himself invested with the need to live up to the woman's expectations.

"Sierra, please don't be like this," Jonas said while she dressed Leone, "you're part of the equation. I don't dissociate Leone and you. All I'm asking is for you to trust me on this."

The woman stopped what she was doing and turned to stare at Jonas. Her puffy eyes bared witness to the tears she shed.

The man entered her bedroom and came to kneel next to her, "Sierra, I know you're keeping something from me. I can't help you if you don't tell me."

Sierra sighed and tilted her head backward to push back the tears, which would make her seem weak, "it's just these people they are manipulative, Jonas I'm afraidㅡ."

"Sierra, do you think they can buy me?"

"No, it's just they make themselves seem like saints but theyㅡ." Sierra stopped, "nevermind."

"No, it's not, nevermind. Talk to me."

"Just promise me not to let Leone out of your sight." Sierra returned her focus on the little boy, "there, Leone, you're so handsome," Sierra caressed the boy's head, and he leaned forward to hug her.

There was no doubt that Leone and Sierra's bond was something Jonas knew one could not break. They loved each other, and Jonas counted to do everything in his power to preserve them. No, the man did not dissociate Sierra from his son. The more the days passed, the more the was convinced Sierra equaled Leone's happiness.

Sierra accompanied Leone and Jonas to Gare de Lyon. The drive was also a silent one where Jonas took side glances at Sierra, who did not even bother to turn on the radio. At the station, she wore the happiest of poker faces to wave them goodbye.

The sentiment of being a jerk clung to Jonas like sticky chewing gum on a shoe on a warm summer day. He was only trying to be fair, he mentally repeated.

Four hours later, Jonas and Leone got off the TGV to be welcomed by the Gauthiers.

"Good lord, he's so grown. Gosh, he's handsome, look Timothy."

"I can see, Gladys, hello Jonas, welcome to Dijon." Mr. Gauthier shook the man's hands vigorously.

"I've been counting the days," Mrs. Gauthier said, "can I take him?"

"Gladys, let them touch the ground and give the boy some time."

They went out of the station to the Gauthiers SUV.

"I hope the voyage was not too rough."

"The man took a train, not a carriage, Gladys. My wife tends to make everything seem epic."

Jonas remained silent. It was not the kind of remark one wished to add a comment. He disliked the old fashion way certain men had of speaking in their wives' stead as if they were incapable of expressing their opinions. The Gauthiers were old, and Jonas made abstraction of the comment he put on account of mid-1950′s education.

The ride to the residence was a thirty-minute drive from the station. Jonas lived it like an into the woods experience. As he got out of the car, he wondered how Cecile did to get to town as a child.

The property was far from anything that could interest a teen. Vast with acres and acres of land, the mansion looked like a postcard of Spain.

"Welcome to la Villa Verde, Leone."

Since their arrival, Leone was in his observation mode.

"Is he always like this?"

"No, he's just visually acquainting himself with the new surroundings. Don't worry. He'll be up to mischief in a bit."

Jonas, too, looked around.

On the mansion's steps, a woman in her late thirties and two men respectively in their fifty and late twenties waited for them.

"This is Mounia, our housekeeper, Mr. Dupuis, the gardener slash handyman, and his son Wilson," Mr. Gauthier explained.

"Nice to meet you."

"I'll take your luggage, sir," Mounia said.

Brown hair and olive color skin, the traits and her name indicated she was either from the south of France or of north African descent.

The men, on the other hand, were French and from the Dijonese region.

"I've only got a backpack and a rollbag I can carry."

"Oh, Jonas, let Mounia do. It's no bother for her."

Prompted Jonas gave his bags.

"We'll have lunch in the veranda. Bertrand will be joining us with his wife, Colette. He's very excited to meet you."

"Bertrand?"

"Yes, he's my nephew and Cecile's unique cousin. Children, they were inseparable. He works with us."

"I see," Jonas followed them to the veranda, which was almost as big as Sierra's apartment. Cecile did not lie when she said her parents were wealthy.

The la villa Verde PDO labeled wine had a worldwide distribution. What made their fortune was the contracts they had in the Gulf States, where many royal families dined with the Gauthier's bottles.

"Have a seat Jonas. Wilson, can you bring Leone's high chair."

"You shouldn't have invested in that. Leone can eat on my lap. Besides, we're only staying one night."

The remark threw a shade on the ambiance.

Mrs. Gauthier dabbed her cheeks with her handkerchief, "we just thought it would make it easier. And besides, whatever we buy won't go to waste since Leone will be with us soon."

A threat or a gentle reminder, not knowing how to react to Mrs. Gauthier's words, the man feigned a smile. The day was going to be a long one.

The scene was interrupted by Bertrand's grand entrance. Tall, slender with dark brown hair but bright green eyes. Cecile's cousin corresponded to the stereotypical French male. Those who ate drank, and wore only made in France labels. French Pride was hashtagged all over the man's face. Jonas doubted the supposed affinity he had with Cecile, who profoundly detested anything pompous.

"Sorry, we're late. My wife absolutely wanted to get Leone's gift from UPS before leaving."

Jonas wondered what kind of gift needed an express delivery when his blood stopped and rushed backward in his veins. The shock was so immense the man blinked in stupefaction while he gasped for air as he watched Cecile walk into the room with a huge parcel.

"Jonas, this is Colette Bertrand's wife. Jonas, are you okay?"

"IㅡI."

"Nice to meet you," said Colette.

Eyes, lips, and nose, if it were fantasy fiction, the man would have screamed sorcery. Colette's resemblance with Cecile was striking. Only the low-pitched voice differed.

To crown it all, Colette sat across from Jonas.

"Youㅡ," Jonas opened a button of his shirt. He needed oxygen.

"Mounia, can you turn the air-conditioner, please? Our guest seems to need a little bowl of fresh air," Mr. Gauthier said in what one could interpret as a cynical tone.

Jonas was not the only person with apnea. Leone followed every one of Colette's gestures before beginning to cry.

Manipulative, Sierra said.

What game were the Gauthiers playing?