Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” I don’t know why I like that compliment so much. “You look like your usual smarmy self.”
“Smarmy?” He laughs lightly. “I like that word.”
“It’s not a good thing.”
“Maybe not to you.” He tilts his head toward the menus. “Are you hungry? I can order for us both if you like. The chef does a nice little five-course tasting experience that’s very good.”
“Works for me.”
He waves the waitress back over and places our order. She hurries off, and I realize that despite spending time with Julien lately, we’ve never actually been one-on-one like this for any extended period. Which means I have to think of things to talk about.
It’s stressful at first. He asks about my family, which isn’t a great topic, and I ask how his grandfather’s visit is going, which only makes him scowl. But he persists and soon I find myself telling him about Kim, about the cousins, and even about some of the Hayes Group thugs.
As it turns out, Julien knows most of them. Not like they’re friends or anything, but he seems to keep tabs on most of the criminal underworld players, which I find very surprising. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would notice anyone beneath his station, much less learn the names of minor Hayes cousins.
“Can I ask you something?” The first course arrives and he begins to eat. It’s a plate of small bites: truffle-infused cauliflower served in a tiny cup and a spread of high-end meats and cheeses.
“Only if I get to ask you something in return.”
“Who’s Collette?”
Julien laughs. He holds his wine in one hand and swirls it slowly around. “She’s a girl my grandfather wants me to marry. A good French girl from an important family back home. I knew her briefly when we were young.”
“Were you close? You and Collette?”
“Why, are you jealous?” His teasing smile annoys me, but I’m curious enough to ignore it. “No, Collette and I were definitely not close. I wasn’t very close with anyone from that world.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Grandpère is an important man in Marseille. All the rich, powerful families are friendly with him, but that doesn’t mean they’re interested in his adopted fake grandson. They looked at me like an animal Grandpère hosed off and dressed in people clothes, and girls like Collette could practically smell the social stigma wafting off me. She kept her distance, and I preferred it that way.”
I study him briefly, trying to square the man sitting before me with the image of the street urchin he’s implying. It’s hard to imagine—Julien is sophisticated, intelligent, and handsome—and yet he clearly seems to have a scar running deep into his soul.
“If things were so uncomfortable with her, why would your grandfather want you to marry her?”
“For the same reason any family like ours wants to sell one of their children off to another. Power, influence, continuity.” He ticks the reasons off on his fingers. “But most of all, I suspect Grandpère enjoys torturing me.”
“You and he don’t get along.”
“Not so much, we do not.” He drinks his wine and puts it down. “What about you and your father? Are there lots of warm, cozy feelings there?”
“No, there aren’t.” I don’t elaborate though, and when it’s clear I don’t plan on talking about it more, Julien lets it drop.
Instead, we talk about the meal. Once I start to concentrate on the food, it’s surprisingly good. There’s a tartare de saumon, an incredible duck breast a l’orange, more fancy cheeses, and a dessert of chocolate fondant with a molten center and ice cream. I didn’t plan on going all out when I came here, but I’m stuffed once the waitress clears away our final plates.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Julien says and drums his fingers on the table. “I’ll be honest. Right now, I’d die for a fucking cigarette, but I quit and I’m trying to be better about it.”
“You smoked? I shouldn’t be surprised. French and all.”
He grunts at me. “Like half of your cousins don’t smoke Newports in their mother’s back yard.”
That makes me laugh, mostly because he’s not wrong. “I’m just saying. You’re a French gangster with a cigarette addiction. It’s as cliché as it gets.”
“How very funny for you. I’m glad you enjoy my suffering.” He finishes his wine and waves for a refill. “Speaking of suffering, I think we should discuss business.”
I tense slightly and look away. I’d almost forgotten why we were here. I was actually enjoying myself, which is completely bizarre, seeing as I’ve done nothing but sit around and have a pleasant meal with an unpleasant person.
“You want to talk about getting married.”
“I thought I’d outline the shape of our relationship. If we are moving forward, and I think that we are, there should be ground rules.”