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)
His eyebrows raise. “I didn’t know a hand job under the dinner table was a part of your little list,” he says.
I roll my eyes and pull my hand away. “You’re jostling all the glasses. Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not. I’m fine.”
“You’re full of crap. Come on, just tell me.”
His jaw hardens as he glances toward the door. “Grandpère is a difficult man.”
“He can’t be that bad. I mean, he’s your grandfather, right?”
“He adopted me, actually. He’s more like an actual father, but he never let me call him that. It’s always been Grandpère.” Julien looks at me as if he’s confused about why he even mentioned anything. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
He takes a long drink and I watch him, wondering what kind of man would adopt a kid, but make him use Grandpère instead of father or dad. That seems like an oddly cruel way to treat a kid. Based on his nerves, I’d guess they don’t have a very good relationship, but that isn’t really my problem or my business. All I’m here to do is smile, say I’m his wife, and move on with my life. Ideally five thousand dollars richer.
More men filter into the room. I’m introduced to Henri Deschamps, a large man with a loud laugh. He shakes my hand and seems very fascinated by my ring. “Julien always did have such good taste, did he not?” Another man named Rene Pelletier enters, though he’s not as talkative, and only glowers at me like he wants to rip off my head.
Last is a young man named Jean who seems to be close friends with Julien. He sits on my other side and smirks at me, leaning back in his chair slightly to study my face. “At last, the mythical Brianne arrives,” he says. “I was beginning to think Julien made you up.”
“Unfortunately, she’s real,” Julien grumbles.
“Ah, please, do not be so rude,” Henri cuts in. “The girl is beautiful, is she not? Any man would be lucky to marry such a pretty face.”
Julien looks at me for a long moment and he puts his hand on my thigh. I jolt slightly, surprised by his touch. “You’re right, Henri. I was being rude and surly. Your presence has that effect on me.”
Henri doesn’t seem to mind the insult. He throws his head back and laughs, and Julien leaves his hand on my leg. I let it stay as Henri asks me questions about my family, and I finally brush it away after a few minutes.
But for some reason, I wish he’d touch me again.
The door to the dining room opens again. An older man enters: gray hair, salt-and-pepper eyebrows, startling and youthful eyes. He moves to the head of the table, looking at each man in turn, before lingering on me with a curious expression, like he didn’t think I actually existed.
“Pascal, there you are, we were just discussing Julien’s new wife,” Henri says with a big smirk.
“Grandpère,” Julien says. “I want you to meet Brianne.”
I stare at the old man. He doesn’t smile at me, only tilts his head to the side as though studying a sculpture at a museum. “This is the Irish girl then,” he says. His accent is thicker than the others. “She is nowhere near as beautiful as Collette. What a pity for you.”
I lean back in surprise and glance at Julien, not sure how to take that. His face is a neutral mask, and he doesn’t bother making a reply. I have no idea who Collette is or how attractive she is, but I definitely don’t like being compared to her in the first ten seconds of meeting this old man.
The evening doesn’t go much better. The meal is served and conversation is stilted. I learn that Pascal has lived in Marseille for most of his life and took Julien into his home when Julien was just a young boy. “He was a street rat when I found him. A clever rat, but just a rat. Now I’ve tried to mold him into a man, but who knows, I wonder if I was very successful. If perhaps he hasn’t remained a rat still.”
Julien’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t respond to the insult. Instead, his Grandpère throws questions at me like he’s firing a rifle and aiming straight for my heart. He wants to know about my family, about my friends, about my parents. He sneers when I mention both my mother and my brother are dead. “An unlucky girl. Seems anyone that gets close to her ends up dead.”
“Grandpère,” Julien says. It’s not a sharp rebuke, but his tone is firm. “Brianne has been nothing but polite.”
“Yes, yes, the girl has manners.” The old man waves a hand. “And yet she is not French. She is not Collette. She is not who I wanted you to marry.” He leans forward, glaring at Julien. “Yet again, you manage to disappoint me when I least expect it. Coming here to this backwater to make a name for yourself, and now getting involved with this nothing of a girl—”