Chapter Fifteen

Antoine

I spit out the tea. Unfortunately, my reflexes fail me this time, and the cold brew lands on my shirt. “You should warn me if you’re going to make a joke,” I say.

“A joke?” Maman looks reproachful. “You shouldn’t lie to your mother. I can tell. It’s the coffeemaker. You haven’t used yours in at least a couple of days. It’s completely dry and smells a few days old.”

Maman has an uncanny power to tell how old coffee is from just a sniff. She said she learned to do that while working at a café in her youth. The Dark Age, she calls it, because that was when Papy got tired of her and Tante Nicole’s antics and cut both of them off. Their allowances started up again after Maman and Tante Nicole agreed to a cease-fire of sorts—not that that stopped them from clandestinely trying to sabotage each other.

But…my coffeemaker? “How the hell do you know—”

“I’ve been inside your apartment, obviously.”

“You don’t have a key.” I don’t do spare keys, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give one to Maman. She has no respect for privacy.

She puts a hand over her chest and sighs. “Well. I ran into the sweetest man. Your super. He was skeptical at first, but I convinced him you and I are family. You look just like me…if I were male, of course, and larger. I told him I had no place to go, and you apparently couldn’t answer the phone at work.” The corners of her mouth turn downward. “Horrible to have Maman loitering outside like some”—she casts around for a sufficiently dramatic term—“unwanted vagrant.”

I cover my eyes. I can’t even get mad at the poor super. Knowing Maman, she charmed the hell out of the man. He’s paunchy and sallow, with pockmarks all over his face. And he’s lost at least half an inch of hairline with every decade. He has no clue how to handle someone like Maman, who wields her charm the way gladiators wielded their swords.

“It’s work,” I say, once I can speak. “There’s been an incident involving Kristen.”

“Right. That’s why you took your clothes. Toiletries. A carry-on case’s worth to be precise. How long are you two going to under the same roof? Do you have to be in the same room as her as well?”

Damn it. She went through my place like a team of cops with a warrant. And—predictably—leaped to one ridiculous conclusion after another.

“But let’s assume for a moment you aren’t involved with Kristen.”

“I’m not.” A kiss doesn’t count as “being involved.”

She gives me a look normally reserved for a toddler trying to lie for the first time. “Have you spoken with Eddie? Are you seeing Tessa again, then?”

I forcibly relax at the mention of my former best friend and his younger sister. “No. Why would you think we’d run into each other?”

“Well, they are in Los Angeles.”

I have to laugh. “L.A. has thirteen million people. And I’m busy working.”

“You wouldn’t have to do if you’d just win Papy’s money.”

“Like I said, I don’t want his money.”

“Everyone wants his money.”

Why am I bothering? She’s just going to project whatever the hell she feels like because that’s what she does best.

“Including Tessa,” Maman continues. “The Maxim family fortune has declined significantly. She needs to marry well.”

“She doesn’t have to marry me. And Eddie can make his own money if the goal is to restore the family fortune. Or marry an heiress himself.”

Maman laughs, the sound oddly grating. “Women don’t marry poor men. It’s the other way around…unless he wants to marry a much older sugar mama, which is beneath him. Eddie’s pride wouldn’t tolerate it. But Tessa is pretty, and men love young, pretty brides.”

It’s all I can do to not curl my lip in distaste. The topic is ridiculous and unpleasant, to put it mildly.

“Your marrying Tessa would fix everything for everyone.”

“You forgot about the baby part,” I point out dryly. I swore I’d never touch Tessa again, and I’m not breaking that vow.

“She seems fertile, but I suppose you’re right. We should test her to make sure she can get pregnant.”

My jaw drops. “Have you considered the possibility that maybe I’m shooting blanks?”

Maman waves a hand. “Nonsense. The only reason none of your exes is pregnant is that you must be meticulous with condom use.”

My skin crawls. The last thing I want to talk about with my mother is condoms. And making babies. I don’t know what it is, but lately, every time I speak to her, I feel like I’m rolling around in a particularly filthy pigsty.

“If you don’t care to make things right with Tessa and Eddie because you found someone better, it’s fine with me.”

“Things will never be right between us, Maman. And all the money in the world is not going to change that.”

“Why not, Antoine?” Maman asks, genuinely surprised and confused. “There’s nothing money can’t fix.”

“Tessa and I didn’t just break up. You know that.”

She considers, nodding. Her index finger taps the table precisely ten times—her habit when she’s thinking things through. Maybe she’s finally getting it that Tessa and I are history. Finished. Done. Never to be repea—

“So that’s why you’re going for Kristen…” Maman muses out loud. “And she has money of her own, so she probably won’t get greedy about the trust you’re going to inherit for marrying her.”

Aaaaagh! I don’t have time for this. If I keep talking to her, I’m going to get lumps on my forehead from hitting it against the table. Or I’m going to end up killing her. This calls for a nuclear blast. “Get this straight, Maman,” I say coldly. “Kristen is not who I’m going for. I’d rather cut off my junk than marry her.”

“You’d rather be a castrato?”

A choking sound comes from behind me, and the hair at my nape bristles. Bracing myself, I turn around and see Tolyan, who’s looking at me with an arched eyebrow…and Kristen, staring with eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears.

What the hell is she doing here? I start to get up. “Kristen…”

A teardrop slides down her cheek, and my mouth tastes full of acid.

Tolyan hands her a paper napkin. She bunches it in her hand, then throws it in my face. “No.” She shakes her head and runs out.

“Moron,” Tolyan mutters, and follows her.

Desperate panic and guilt mingle in my gut, and I go after them. I have to fix this somehow. Explain to Kristen, make her understand I didn’t mean it that way.

I catch up with Tolyan climbing into a black Mercedes. “Wait!” I cry out.

Tolyan guns it.

Fucking dick.

A few moments later, Maman comes up behind me. “Well…no need to slice anything off now.”

Frustration bubbles up, mixing with guilt and anger. “Maman, don’t get started. I’m not in the mood.”

“I won’t, but it looks like the Kristen option is closed.” Maman seems sympathetic, but her eyes are calculating the odds. “Permanently.”