Caught off-guard, I quick-swallow the soup. “I am, and the apartment is perfect.”
“Noah lives in the other one,” Luci says before adding in a dreamy voice, “our handsome American cousin.”
Across from her, Lyam rolls his eyes.
“My brother’s grandson.” Dora presses her lips together, but the ghost of a frown remains.
Lyam glances at his grandmother before steering the small talk in another direction. “I saw you with some people outside the gate yesterday. I hope they didn’t bother you, but with the park trails so close, we tend to get a lot of tourists.”
I swallow and clear my throat. “They were taking pictures of your home, actually, and had tickets to see part of the catacombs.”
Chantal scoffs. “Naturally. Americans and their love for the macabre.” She sips her wine and makes a face, silently giving her opinion of my gift.
“You’re right,” I tell her, getting a look of surprise in response, as if she’d expected me to ignore her sly insult. “They called themselves dark tourists.”
At this, Luci laughs, the sound high-pitched and strangled at the same time. “Of course they were. And of course they had Maison Marteau on their list. We’re mentioned on a lot of those websites.”
I glance around the table, and no one seems surprised their home and history are internet fodder.
“Memento mori,” Vincent mutters from the other end of the table. Somewhere along the way, his tumbler has been refilled, and he tosses back half of the brown liquor.
Dora angles her head to him. She wears a smile sharp enough to slice, but her tone is carefree as she offers a vague explanation. “What Luci and my son are referring to is an unfortunate accident from years ago. Sadly, when you combine a building like Maison Marteau and any hint of mystery, well, you know how people are. And it always fuels the fire if it involves families in our position.”
“Rich families.” Luci turns to me, wiggling her blonde brows. “Especially those who live inMaison de la Morte.”
With my wine glass halfway to my mouth, I pause and do a quick translation. Did she just call this place the house of the dead?
Dora shakes her head at Luci but doesn’t scold. She apparently has a soft spot for her granddaughter, letting her get away with more than her male cousins.
Lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug, Luci sits back in her chair as the servants remove the soup bowls and bring the main course. “Anytime someone dies in ourarrondissement, the rumors start up again.”
Chantal glares at Luci before transferring her baleful expression to me, as if I’m somehow to blame for her chatty niece.
“That must be difficult,” I say, “having a family tragedy turned into gossip and entertainment.”
“Oh, it wasn’t family.” Luci shifts toward me. “It was a little girl.”
Chantal slams her hand on the table and speaks angrily to Luci in French.
“Maman.” Lyam puts a hand on his mother’s arm to calm her.
Tension crackles around the table. Even Ric wiggles in his seat.
I’m not sure what to say, so I play it safe and stay silent. This is not what I read about online, not a marriage gone wrong and a husband turned murderer.
Luci’s talking about the death of a child. But why would that stir up rumors about the family?
Dora sighs. “Such a terrible accident.” She nods slowly, shadows of sadness on her face. “A young girl who lived in the neighborhood. Missing for weeks.”
“How awful.” I grip my utensils but keep my attention on the people at the table.
“They eventually found her in the catacombs.” Lyam delivers the news in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes, in the catacombs.” Ric huffs. “She wasn’t foundhere.”
I can’t tell if he’s bored by the topic. Or agitated.
The morose conversation weighs heavy in the air, and I’m grateful when Luci asks if I’ve tried the family chocolate yet. I tell her I haven’t had the chance, and she promises to bring me some tomorrow.
