It was an uncharacteristically spur-of-the-moment thing for me to do. But I haven’t regretted it; quite the contrary. With every passing hour, the prospect of calling Margot my wife and spending the rest of my days with her doubled its appeal. Today, it’s just as obvious as adopting Matteo was two years ago.
Good thing Margot feels the same way about our union! My engagement ring hasn’t left her finger since the day I slipped it on. The ring may be modern, but it’s just as masterfully crafted and dazzlingly bejeweled as the d’Alenq heirloom Dad had given to Mom. I doubt Mom will give her blessing to pass the family ring on to Margot in the foreseeable future. I’ve chosen not to ask as she still disapproves of my choice of bride. Considering her attitude and how my parents’ marriage ended, I figured Margot wouldn’t want that ring, anyway.
Despite my mother’s unkindness, Margot has adjusted to her new life remarkably well. She has established a very natural, easy rapport with Matteo, but also with the estate staff, our neighbors, townsfolk, peerage, royals, and pretty much everyone she’s met so far. Celeste’s welcoming her with open arms has helped a lot.
Those who are aware that Margot was my Key to the Key have never questioned my choice. The uninitiated tended to adopt Mom’s hostile stance at first. It’s been great fun to watch them mellow one by one when faced with Margot’s positive energy and humor. Even her feminist ideas resonated with my rather traditional fellow Evorians.
Who would’ve thunk it?
Matteo’s school holiday starts next week, and the three of us will fly to Cannes. I have some urgent matters to deal with at the studio. Margot is eager to finally meet physically with her new assistant Ricardo and everyone else at the studio, since she’s been working for the studio remotely from Mount Evor. Over the past couple of weeks, she’s been poring over Excel sheets and reports with an enthusiasm that seems incomprehensible to me, given how much I hate that stuff. But she claims she’s finding the management side of things just as much fun as acting. It’s only because I know for a fact that she wouldn’t lie to please a man that I believe her.
Like Margot, Matteo is very much looking forward to the trip. He loves hanging out on the beach even in winter. And he never tires of visiting the studio.
Above all, Margot and I just need a break from Mom.
I was hoping that a month would suffice to turn her, but that was too optimistic. Clearly, she needs more time. Margot and I are willing to give her until summer. If nothing changes, we’ll take Matteo and move out of the estate to a manor house I can rent in the area. Mom would hate needing to visit us to see Matteo, but she’d have only herself to blame for that. Margot has shown an astounding amount of patience and self-restraint. When Mom is around, Margot—a woman half Mom’s age—is the one who behaves like the adult in the room, a picture of coolness in the face of Mom’s incessant provocations.
I admire the hell out of my future wife.
The person I no longer admire is Leo, the traitor, and I regret having given him my trust as my best friend for as long as I remember. His betrayal has me questioning every conversation we’ve had over the long years of our friendship. MESS hasn’t found any hard evidence yet, but I don’t see who else could’ve figured out that we thought Giselle Fisher to be the Key to the Key? It’s pure luck that the MESS analysts had gotten that part wrong and unwittingly fed Leo and his uncle Kurt a false lead.
Needless to say, Leo wasn’t invited to my engagement party that rocked the principality last week. I won’t be seeing him in Cannes next week, either.
But Louis, I will see most definitely. Not just to catch up and discuss the film’s distribution, but also to hear all the details about Princess Felicia’s newest vision.
Last week, our oracle received an episode of her revelation. Fantastic news in itself, but the identity of the fifth key seeker is what’s made it the best. Incredible as it may seem, it was Darrel. Princess Felicia saw none other than Sir Darrel Vlovsky, Prince Theodor’s personal attendant. Darrel had presumably died, along with the pilot, in the crash of the prince’s helicopter over a ridge in French Savoie four months ago.
I attended his memorial service earlier this month!
After the nth search and rescue party had failed to find his body, Darrel’s family had given up all hope. I can only imagine what they’re going through now. Louis tells me the shock wave was monumental. Princess Felicia could’ve as well announced the second coming, or that Isidore Pox-Face, Louis XVI and Elvis are all still alive.
Prince Theodor is putting together a new search party, and experts are trying to figure out how Darrel could’ve survived and where to concentrate the search effort. Since they heard the news, Darrel’s parents have practically moved into their local church where they pray day and night.
I can’t wait to grill Louis to find out what exactly the oracle saw. But it won’t be today. Today, I have a more important thing to take care of.
CHAPTER36
JONAS
The sun is already westbound when Margot and I arrive at the cemetery. I park the car and we get out. For a moment, I’m stuck, unable to lift a foot. Margot doesn’t rush me. We spend three minutes, or maybe five, or ten—I truly don’t know—just standing by the car, taking in the peaceful stillness around us.
Margot takes my hand. “Come on, they’re waiting for you.”
Needless to say, her statement is perfectly irrational. There is no way she can possibly know if Stephen and Dad are waiting for my visit or where they are waiting, for that matter. In their respective crypts inside the family mausoleum? Hovering above them? Sitting on the bench outside the entrance? Stretched out on the frosty lawn?
What with being incorporeal, they wouldn’t care if they froze their asses off, would they?
I’m not religious. The whole idea of life after life has never struck me as credible. What evidence is there to support it? Absolutely none that would stand the test of rigorous scientific scrutiny.
And yet...Here I am, taking a step in the direction of the patchwork of lawns and narrow paths lined with headstones toward the d’Alenq Mausoleum, chastising myself for making Stephen wait. That first step feels as momentous as Neil Armstrong’s on the moon, only in reverse. It’s a tiny step for humanity and a gigantic leap for me. I feel like I’m pole-vaulting over an invisible barrier that separated me from my twin brother’s and my father’s new realm for two and a half years.
Those were the busiest two and a half years of my life. I filled my every waking hour with something to do. Every night, I went to bed in a state of extreme fatigue, whether natural or medicated, to make sure I fell asleep quickly. I did everything in my power to fill the emptiness inside me, to avoid thinking about Stephen, remembering him, hearing his laughter... It’s not that I didn’t miss Dad, because I did. I still do. I loved him. But not as keenly as I loved my twin brother.
During those two and a half years, I kept telling myself I couldn’t afford to break down. I had to be resilient—for Matteo.But who was I kidding?It’s Matteo that turned out to be the resilient one. The kid has never had a problem visiting his father’s grave. He comes here regularly, with Mom or Celeste, or both. He talks to Stephen and leaves small mementos of his own manufacturing.
Matteo, Celeste, and Mom all turned out to be tougher than me. In hindsight, I wasn’t being resilient. I was weak. What I did was a vain attempt to protect myself from a pain I feared I wouldn’t be able to bear.
A gentle squeeze of Margot’s hand brings me out of my musings.
