Why people think sex should be so carefully guarded remains a complete enigma to me. Sex, like food, is meant to be consumed, and healthy humans hunger for it. If we’re honest, my job, then, as the owner and proprietor of La Maison de la Vallée Cachée,the most high-end gentlemen’s club in Corsica, means I’m basically no different than a restaurant owner.
“Fabien.We lost you again.”
Maman releases a belabored sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. I watch as she places her knife and fork down so she can give me a look best saved for an errant child. “Fabien.” She repeats my name, this time pouring a wealth of guilt into each syllable. “You’re the eldest. You should know better,” she chides. “Thayer, tell him, please.”
I take a large bite of steak and grind it with my teeth. Maman’s the only person on the planet I allow to admonish me without consequence.
“She wants you to get a date,” Thayer says. “No bouncing around the wedding venue like a damn ball in a pinball machine.”
I don’t bother to hide my look of disgust. “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”
His eyes snap to my mother, then back to me. “In polite company, of course.”
“Of course.” I look back to Maman. The woman has the patience of a saint and a spine of steel, a lethal combination in our circle. Tonight, I notice bags under her eyes I haven’t seen before. I wonder if she’s sleeping well. She hasn’t been, not since my father died. Five years is a long time to go without sleep.
I don’tdate.I take what I want.
I want Nicolette.
I will own her.
“I don’t want anyone totalk,Fabien,” she explains. “I’m just so tired of people talking.”
“Why do you care?” I shrug, take another bite of steak, and chew and swallow before I continue. “People talk no matter what you do. No matter what any of us do. And if anyone talks aboutyou,they’ll answer to me.”
“And me,” Thayer chimes in.
“Yes, yes,” Maman replies. “I’ve no doubt that my sons will defend my honor to the death, and I thank you. Where’s Lyam? He said he’d be here.”
“Haven’t seen him,” Thayer says, cutting his steak methodically into neat little squares before he eats.
Maman sighs. “But there’s more to it.”
“Is there?” I continue to eat my dinner, but I’m already mentally on my way to Corsica tonight.
She goes on about her sister’s bragging about her sons’ engagements and marriages and the insidious implication that the three of us will never marry.
“Why do you care what Marguerite thinks about us?” Thayer replies. Of the three of us, Thayer most resembles my mother. They share the same dark blue eyes, olive complexion, and thick, wavy black hair. But as alike as they are physically, they couldn’t be more different personality-wise. Thayer’s known asLe Sauvage,The Savage, a nickname he’s earned by being one of the most ruthless in our number. My mother, on the other hand, was never cut out for our lifestyle. She’s far too tender.
“You shouldn’t give it another thought. We don’t.”
“Iknow,” she continues, barely hiding a grimace. “And that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” Shaking her head, she looks heavenward. “Why? Why couldn’t you have given meone daughter? Just one?”
“Touché, Maman,” Thayer says.
“I ask so little of you,” she continues. “All I want is for you to bring dates. That’s it.”
“When’s the wedding?” I ask. I don’t give a shit about details like that.
Maman looks pained. “This weekend.”
“Ahhh,” Thayer says with a smile. “You don’t want them talking about our business in Corsica. Admit it, that’s what you’re worried about.”
Maman flushes, the color adorning her high cheekbones as if she just came in from a winter storm.
“Ah ah,” Thayer chides. “You just completely gave yourself away.”
“And what if I do? Is it a crime to ask your sons to attend a family wedding with dates to keep the loose lips from yammering on and on?”
