by Nadia Lee
“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.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kristen
I make a discovery: emergency chocolate ice cream tastes even better when mixed with vodka. I started out with just the ice cream in the carton…then topped it with some chocolate syrup. But when that failed to perk me up, I added the vodka. Liza won’t mind. She’s pretty generous with her liquor cabinet.
“Stop staring at me like that,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Like you disapprove.” I’m sick of disapproval.
Tolyan grunts. “I merely find your determination to ruin good vodka with ice cream sad.”
Right. Because hearing the love of your life telling his mom he’d rather cut off his balls than marry you isn’t sad.
I curl up in an armchair and sniffle, scooping up chocolate-covered ice cream and vodka, half-half. This is better than love anyway. Who needs love when you can have calories and potato alcohol? There’s a reason Liza drinks so much of it. It’s…awesome. Fiery and smooth and tasty with chocolate and ice cream. And gluten-free, if I’m not mistaken.
The phone’s silent. Antoine is probably relieved I went home without forcing a discussion. Or maybe he’s just happy I finally got the hint.
Well. Not much a hint. He said it out loud. To his mom. And after the best kiss of my life.
What must his mom be thinking? Probably “Wow, that girl must be totally horrible for my son to feel that way.” Or maybe “Guess those tabloid stories are true…”
I scoop up more ice cream and vodka and shove the mixture into my mouth, my spoon picking up speed. God. Why did I ever think I could seduce him?
Tolyan watches me, his pale blue eyes inscrutable. “Kristen, I’m only saying this because I feel it’s my duty to Lizochka to treat you as…a ward I never had.”
“Okay…”
“You should’ve suspected Antoine does not care for you. At all.”
That raises my hackles. “Really? How would I have known that?”
“The intruder at your apartment. He is still alive.”
“And?”
“If someone did what he did to you to a woman I care for, he wouldn’t be breathing.”
I blink as my brain registers that I’m getting unsolicited love advice from a man who might just use real blood to make a Bloody Mary.
Humiliation heats my face, and I eat faster, hoping the cold of the ice cream can freeze it off. Maybe Tolyan’s right, but how was I supposed to know Antoine had no feelings for me?
That first time we met… When he pushed me out of that swerving car… He looked at me like he’d just found an angel.
Two years after that, I had an uncomfortable and vaguely threatening situation with an ex who refused to take no for an answer. I was in Milan at the time, and I didn’t know precisely what to do when he got aggressive. The local police wouldn’t take my complaints seriously, but Dominic and Antoine were in town for a couple of days on business, and I mentioned it in passing during lunch. That evening, Antoine took care of the guy, who apologized to me profusely on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, and never bothered me again.
And recently, with the kidnapping scare… Antoine was ashen until he saw I was all right. Then he held me like he’d never let go.
Those are just three examples off the top of my head…and with lots of vodka in my belly. So… Why would I think Antoine has nothing but disgust for me?
I’m not stupid. Even though I missed a chunk of their conversation, I got the gist of why his mother came all the way to Los Angeles to talk to him. He needs to marry to inherit some huge trust fund. There. I can reason things out, even with vodka and ice cream. I know it’s extreme, but some rich people are really weird. Like Liza’s family. Her dad really wanted her and her brothers to marry within six months and stay married for a year to get some paintings. If Liza’s dad can do it, why not someone in Antoine’s family?
But what sucks is…Antoine knows if he needs to marry someone to inherit some money, I’m willing and able. But no. I won’t do. He’d rather lose his balls first. That’s some serious loathing. Everyone knows how men feel about their sex equipment.
I’m just not good enough for Antoine Boucher. And he has lots of serious feelings for me. Disgust. Contempt. Active revulsion. Those count, even though they aren’t the ones I wish he had.
God. It isn’t fair!
Sudden rage explodes in my chest. If Antoine really dislikes me so much, why did he go out of his way to be kind and make me hope? Why did he look at me like I was something special? Why did he hold me like I mattered? He could’ve been perfunctory. He could’ve just ignored my Milano stalker boyfriend because it really wasn’t any of his concern. He could’ve treated me the way Tolyan treats me—with professional tolerance.
If Antoine had done that, I could have given up. I could have found someone else by now.
“Bastard,” I hiss between clenched teeth.
“That he is,” Tolyan agrees.
“He should’ve been a total dick to me.”
“He should have, so you could’ve found a nice guy in accounting.”
“He shou— What?”
“Doesn’t Lola have a guy in accounting?”
“Yes. Jimmy.” With a pair of black glasses, a goatee that’s actually a bit too long to be a goatee and owlish green eyes. I’m certain I’ve never mentioned him to Tolyan…or anyone. On the other hand, Tolyan has a way of finding things out. For all I know, he could’ve already run background check on everyone at Lola, Inc.
“You should’
ve found someone like that. Smart. Dependable. Gainfully employed.”
And who would pee in his pants and flee in terror if he ever saw who’s watching over me at the moment.
“You need a man who thinks it’s his lifelong mission to make you happy instead of putting you through all…this.” Tolyan gestures at the quarter-empty vodka bottle and my ice cream. “Nobody’s worth that much hassle.”
“You’re oddly comforting to talk to.” And I’m unsure how I feel about that. I’m talking to a man who could’ve been a serial killer if he leaned one extra degree the wrong way.
“I’m a man of many talents, Kristen King. It’s a prerequisite to being Lizochka’s assistant.”
I stab into my ice cream. Too bad his talents don’t include erasing Antoine from my memory.
Chapter Seventeen
Antoine
By the time I’m home, so many thoughts are churning so fast that I can barely process them all. My place is a two-bedroom condo not too far from the office and perfect for a single guy. It screams comfortable bachelor—smooth, dark wood flooring, an over-sized black leather couch in the living room, a couple of big TVs, a Bluetooth-ready surround sound system, a kitchen stocked with the essentials for making drinks, toast, eggs, bacon and popcorn. The off-white walls have leaves stenciled in four different shades of green. That’s not my doing, it’s Kristen’s. A housewarming gift, she said. She also brought me a bottle of excellent Merlot that I know she filched from Dominic’s wine rack.
I pour myself a finger of whiskey and down it fast, my eyes on the leaves. I’ve never seen Kristen that upset or hurt before. And it’s completely my fault.
It took all my willpower not to run after her. I’ve never seen her take off like that. She isn’t really a confrontational person, but she isn’t a runner either. She most likely needs time to herself before she’ll be ready to listen.
Still, I can’t relax. I shower again…then have another drink in bed. Sleep continues to elude me, slipping away like sand.
Damn it.
Kristen’s going to be fine. Tolyan’s with her, and she’s too well-adjusted to do anything rash. She isn’t like Tessa, who seemed so normal…until the day she wasn’t.
“God, Antoine, you drive me crazy!” Tessa yelled. “You made me so miserable, I want to just…” She couldn’t continue, her chest heaving. Tears fell from her red-rimmed eyes, and she wiped them away impatiently before I could process the scene unfolding in front of me.
I didn’t get it. I only told her my parents were taking me to Paris for the summer. I didn’t particularly want to go, but Papy was spending July in Paris, so Maman decided we should, too.
“Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why?” Tessa put a hand over her face, shoulders shaking. “You know I want to go, you know I want to get to know you better, but you won’t let me.”
I bit my lower lip. If it was just me going to France, I would’ve asked if she wanted to come along. But not with my overbearing parents and relatives. If Papy was in Paris, that meant Tante Nicole and Oncle Clément and Nicolas would be there, too. Having Maman and Tante together in the same place was always hellish, with snide looks and words designed to cut. They never cared about who else got hurt in their petty battles. And I didn’t want to drag Tessa into it because Tante Nicole would find a way to humiliate her to upset Maman…and instead of defending Tessa, Maman would find a way to humiliate Nicolas to even the score. And Papa and Oncle Clément wouldn’t lift a finger to stop their wives. Sometimes they even egged them on, like cheerleaders rooting for their team to score.
“Now I see what’s going on. You’re pissed because I could be pregnant,” she says.
“That isn’t it. Believe me.” I thought all the blood in my veins had frozen when she told me her period was late. But I was pretty confident she wasn’t. Condoms fail, I know, but Tessa was never super regular anyway.
“You’re going to dump me.”
“I’m not. If you want, we can go to Paris together later,” I offered. “Just the two of us.”
“No! Forget it! You don’t understand anything. You don’t know what babies do to girls!”
“Come on, Tessa. Clam down.”
“It’s all your fault! I hate you! I hate you!” Tessa cried. “Get out!”
And since she didn’t even want me to get near her, I said, “I’ll be back later.” Even if she forgot, we had a dinner date. If she didn’t want to go out, that was fine, but I wanted to check on her, just to make sure. Something about her screams felt off, and recently, she’d been moody and erratic.
And when I came back that evening, I found Tessa in a pool of her own blood, her wrists slit. I called 911, then her parents, who were out of town on business. And the first thing she said—in that horrible, raspy voice I’ll never forget—when she opened her eyes in the hospital was, “It’s all your fault. You made my life hell, Antoine.”
Eddie was there, and he was furious. He blamed me for what happened, said I wasn’t kind enough to his sister. “She’s a delicate girl, Antoine! You fucked up!” And that was just the beginning of a ten-minute rant.
It wasn’t just me. The problems with Tessa were already there; I managed to magnify them until she couldn’t handle them anymore. She was too fragile, and I was your typical obtuse, indelicate teenage boy. But I did fuck up. I should’ve listened to my gut. I should’ve been more aware.
Tessa watched the scene unfold in front of her in that awful hospital room, her eyes unblinking and intense as Eddie raged on. The fine hair at the back of my neck stood up. I’ll never forget that gaze…or the way she seemed to soak up the scene…
It still makes my skin crawl.
My fingers tremble as I pour myself a glass of whiskey and down it in rapid gulps, letting the liquor burn my mouth and belly. I’ve seen death before. And plenty of gore. But somehow, recalling Tessa lying there on that bloody floor still leaves me cold and shaky inside.
It’s been over an hour. Maybe Kristen’s calmer now. At least calm enough not to start screaming or call me a bastard…or worse, hurt herself. I start to phone her, then change my mind and text Tolyan. He’s a Class-A dick, but he’s an honest Class-A dick.
What the hell were you guys doing at the café?
She insisted on going over to your place to speak to you…against my advice. Then she got nervous and decided to get something to drink on the way. Buy some time to compose herself.
Fuck. You should’ve stopped her.
Don’t blame me for what she overheard. Not my fault your tongue is loose.
God, he’s aggravating. Can you check up on her?
Yes.
I wait.
Nothing.
Bastard, I think, shaking my head. And? I text.
She’s fine.
Damn it. Did you even look at her?
Yes.
What’s she doing? I ask, despite my better judgment.
Watching TV and downloading dating apps. Nice work, Romeo.
He never misses a chance to twist the knife. Asshole. Can you keep an eye on her?
Whatever for?
To make sure she’s okay.
I doubt the dating sites will bring much danger.
I’ll be there tomorrow morning to pick her up and smooth things over.
As my brain finally registers the rest of Tolyan’s text, I stop…then reread it just in case. Kristen’s downloading dating apps?
An ugly growl starts in the back of my throat, but I swallow it. I told her—repeatedly—that I wasn’t going to date her. Of course she’s going to finally accept that and look for someone else.
But that doesn’t make the sudden burning in my stomach easier to bear.
Chapter Eighteen
Kristen
Something is hammering my head, while something else is trying to pierce my eardrums. I wince, then squint, trying to find the source of the God-awful noise. Bright spears of light stab my eyeballs, and I squeeze them shut.
Holy mothe
r of God. What’s going on?
“You need to get up—now—if you don’t want to be late for work.”
I gasp at the familiar voice. It’s Tolyan. In my bedroom.
Wait. I’m still in my dress from yesterday. What the hell?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, a bit sullen since Tolyan looks so disgustingly well put together.
“Bringing you something to help you survive the day.” He sighs and mutters, “I’ve never had to do this before.”
I try to get up, and immediately my head feels like it’s going to burst into shards of agony. “Agh. I don’t know how Liza functions after drinking so much.”
“You don’t have Lizochka’s metabolism.”
I turn and moan into my pillow.
“Don’t beat yourself up. Not many people do.”
The smell of coffee hits me, and I can make out a cup sitting on my dresser. “Please.” I waggle my fingers.
“Water and aspirin first. Then you can have it.”
“Seriously?”
“The longer you argue, the longer you go without coffee.”
Sighing, I ease myself very, very slowly into a sitting position and take the glass of water from him. I drink the whole thing as quickly as possible, four aspirins going down along the way.
Coffee denial is a cruel and unusual punishment. But knowing Tolyan, he’d toss the whole pot if I don’t do as he says.
Finally, he hands me the cup. Ah, coffee. How much I love thee. Let me count the ways.
It goes down slightly faster than the water, with me praying the caffeine hits hard and fast because I need to be alert. “What time is it?” I ask, my eyes still barely open. “It feels so early.”
“Six. Not early.”
The warm java starts to make me feel almost human. The aspirin’s probably helping, too. As the gears in my head slowly begin to creak into motion, memories of yesterday evening float up in pieces.
And with them comes the heat of humiliation—a combo deal. The Kristen Special.
I sigh. A spectacular blowup was inevitable. Anyone would have reacted that way after what I went through, so it isn’t technically my fault. And signing up for a bunch of dating apps and stuff makes perfect sense. I promised myself I would move on. So it’s only logical that I do so.
