Sunrise Malice: Chapter 7

The lights are dim at Le Palais Gourmet. I hesitate out on the sidewalk, trying to catch a glimpse of Julien through the large front windows. The men and women eating look so chic and elegant, and I feel totally wrong in simple white jeans and a black top. At least I’m in dark strappy heels and the front’s low cut enough to get a few approving looks from passing men. Which isn’t what I’m here for—getting ogled by strangers doesn’t exactly feel good—but at least I know I’m on the right track with the cleavage.

I have to psych myself up before going inside. When I tell the hostess that I’m here to meet with Julien, she immediately gets all serious and ushers me toward a booth in the back, asking if I want any wine or if there’s anything she can do at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fancy restaurant employee practically fall over herself to be accommodating, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re on a date with the owner.

Or maybe it isn’t a date. It’s more like a business meeting. I have to remind myself that this is an arrangement, not a relationship, and we’re just using each other.

“Good evening, mon minou,” Julien says as I approach the table. He’s in a dark suit like always, no tie, top two buttons of his dress shirt left open. I stiffen when he touches my arm and leans down to gently kiss both my cheeks.

“Very European,” I mutter and slide into the seat across from him.

He’s smiling now and I can tell he did that just to knock me off balance. “I’m glad you could make it. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“After the other night.” He shrugs and gestures in the air. The waitress comes over and pours two glasses of wine. He takes a long sip.

I drink from mine. The red is rich and oaky and very, very good. I lick my lips and remind myself to take it easy. He’s my future husband, but he’s still Julien, and I have to be careful around him.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t great you dropped that whole grandfather thing in my lap, but the five grand really softened the blow.”

His eyes flit to my chest and linger on my breasts before moving up to my lips. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thank you.” I don’t know why I like that compliment so much. “You look like your usual smarmy self.”

“Smarmy?” He laughs lightly. “I like that word.”

“It’s not a good thing.”

“Maybe not to you.” He tilts his head toward the menus. “Are you hungry? I can order for us both if you like. The chef does a nice little five-course tasting experience that’s very good.”

“Works for me.”

He waves the waitress back over and places our order. She hurries off, and I realize that despite spending time with Julien lately, we’ve never actually been one-on-one like this for any extended period. Which means I have to think of things to talk about.

It’s stressful at first. He asks about my family, which isn’t a great topic, and I ask how his grandfather’s visit is going, which only makes him scowl. But he persists and soon I find myself telling him about Kim, about the cousins, and even about some of the Hayes Group thugs.

As it turns out, Julien knows most of them. Not like they’re friends or anything, but he seems to keep tabs on most of the criminal underworld players, which I find very surprising. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would notice anyone beneath his station, much less learn the names of minor Hayes cousins.

“Can I ask you something?” The first course arrives and he begins to eat. It’s a plate of small bites: truffle-infused cauliflower served in a tiny cup and a spread of high-end meats and cheeses.

“Only if I get to ask you something in return.”

“Who’s Collette?”

Julien laughs. He holds his wine in one hand and swirls it slowly around. “She’s a girl my grandfather wants me to marry. A good French girl from an important family back home. I knew her briefly when we were young.”

“Were you close? You and Collette?”

“Why, are you jealous?” His teasing smile annoys me, but I’m curious enough to ignore it. “No, Collette and I were definitely not close. I wasn’t very close with anyone from that world.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Grandpère is an important man in Marseille. All the rich, powerful families are friendly with him, but that doesn’t mean they’re interested in his adopted fake grandson. They looked at me like an animal Grandpère hosed off and dressed in people clothes, and girls like Collette could practically smell the social stigma wafting off me. She kept her distance, and I preferred it that way.”

I study him briefly, trying to square the man sitting before me with the image of the street urchin he’s implying. It’s hard to imagine—Julien is sophisticated, intelligent, and handsome—and yet he clearly seems to have a scar running deep into his soul.

“If things were so uncomfortable with her, why would your grandfather want you to marry her?”

“For the same reason any family like ours wants to sell one of their children off to another. Power, influence, continuity.” He ticks the reasons off on his fingers. “But most of all, I suspect Grandpère enjoys torturing me.”

“You and he don’t get along.”

“Not so much, we do not.” He drinks his wine and puts it down. “What about you and your father? Are there lots of warm, cozy feelings there?”

“No, there aren’t.” I don’t elaborate though, and when it’s clear I don’t plan on talking about it more, Julien lets it drop.

Instead, we talk about the meal. Once I start to concentrate on the food, it’s surprisingly good. There’s a tartare de saumon, an incredible duck breast a l’orange, more fancy cheeses, and a dessert of chocolate fondant with a molten center and ice cream. I didn’t plan on going all out when I came here, but I’m stuffed once the waitress clears away our final plates.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Julien says and drums his fingers on the table. “I’ll be honest. Right now, I’d die for a fucking cigarette, but I quit and I’m trying to be better about it.”

“You smoked? I shouldn’t be surprised. French and all.”

He grunts at me. “Like half of your cousins don’t smoke Newports in their mother’s back yard.”

That makes me laugh, mostly because he’s not wrong. “I’m just saying. You’re a French gangster with a cigarette addiction. It’s as cliché as it gets.”

“How very funny for you. I’m glad you enjoy my suffering.” He finishes his wine and waves for a refill. “Speaking of suffering, I think we should discuss business.”

I tense slightly and look away. I’d almost forgotten why we were here. I was actually enjoying myself, which is completely bizarre, seeing as I’ve done nothing but sit around and have a pleasant meal with an unpleasant person.

“You want to talk about getting married.”

“I thought I’d outline the shape of our relationship. If we are moving forward, and I think that we are, there should be ground rules.”

I nod once, looking at the table. “What kind of rules?”

“First of all, you will be loyal to me. I don’t expect you to love me, and you don’t even have to like me, but you will not fuck around behind my back. I’m many things, and extremely possessive is one of them. While you’re mine, you will be mine, mon minou, is that clear?”

I look up sharply, eyes narrowing. This arrogant fuck. I glare at him and have to steady myself before replying. “And does that fidelity also extend to you?”

“Absolutely.” He nods once, as if that’s obvious.

“You’re going to be loyal to me while we’re married? No mistresses? None of that French-style open marriage bullshit?”

“No. If you’re mine, then I will be yours. I prefer to keep things simple that way.”

“I honestly find that hard to believe. You’re really not going to cheat on me?”

“So long as you don’t cheat on me.” He leans closer, his expression darkening into something intense and stormy. “And trust me, mon minou, whoever you fuck behind my back will wish you hadn’t touched him.”

I have to laugh. The guy’s threatening my nonexistent affair partner, and we haven’t even gotten married yet. Maybe he really is as possessive as he says.

“Alright, so no cheating. What else?”

“You will come live in my house. You will act as my wife at all public functions. In private, if you want to maintain separate lives, we can find a way to make that work. I need you for at least two years, after which point we can discuss if we wish to continue the marriage. If you want out, I will grant you a divorce, and we will move on with our lives. Does that work?”

I open my mouth but can’t find words. I assumed this was going to be a forever thing, but now he’s saying there’s an out, a potential time limit on our arrangement.

What happens if we do break up? Where would I go? Back home to my abusive fucking father? I’ll be older, with no skills, no college education, no real prospects. I’d be left with nothing.

“Money,” I blurt out and instantly wish I could learn how to keep my mouth shut. His lips curl into a smirk. “If we break up, I need money.”

“We’ll put something in writing that works for us both.”

“Fine. Okay.” My heart’s racing and I feel hot. I sip my wine but that doesn’t help. Why does it bother me so much, knowing I might be free in two years? If Julien really does pay me, I can start my own life. I’ll be able to do anything I want and never have to worry about anyone else ever again.

“Then it sounds like we have a deal, mon minou.” He glances down at my hand. “I see you didn’t wear your ring.”

“No, I didn’t.” I raise my finger up to the light. “Didn’t feel right.”

“From now on, you won’t take it off.”

“Where’s your ring then?”

He slips out of the booth and gives me a hard stare. “Get me one if you want me to wear it.”

“That’s all? We’re done here?”

“Unless you have something else you need to discuss.”

There are a million things. Like where I’ll sleep, how we’ll live, what life will be like with him on a daily basis, a million other small issues crowding through my mind. I’m going to be this man’s wife, and I barely know him at all.

“I guess not,” I say, feeling like a worthless moron. I hate this feeling; it’s like my father’s voice is echoing through my mind. You’re nothing. You’re nothing. You’re nothing.

Julien nods at me. “Then the next time I see you, we’ll make this official. I look forward to being your husband.”

“Yeah, you too,” I say, thrown off. He walks away and I watch him go, trying to find a way to make all this make sense in my head, but feeling like I’m losing control already, with no way to get my life back on track.