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I stride to the table and extend my hand. “Come on, get down. You’re not the only one here with a theory to share.”
“That reminds me… I could use another gin and tonic!” He climbs down.
“You could use some water and cake,” I say.
To my relief, Jonas doesn’t argue and heads to the buffet area.
I catch Camille’s scent before I can see her.
“Your cousin is a misogynous prick,” she says when I turn around.
“And you’re an evil witch.”
She startles at my mean comeback.
I beckon to a passing server, grab two champagne flutes, and thrust one in Camille’s empty hands. “I was just demonstrating how wrong one can be when judging someone one doesn’t know.”
“Next, you’ll be telling me he has an excuse,” she predicts. “Let me guess. A girlfriend dumped him. No, two girlfriends in a row dumped him.”
I say nothing.
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, was it three girlfriends in a row? Poor, poor Jonas!”
I keep silent, unwilling to parade my cousin’s private life.
She casts me the side-eye. “Has it ever occurred to either of you that the problem was him? That they left him because he’s a misogynous prick?”
“Jonas had a twin brother, Stephen,” I say, abandoning my qualms.
She scrunches her eyebrows. “Had?”
Am I ready to reveal the ugly truth of what went down in the d’Alenq family two years ago? The brutal suddenness of the tragedy and ensuing scandal? It was the talk of all mundane dinners for months. Clearly the news didn’t reach Camille’s trailer. Maybe it’s best to keep it that way and let her assume the worst about Jonas after hearing his moronic theory. Except… it bothers me that she should think badly of someone I hold dear.
At least, she should have the facts.
“Stephen was a gentle idealist,” I say. “At twenty-one, he married his first love, a baron’s daughter called Donna, stunningly beautiful. They had a little boy.”
“What happened?”
“Donna cheated on Stephen with Count Guillaume d’Alenq, Stephen and Jonas’s dad.”
Camille’s hand flies up to cover her mouth.
My eyes tighten at the corners. “Want to know how the adultery was discovered?”
She nods without lowering her hand.
“The count suffered a heart attack and died while fucking Donna over his desk in his home office,” I say. “Stephen was devastated, got in his car, drove off and crashed it.”
“Did he…?”
“No, he didn’t survive. We’ll never know if it was suicide or an accident. I’d say they amount to the same thing in this case, since he was in no state to drive.”
“What happened to the boy?” she asks. “And to Donna?”
“She fled to New Zealand, if you can believe it, where she’s now happily remarried.”
“And her son?”
