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To obscure how easy his win was, I change the topic. “You’ll laugh, but I was certain you were going to tell me about the wrong you’d meant to right.”
“What did you think it would be?” His small, watery but still sharp eyes pierce mine.
“A secret baby like Benny’s natural son, Arnaud.”
He chuckles. “I never cheated on your grandmother.”
“Respect, Grandpa!”
“You weren’t entirely off the mark, though,” he says. “This initiative of mine does have to do with a wrong I’m hoping to right.”
I lean forward. “You have my undivided attention.”
“You will marry Mademoiselle Camille Mussey.”
“Who? Wait, I willwhat?”
Ignoring my stupefaction, he carries on, “You will stay married to her for a year. The pair of you will keep up appearances and live under the same roof.”
I gape at him.
Still very businesslike, he asks, “Would you like me to repeat what I just said?”
Wait a second… Camille Mussey…“The Trailer Witch? You want me to marry Mount Evor’s most hated woman and share accommodations with her for a year?”
“Yes.”
I search his face. “Is this a joke?”
“I’m not joking,” Grandpa says, his expression solemn. “I’m righting a wrong.”
“What wrong?”
“She had no part in the palace fire or in Benny’s death.”
“How can you be certain?” Sitting back, I cross my arms. “Everybody is convinced she was the arsonist’s accomplice.”
“There was a thorough investigation, and she was exonerated.” Grandpa mimics my defiant stance, folding his arms over his sunken chest. “If she’d had anything to do with that fire, anything at all, she’d be rotting in jail now.”
“But—”
“And yet,” he interrupts me, “the entire principality has been punishing her for it for the last six years.”
I knit my brows. “Assuming it’s true, why is that your problem? And why is it up to me to fix it?”
“Because it’s the honorable thing to do,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. “And you are an honorable man.”
None of this makes sense.“What are you not telling me, Grandpa?”
Sharply, he turns to me. “Nothing! Nothing at all.”
“If Camille Mussey is innocent…” I narrow my eyes, thinking fast. “Are you implying her sister Jeanette was innocent, too? If the pair of them didn’t do it, then who did? Who set the palace on fire and killed six people?”
“Jeannette Mussey,” he says. “That’s what the investigation concluded, and I have no reason to doubt it.”
Moments pass before I say, “Your condition is impossible. I won’t marry Camille Mussey.”
He glowers at me.
