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I slam the door on my way out. It’s true that I’ve been avoiding my parents’ home after the way the women treated Zoe, but I’m not insensitive to their point of view. I know it’s hard for Maman. I’m not behaving like the good, Catholic son she raised. In her eyes, I’m acting more like my father.
When I’ve done the round at the docks and poured over the books, I head out to the house of my childhood. It’s been more or less a happy childhood, with Maman always fussing over me and Father being absent for most of my younger years. It’s only when I entered high school that he started involving me in the business, trying to forge a bond that was never there to start from the beginning. In a way, he resented me for how Maman babied me, and Maman lavished me with attention because she had no one else.
I park out front and go through the house. The housekeeper—a new girl whose name I can never remember—tells me Maman is out back. I find her in a deckchair on the terrace with a book.
She puts the book aside when she sees me. “Max.”
I bend down to kiss her cheeks. “How are you?”
She waves a hand. “As you can see.”
I sit down in the chair. It’s not her fault that she’s lonely. She has always looked out for me. I shouldn’t forget that. “I’ve been busy.”
Her mouth puckers. “Too busy for your family?”
“You know why I didn’t come.”
“Because you can’t bring her?”
I sigh. “She was a guest, Maman. I expected better from you.”
“You thought it was all right to flaunt your lover around for all your family to see, to gloat over, gossip about, and point fingers at me?”
“Why would anyone point fingers at you?”
She sits up straighter. “For failing in my job to raise you well.”
“This has nothing to do with raising me well.”
Her voice takes on a pleading tone. “Max, what you’re doing isn’t right.”
“Maman, stop it. We’ve been through this.”
She falls back against the cushions. “I never thought I’d say this, but you’re your father’s son, after all.”
I smile. “Emotional blackmail won’t work with me. You can drop the act.”
She takes my hand. “If you must, then do it, but get her out of your system and fast. This can’t end well for either of you.”
Squeezing her fingers, I stand. I owe my mother much, but Zoe isn’t negotiable. “I’m sure you’ll like her if you give her a chance.”
Her expression is pained. “How can you even expect such a thing from me? My loyalty is with the family. Our family.”
She’s right, of course. What I’ve been asking is impossible. “I’m sorry for putting you in a difficult position. It was selfish of me.”
Her face softens. “Get this girl out of your system and send her home.”
My smile is grim. If only it was that simple.
“Come over for lunch on Sunday. I’ll invite your cousins.”
I hesitate. A few months ago, I never would’ve declined a family lunch. Now I can’t make peace with leaving Zoe on her own. It wouldn’t be fair to her, either. “We’ll see.”
My mother’s face falls.
Kissing her forehead, I say goodbye and break every speed limit to get home to my mistress as my mother’s words repeat in my head. I can no longer deny that I’m gambling with both of our futures—Zoe’s and mine. But where there’s a will there’s a way, and if anyone has a will where she’s concerned, it’s me.
Chapter 4
Zoe
After Maxime’s rejection that day on the beach, he becomes even more invested in me. He’s making up for the affection he can’t give with lavish attention. We visit the theatre and swim in the cove when spring turns to summer. Sometimes, he reads to me in the garden on a picnic blanket with his head resting in my lap. He rubs my body with suntan lotion, worried my pale skin will burn, and helps me with my French exercises. I still do them, even if I’ve passed my exam. I like keeping my mind busy.
My body is constantly sore from being used, the ache between my legs never preventing me from wanting him. He’s all I have. Sometimes I think this can be enough, but sometimes, when I sit alone with a book in the tower, I long for someone to love me, someone to need me for more than my body. The more attention Maxime lavishes on me, the more my insecurity grows. Beauty is a feeble currency. It doesn’t last forever. Bodies grow old. How long before he goes hunting for the next woman, someone younger and fresher, someone less used than me?
The day will come when he’ll discard me—four years, give or take, from now—and by then there will be nothing left of my soul. He would’ve devoured it all. Everyday, I’m losing a little more of myself to him. The hole in my heart, the one I’ve cut myself with my stupid yearning for love, is tearing wider with each passing day. I can’t stop it. I can’t help the feelings filtering in, the treacherous loving Maxime only feeds with his twisted kindness and devotion.
