The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,106
marry me, you’d never have a sad day in your life ever again,” he said. “You’ll never cry another tear.”
“You cannot possibly promise that.”
“I am promising it.”
He might promise her the moon and the stars, and not care for a moment that he couldn’t pluck them from heaven. He might do that before the clock struck nine.
“That is the problem,” she said, spreading her hands and rising from the armchair. “I’m not sure you ever take anything seriously, and you spout all these pronouncements, but have you truly considered what life with me really means?”
“It means kisses in the morning and at nights, and a mighty number of embraces. I don’t think you are ill-disposed to my embraces.” He stood up quickly and, as if to demonstrate his point, placed his hands on her waist, pulling her close.
“I’d lie if I said I was,” she said, sliding his hands off her, “yet I’d lie if I didn’t say there’s more to life than kisses and embraces.”
She walked toward a window, away from him. Distance at this moment was necessary; she was all raw nerves and raging emotions. She did not even know how she was able to summon the willpower to speak to him, though the conversation was helping to calm her down.
“Like what?” he asked.
“You hate my talent, for one.”
“I do not hate it,” he clarified. “I don’t see a need to have you juggling apples in the air for the enjoyment of the servants.”
“You are a ladies’ man, and do not try to protest the point. Would you be satisfied with one woman alone when there’s a city full of them, awaiting your attentions?”
“Dear Nina, when that one woman is as pretty as you are, yes.”
“Don’t ‘pretty’ me,” she muttered. “It’s the only thing you ever say. How pretty I look and what a fine dress I’m wearing.”
“I’m sure you are very fine without your clothes on, too.”
She could do nothing but blush at that, and he took it as a point in his favor, immediately moving to her side.
“I’ll buy you a most extravagant engagement ring,” he promised. “I’ve already spotted a couple at Duveras, both with enticing emeralds, to match those enticing eyes of yours. We can go try them on tomorrow. You’ll be the envy of the city with that ring on your finger. Marry me for the jewelry if it pleases you.”
She smiled at that. “I don’t like jewelry.”
“Nonsense, all women do. I’ll buy you a horse. There.”
Only a man like Luc Lémy would think to bribe her with a horse and a ring. She turned on her heels, away from him, but then he wrapped his arms around her from behind and she felt his lips against her hair, his chest pressed against her back.
“Why won’t you marry me? It’ll be fun,” he whispered.
“I always thought I’d marry for love,” she whispered back.
“I love you,” he said so effortlessly, she thought it could not be true.
If it was a lie, was it so bad? If love was the terrible misery coursing through her veins and nothing but vain longing, perhaps it was not so wonderful as she had presumed. Whatever she had with Luc, he was there, with her, with smiles and jokes and embraces.
Her family wanted this, Gaétan was pushing the point. She needed to live up to their expectations. And Hector had made a fool of her once more.
She closed her eyes and the tears returned. She recalled Oldhouse and her tricks with cards and the trips to the Devil’s Throne, and how hard she’d tried to scorch Hector Auvray from her mind. It had not worked, and there she was again, like standing atop the rocks, ready to shatter once more.
Luc Lémy turned her around, and she was weak, she felt like she might fall, but he held her up. “Don’t cry,” he said.
“I’m not … It’s … If you’ll give me a moment,” she said in a paper-thin voice.
He gave her a kiss instead. He constantly did that, ambushing her with caresses, and she realized he’d always be like this, that he’d attempt to wash away any hurt and any sin with a kiss on her lips, but it didn’t matter now.
He said he loved her, and it had sounded pretty.
And when he kissed her she didn’t think, she simply felt, and it was better than to have to deal with the anger, the sadness, the despair.