The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,118
wondering if he could possibly purchase a ready-made wedding dress for Nina or if she’d have to do with a common gown.
There came a heavy knocking, and he steered toward the entrance of his apartment instead, sighing at the knowledge that whoever was on the other side would be displeased.
It turned out to be Étienne, a small miracle.
“I am not going to ask whether Antonina Beaulieu is with you. I can see by the stupid look on your face it must be the case. You never smile before twelve o’clock, and you do not smile at all if you can help it,” he said, taking off his hat.
“I am not smiling.”
“It’s in your eyes, you fool. Let me in.”
Hector stepped aside, and Étienne sat on an old bench against a bare wall.
“Her family is beside themselves, and you do not want to know what Luc was muttering about you last night,” Étienne told him.
“I can imagine.”
“You could not, perhaps, have run off with her last summer? It would have been a lot more courteous.”
“I could not have fallen in love with her last summer.”
“And I thought I wouldn’t get to hear you utter those three words before I died. Several miracles this morning.”
Étienne flipped his hat between his hands and bent forward, looking rather tired.
“You need to go see Gaétan Beaulieu at once, if you do love her. He needs assurances.”
“I’ll marry her this instant if he wants me to,” Hector said.
“And my brother—”
“Hector Auvray, open this door or I will break it down!” came a loud, gruff voice, making both men turn in the direction of the sound.
“Speaking of the devil,” Étienne said. “Let me do the talking.”
Étienne straightened himself up and opened the door. Perhaps Étienne meant to launch into a greeting, but Luc Lémy rushed in with such fury, shoving his brother aside, that no words were exchanged.
The young man stood before Hector, face aflame. It was not easy for Luc to conceal his emotions; he had the transparency of glass, and it was obvious that he was currently infested with rage. For once, Hector could not blame him for being swayed by his baser instincts.
“I want to know at once if you have my fiancée with you,” he said.
“I’m afraid Nina is my fiancée now,” Hector replied, his voice calm.
“You son of a whore, how dare you look me in the eye?”
Luc stank of cigarettes and alcohol, and appeared as disheveled as a common drunkard outside a tavern who is having a hard time stumbling home.
“Throw a punch, Luc. I won’t begrudge you that,” Hector said, feeling sorry for him.
“Throw a punch?” Luc said. “I am not throwing a punch. I’ll have a duel, you bastard.” Luc Lémy laughed a boiling, forced laugh, which echoed around the apartment.
“Luc, you are drunk. We need to go home,” Étienne said, grabbing his brother by the arm.
Luc shook him off and pointed at Hector, his face a mask of ferocity.
“Listen to your brother,” Hector cautioned him.
“No, you listen to me, Auvray. You will accept my challenge or I swear by all that is holy, the next time you open this door, you shall see the barrel of my gun, for I intend to kill you on the field or off it, and I will not be satisfied until there is a bullet in your chest. Die a coward’s death or die a man, I do not care, but die you will in two days’ time.”
Both men stared at each other, their gaze steady. When Hector performed, there was always a moment before the curtain rose when he paused to prepare himself for the act, and likewise he now paused, knowing he was standing at the beginning of an inevitable moment.
“Choose your second and we shall set terms, if you must,” Hector said. “But I’d rather that you reconsider.”
Luc did not reply, deciding instead to spit at the floor. He left without another word, and Étienne hurried behind him, yelling his name, his hat tight in his hands.
Hector slammed the door shut with a vague movement of his left hand and stared at the ceiling, drawing a deep breath.
“You won’t do it,” Nina said.
He turned around and saw her standing at the other end of the room, in his bathrobe, droplets of water dripping down from the tips of her hair upon the floorboards.