Page 11 of Sunrise Malice

“Ah, please, do not be so rude,” Henri cuts in. “The girl is beautiful, is she not? Any man would be lucky to marry such a pretty face.”

Julien looks at me for a long moment and he puts his hand on my thigh. I jolt slightly, surprised by his touch. “You’re right, Henri. I was being rude and surly. Your presence has that effect on me.”

Henri doesn’t seem to mind the insult. He throws his head back and laughs, and Julien leaves his hand on my leg. I let it stay as Henri asks me questions about my family, and I finally brush it away after a few minutes.

But for some reason, I wish he’d touch me again.

The door to the dining room opens again. An older man enters: gray hair, salt-and-pepper eyebrows, startling and youthful eyes. He moves to the head of the table, looking at each man in turn, before lingering on me with a curious expression, like he didn’t think I actually existed.

“Pascal, there you are, we were just discussing Julien’s new wife,” Henri says with a big smirk.

“Grandpère,” Julien says. “I want you to meet Brianne.”

I stare at the old man. He doesn’t smile at me, only tilts his head to the side as though studying a sculpture at a museum. “This is the Irish girl then,” he says. His accent is thicker than the others. “She is nowhere near as beautiful as Collette. What a pity for you.”

I lean back in surprise and glance at Julien, not sure how to take that. His face is a neutral mask, and he doesn’t bother making a reply. I have no idea who Collette is or how attractive she is, but I definitely don’t like being compared to her in the first ten seconds of meeting this old man.

The evening doesn’t go much better. The meal is served and conversation is stilted. I learn that Pascal has lived in Marseille for most of his life and took Julien into his home when Julien was just a young boy. “He was a street rat when I found him. A clever rat, but just a rat. Now I’ve tried to mold him into a man, but who knows, I wonder if I was very successful. If perhaps he hasn’t remained a rat still.”

Julien’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t respond to the insult. Instead, his Grandpère throws questions at me like he’s firing a rifle and aiming straight for my heart. He wants to know about my family, about my friends, about my parents. He sneers when I mention both my mother and my brother are dead. “An unlucky girl. Seems anyone that gets close to her ends up dead.”

“Grandpère,” Julien says. It’s not a sharp rebuke, but his tone is firm. “Brianne has been nothing but polite.”

“Yes, yes, the girl has manners.” The old man waves a hand. “And yet she is not French. She is not Collette. She is not who I wanted you to marry.” He leans forward, glaring at Julien. “Yet again, you manage to disappoint me when I least expect it. Coming here to this backwater to make a name for yourself, and now getting involved with this nothing of a girl?—”

“Enough,” Julien says. There’s anger on his face now. Everyone’s staring at him, and I notice Jean’s trying to shake his head slightly. “You can insult me, but you will leave my wife out of it.”

His Grandpère sits back, crossing his arms over his burly chest. “I will say what I want when I choose to say it. Are you trying to tell me otherwise?”

“I’m saying leave my wife out of this.”

The two men stare at each other. The tension at the table intensifies to the point where all I want to do is melt into the floor. A part of me is happy Julien’s sticking up for me, but a bigger part just wants this awful dinner to be over.

His Grandpère has been nothing but nasty from the moment he sat down. Nasty to Julien, nasty to me, and nasty on every other topic in between. I almost feel sorry for Julien, having to deal with a man like that, except none of this is really my problem, and I don’t actually care about Julien at all.

I have to keep myself separated from what’s going on. This isn’t my fight. Whatever’s happening between Julien and his Grandpère isn’t my business, and it doesn’t really matter what the old man thinks about me at all.

Grandpère pushes his chair back and stands. His dinner remains untouched before him. “I believe I’ve seen enough. Henri, Rene, a pleasure as always. Young Jean, I forgot you were there.”

“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Moreau,” Jean says gracefully.

The old man turns and leaves the dining room. Nobody speaks until Julien gets to his feet.

“You know how your grandfather is, Julien,” Henri says quickly. “The family is all he cares about. He means well.”

“He means well, for himself.” Julien walks to the door and I have to hurry to follow.

He leads me back to the front sitting room where he pours himself another drink and throws it back. I watch him, not sure what to say. If he weren’t such a bastard, I might feel sorry that he has to deal with such an old asshole like his Grandpère, but that’s not my problem.

“Here,” he says, walking over to a side table. He grabs an envelope out from a drawer. “Your payment.”

“You had it ready?”

“I like to be prepared.” He walks over and holds it out, but instead of letting me take it, he grabs my wrist and pulls me close to him.

I let out a soft gasp of surprise as he shoves the envelope into my back pocket. He squeezes my ass as he does it, palm gripping hard, his teeth clenched, staring deep into my eyes. I’m too surprised to do anything for a couple seconds until I remember that he’s a prick and he doesn’t care about me at all. He’s only taking his frustrations out on me.

I shove him back with a snarl. “Hands to yourself.”

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