Page 155 of The Grand Duel

“I’ve been a member for a while. There’s a handful of people at the club who have found out my real name over the years.”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and take a sip of wine.

I need to eat something.

This conversation is too much, and I need something in my stomach other than alcohol.

“I’ve been a member for ten years,” he blurts out.

I snap my head up to look at him.

“I was twenty-five when I joined.”

“Twenty-five?” My eyes widen, everything I presumed and second-guessed over the weekend becoming clear. “The card really was yours then.”

He frowns. “The card?”

“On the day I came for my first interview, Luna had a piece of card stuck on her paw, and when I saw the name of the club, Edna told me they pay really well. I needed the money and tried my luck for a bar role.” I drop my eyes. “I momentarily thought it was yours. I didn’t know you, and it seemed plausible. But Edna made out it was hers. I guess I read the signs all wrong.”

“It wasn’t my card.”

My wide eyes find his again. “What? ItwasEdna’s? You’re both members?”

“No. Edna isn’t a member anymore.”

I frown.

“You should ask her. I’m sure she’d tell you.”

“You tell me.”

“I can tell you my story. Not hers.”

We sit and stare at one another, the mess between us piled and barely scratched.

He blinks, dropping his stare before bringing it right back to me. “I’ve not been with a woman outside of the club since the first week I joined as a member.”

“What?” I say, shaking my head as I try to process what he’s said.

“I told you I don’t date.”

“But…” I do the maths, my mind reeling. “That would be years.”

He nods. “It’s worked for me. There are aspects of the club that make me feel free to satisfy my needs whilst maintaining my morality.”

I frown at his choice of words. “You’ve not slept with anyone, at all, outside of club, since you joined at age twenty-five?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve not touched a woman intimately, in any way, outside of the club, since I joined at twenty-five.” His eyes sear into me, the longing in them threatening. “Until Italy. Until I met you.”

“I don’t—” I reach for my wineglass, but don’t drink from it. I can’t. “I don’t understand.”

He sits forward, running his hands through his hair before leaning back so that Daisy can settle again.

He swallows. “My sister passed away when I was twenty-four,” he says. “She was nineteen.”

My heart sinks. Aches. “Charles…I’m so sorry?—”

He frowns, looking away as his knees start bouncing. “Fuck, that came out all wrong. I’m not explaining anything. I’m just throwing facts at you?—”

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