Page 102 of Last Comes Fate

Xavier’s side, however, had consisted of a handful of people from his old neighborhood, a few work colleagues, Jagger, Elsie, and, to my surprise, Frederick.

Xavier was quiet for a moment but offered a shrug in response. “Everyone who matters to me is either gone or here,” he said. “But you can see why I don’t mind leaving. I see what you have here. I suppose maybe now I want to be a part of that too.”

I nodded. “Well, you’re stuck with us now. The Zolas are pretty ride or die, so hopefully you don’t regret it.”

He lifted my hand and pressed a reverent kiss to my knuckles. “Never.”

“Might I offer my congratulations?”

Xavier and I both turned to find Frederick standing next to us.

His stepbrother was dressed like any other wealthy man might be in a dark gray suit and blue paisley tie. Even if I hadn’t known him from before, I would have thought he was from out of town simply by the tilt of his head and the ramrod-straight posture.

“And best wishes, of course,” he said as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. “It was a lovely ceremony. Truly.”

Xavier glanced at me as if to ask, “What do you want to do?”

I shrugged. He was already here. Clearly, Xavier had invited him, and while I absolutely despised his mother, Frederick had never seemed anything but young and reasonably courteous.

Xavier pulled out Sofia’s empty chair next to him (our daughter, of course, had been lost in the crowd with her cousins for a while now). Frederick took a seat and smiled when one of the servers brought over his place from where he had been seated with Jagger and Elsie.

“You know, I don’t think I ever knew how prolific the Parker Group really was,” Frederick said as he admired Chie’s lush interior. “I remember your pub in the village, but I don’t think I’ve ever gone to any of your spots in London. And there are more, too…”

“In Paris, Prague, Madrid, Berlin, among others,” Xavier confirmed.

“So, er, how many restaurants do you actually have now?” Frederick wondered.

“This made fourteen,” Xavier said somewhat cagily. “First in New York, but we’ve plans for more.”

“Amazing,” Frederick remarked, more to himself than to us.

Xavier just made a nondescript sound that I recognized as his “where have you been?” noise. I’d heard it several times whenever some random lord recognized him and acted like this big, strapping, extremely successful duke had appeared out of thin air.

“You’re very lucky,” Frederick went on. “I didn’t realize what an empire you’ve built, but I’m so glad you have.”

“Why’s that?” I wondered.

Frederick took a sip of wine. “Because,” he said eventually, “my brother here will always have something of his own. No matter what anyone might do…or take.”

Xavier and I sat there for a moment. Neither of us seemed to know what to say.

“Anyway,” Frederick said. “I just wanted to wish you both my best. You deserve to be happy, Xavier. Happy at last. And Francesca is wonderful. I mean that.”

Without waiting for a response, he picked up his plate and glass and adjourned himself back to his table. Xavier watched him until I couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Well, that was nice of him,” I said. “To say congratulations, I mean.”

“That was more than congratulations, Ces,” Xavier said wryly. “It was a warning.”

I frowned. “A warning about what?”

He downed the rest of his water, looking very much like he wished it were something harder. “Of what’s to come when the party’s over.”

TWENTY-FOUR

12 Oct 1985

Gardener says the camellias at the south end are dying—some sort of virus. Not sure.

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