W A R N I N G
Please be aware that is a romance set in the dark world of organized crime families. It is a complete work of fiction and none of the situations or attitudes of the characters represent the authors opinions in any way.
Trigger Warnings include but are not limited to: Murder, torture, violent fight scenes, kidnapping, threats, alcohol consumption, human trafficking (brief reference), and detailed sex scenes.
If you have any questions feel free to email me@ wendyowensbooks.com
Dedicatedtoallthewomenwhosometimeshavetohelpaman realizehowfuckingly,perfectly,amazingthewomanrightinfrontof himis.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Crimson Vows About the Author
Also by Wendy
Owens
Acknowledgments
C H A P T E R O N E
Silk sheets tangle around our sweaty bodies as I move with a primal rhythm between the two women. The one beneath me, I believe her name is Rachel if memory serves, moans my name. The other woman, whose name I never caught, clings to my back, her nails leaving trails of desire in their wake.
The intoxicating scent of passion bathes the room, a heady aroma that mingles with the throaty sounds of lust coming from each woman. The women are a welcomed distraction from the uncertainty swirling around my place as the new boss of the King empire.
My hands roam freely, tracing curves and valleys. Their bodies, so different yet equally captivating, respond to my every touch with aching hunger.
Rachel’s voice trembles with pleasure as her gasps fill the room, echoing our shared ecstasy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.
“Oh God, Vincent, you are fucking amazing.” Rachel gasps, and a smirk tugs at my lips. This isn’t about connection; it’s about satisfaction—pure, carnal, and devoid of complications. More complications are the last thing I need in my life right now.
I untangle myself from the two women, leaning against my headboard before instructing them, “I want a show.”
The two women exchange a glance, their eyes filled with anticipation. “What kind of show?” the nameless woman asks.
“Surprise me.”
They evidently understand the rules of this game as they begin to move in perfect synchrony. Their bodies sway with a rhythm that matches the beat in my chest, their dance a seductive symphony.
Rachel takes the lead, her movements fluid and graceful. Her body undulates with an effortless sensuality that captivates not only me but the unnamed woman as well. Her fingers glide across her skin, tracing delicate patterns, accentuating every curve and dip. The room becomes a stage, and Rachel commands attention with her deliberate motion.
Meanwhile, the unnamed woman follows suit, her body a mirror image of Rachel’s in its enticing display. I watch as she lets her inhibitions go and embraces the freedom within this moment. Her motions are bolder, more primal as if she’s unlocking a hidden side of herself that yearns to be set free.
As I watch them writhe and twist, an animalistic hunger grows within me, fueled by their unabashed expressions of lust. I’m entranced by the sheer sexual energy bouncing off the walls, and I can’t help but stroke my cock in response, my eyes never leaving the two beautiful women who embody everything I crave.
Their passionate dance becomes more frenzied when they see the excitement they have aroused in me. Their bodies mesh together as they lose themselves in the moment. Rachel’s mouth finds the other woman’s mouth, and they begin exploring them with their tongues. The other woman runs her hands up Rachel’s body, her hands closing around Rachel’s breasts, rubbing them aggressively before homing in on her rock-hard nipples.
Rachel’s eyes lock with mine, her gaze burning with the same lust growing deep within me. My heart races as I watch the two women lose themselves in their interaction. The sight of the pair writhing together, their bodies melding into one, makes my cock throb.
Pleasure courses through my veins, threatening to consume me whole. With a deep breath, I rise onto my knees, my eyes never leaving the two beautiful women.
“Enough,” I say. “It’s my turn. Which one of you wants me to fuck you first?”
The women freeze, their eyes wide with anticipation. “Start with her,” Rachel says.
“Feeling generous, are we?” I smirk.
She bites at her bottom lip before she replies, “I just want to be the one you finish in.”
“Is that so?” I spin the nameless woman toward me and spread her legs, sliding myself into her with ease. She whimpers and moans in response as I stretch out her wet pussy. “Then why don’t you be a good little slut and sit on her face while I make her come?”
The unnamed woman’s eyes widen at the command, but Rachel doesn’t hesitate. She moves gracefully, positioning herself above her friend’s face with her legs on either side of her head. As I pump into her, the woman eagerly opens her mouth, welcoming Rachel’s pussy as it lowers onto her face.
“That’s it. You’re both such good little sluts,” I growl as I begin to thrust deeper into the nameless woman, enjoying the two of them devouring each other.
The woman moans louder as I pump into her, bucking her hips, pushing harder against Rachel’s slick pussy. She’s stroking her clit with one hand, her other hand trailing up and down her body, caressing her breasts and pinching her nipples.
“Faster, harder,” Rachel begs as she rocks her hips against the woman’s face. “Please, baby, make her moan into my pussy.”
I oblige, picking up my pace, my thick cock gliding into the nameless woman with wet, sloppy sounds filling the room. The unnamed woman’s moans become louder as she loses herself in the pleasure. I feel the familiar tightening, and then a release of wetness explodes around me.
“That’s a good girl,” I say as I pull my dick out of the nameless woman who is now trembling with pleasure. “You love the taste of her pussy, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm,” the woman moans, still too lightheaded from her orgasm to form any coherent words. I watch as Rachel dismounts from her face and wastes no time leaning over to suck her friend’s
juices off my cock. She laps up every drop, her eyes locked with mine in a silent plea for more.
“You want me to fuck you now?” I ask as my cock twitches inside Rachel’s mouth.
She swallows hard and nods, her eyes never leaving my throbbing erection. Her hand wraps around the base of my shaft, pulling me deeper into her warm mouth.
I groan, feeling her lips stretch around me as I thrust into her, her throat bobbing with each stroke. She hums softly in response, the vibrations sending shivers down my spine.
Releasing my cock from her mouth, Rachel looks up at me and whispers, “Please, Vincent, I need you inside me.”
“Not yet. I want you to beg for it,” I reply as I climb off the bed and grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand. I pour it onto my fingers, and with a wicked grin, I slide two into Rachel’s pussy, making her gasp and arch her back in pleasure.
“That’s it, baby, fuck me with your fingers,” she cries, her voice filled with desperation. I don’t just want her pussy, though. I want her to surrender every hole to me.
I withdraw my fingers from her drenched pussy and push her down onto her hands and knees. I lean down and whisper in her ear, “I told you I wanted a show. That was just the beginning.”
“What do you want me to do?” Rachel whimpers, her voice trembling with anticipation and submission.
“Show me how much you want me to take you,” I reply, my voice low and commanding. “Make me want you as much as I know you want me.”
I grab a flogger from the corner of the room, its tails whispering through the air as I bring it down on her back, causing a flurry of stinging kisses against her skin. I catch sight of her friend lying on her side, enjoying the show as she greedily fingers her soaking wet cunt.
I watch as Rachel’s body tenses and relaxes, each strike of the flogger a symphony of pain and pleasure. I can see the mark of my dominance on her skin, knowing each welt is a reminder of my
authority. At that moment, I wish asserting my dominance over our organization was as easy.
I step closer to her, the flogger still in hand. I brush my fingers against the welts on her skin, feeling the heat and knowing it’s not enough to satisfy my hunger for power.
“I want to see you beg for it,” I whisper in a low and seductive voice. “I want to hear the need in your voice.”
Rachel gasps, her body trembling with anticipation. She knows what I want and that my demands can never be ignored. But she’s willing to submit to my every desire, to give her body to me without hesitation.
She reaches back and grabs her hips, presenting them to me. “Please, Vincent, take me however you want. Just make me yours.”
I smile, dropping the flogger and reaching again for the lube. This time, I apply lube to her ass, spreading it around with my fingers, and then press against her tight entrance. She whimpers as I insert one finger. After a few moments, I insert another, slowly stretching her open.
“That’s it, take it. I’m going to make you mine,” I growl, my voice thick with lust.
Rachel moans and thrusts her hips back against me, eager for more. I add a third finger, stretching her ass wide. I can feel in the way she moves against me that she’s conflicted. The sensations of pain and pleasure have confused her body.
Finally, as her body starts to relax and her ass starts to allow me in with ease, I pull away and position myself at her entrance. “Are you ready for me to take you?” Rachel nods, her body trembling with anticipation. “I fucking love how much you need my cock.”
With a deep, satisfied groan, I push forward, sliding my cock into Rachel’s tight, wet asshole. She gasps, her entire body convulsing as I begin to thrust in and out.
“That’s it, baby. Take it. You’re mine.” My low voice is filled with dominance.
Rachel’s body writhes underneath me, her hands gripping the sheets as I stretch her ass with each hard thrust. Her friend watches from the side, her expression a mix of arousal and jealousy.
As I continue to pound into Rachel’s ass, I reach around and grasp her clit, pinching it between my fingers as I thrust. Rachel’s moans grow louder, her body becoming more and more tense.
“Please, Vincent, don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice hoarse with desire.
I speed up my thrusts, the sound of our bodies slapping together all around us. Rachel’s sounds become continuous and primal. Her orgasm hits her hard, her body convulsing around me as she cries out my name. She tightens around my cock, the sensation driving me further into a frenzy.
I slam into her one final time, holding her tightly against me as I fill her ass with my cum. I collapse onto the bed, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the intense orgasm. “Fuck—” I grunt, still panting.
Rachel looks at me, her eyes filled with satisfaction. “Thank you.”
I smile, feeling the pleasure of having completely dominated and pleasured Rachel. “You’re welcome,” I reply, still breathless from the intensity of the experience.
Standing, I go to my bathroom and rinse off in the shower. As I towel myself off, I notice both women are still lying naked in my bed, and I pride myself on the glow that they both seem to have about them.
Pulling out a pair of boxer briefs from my dresser, I slide them on before looking back at the ladies.
“You both seemed to like that, didn’t you?” I ask, smiling at them before pulling a pair of sweatpants from another drawer and slipping them on.
“Yes, Vincent. I’ve never felt so used before,” Rachel replies, her voice still hoarse from her orgasm.
“Oh my God, it was so fucking hot to watch you two,” her friend replies.
“Well, anytime, ladies,” I respond. I pause and notice the two staring up at me, but neither stirs. This should be when they know the fun has ended and start getting dressed, but that doesn’t seem to be happening.
I raise an eyebrow, no longer amused by their lack of movement. “Alright, well, I’ve got a lot to do today. Enjoy your morning, ladies.”
“Morning?” the nameless woman asks.
I chuckle. “Yes, we partied all night. And now it’s time for the two of you to head back to wherever you came from.”
They stare at me in confusion, not entirely understanding what I’m saying. “Let me put it another way,” I say, my tone gentler now. “You both had fun, but it’s time to go home or wherever.”
Rachel finally speaks up. “But I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”
Her friend nods in agreement.
“Well, that’s not an option,” I answer firmly, slipping a black Tshirt over my head, stretching it over my muscles and covering the tattoos. Rachel and the nameless beauty look up at me, their expressions soured by the abrupt end to our escapade. “Come on, ladies, get dressed. You gotta go.”
“Wow, really? That’s how it is?” Rachel’s pout is as forced as her indignation.
“Look,” I say, my breaths evening out, “I lost track of how many times you both came last night, so I don’t wanna hear any bitching. You got what you came here for. Now it’s time for you to go.”
The nameless one starts to whine, and without patience for it, I stride to my wallet on top of my dresser and pull out a wad of cash. I toss it at her—it’s crude but effective. “There.”
“I am no whore,” she screams, but her fingers curl around the bills even as she shimmies off the bed and shoves her legs into her skirt.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter under my breath.
A sharp knock on the door cuts through the heated conversation. “Boss?” Marco’s voice is muffled but urgent.
“Give me a minute!” I growl, not ready for an interruption.
“Sorry, boss, but Eva just checked in downstairs.”
“Shit.” Instantly, my attention fractures. Eva Martinez may be my sister’s best friend, but she isn’t just that anymore. Since my father’s murder, she has become one of my closest friends, and the last thing
I ever want to do is leave her waiting. “Buzz her up,” I call out before turning my attention back to the ladies.
“You two need to leave now,” I command, unhappy with the lack of urgency in their movements.
Rachel and the nameless woman exchange a look, disappointment etched across their faces, but they begrudgingly continue to gather their belongings strewn about my room.
“Eva?” Rachel asks, her voice laced with curiosity.
“None of your fucking business,” I answer, annoyed she even felt entitled to ask the question.
“There’s no reason to be an asshole,” Rachel grunts, pulling her dress over her head and scooping her boots and undergarments up into her arms.
I manage to get them half-dressed and stumbling toward the elevator. The one whose name I never caught drops her earrings, and as I hurry her along, she enthusiastically curses at me. I don’t care. I’ve been called worse by better.
The elevator doors opened with a ding to reveal Eva’s smiling face. The women shoot Eva a venomous glare as she steps off the elevator.
“Good morning,” Eva offers, but the women only scoff in response as they step onto the elevator.
“Have a nice life, ladies,” I quip as the doors close on their scowls.
“Those two looked like a barrel of laughs,” Eva comments, arching an eyebrow.
“Entertainment comes in many forms,” I reply. Eva sees me in a way not many do, but even her insight has limitations. The constant pressure I’m under requires me to find a way to let off steam. Last night with these two ladies was one of those exact opportunities. “Now, what brings you here, Eva? Or did you just want to swing by to pass judgment on how I spend my free time?”
“Oh, come on, Vincent! You’re so uptight. We all know you’re a huge slut, and we love you just the same.” Eva laughs, shaking her head at my jest. “You need to lighten up. How about a joke?”
“Please don’t tell me one of your awful jokes,” I plead.
“You know you love them. What did one elevator say to the other? I think I am coming down with something!” Eva erupts, laughing at her joke, and I can’t help but chuckle at her response.
“That’s better,” she says excitedly. “Anyway, Amelia sent me to pick up a few more of her things.”
“Christ,” I mutter, annoyance edging my tone. “Wouldn’t it be easier if she had you just pick up everything all at once?”
“Did you ever think she’s drawing this out because she misses you?” Eva’s soft voice is probing. “Maybe if you hadn’t forbidden her to come to the penthouse—”
“Amelia made her choice when she married Alexei Ivanov.” I cut her off, my voice colder now. “I may support her following her heart, but I don’t know what she expected when she married into a rival family. I’m the head of the King family now—our interests have to come first.”
Eva’s eyes hold mine, searching for something I’m unwilling to give. She nods slowly, understanding as always, yet I can tell she disagrees.
“Whatever you say,” she says finally. “I’ll just get the things she asked for from her room.”
“Thank you,” I say, but the words taste bitter, like a luxury bought at a price far too steep.
Eva disappears into Amelia’s old bedroom, and I make my way to the study. Shaking my head, I attempt to clear my thoughts. I sit down behind the large mahogany desk and try to force the intrusive thoughts about my sister from my mind. She made up her mind when she married an Ivanov, and no amount of guilt she or Eva put on me will change that.
Despite not being able to change the situation, one fact remains. I miss Amelia as much as she misses me.
C H A P T E R T W O
sit at my father’s desk, fingers tracing the intricate carvings on its mahogany surface. His scent, a mixture of expensive cologne and Cuban cigars, lingers. The mountain of paperwork before me seems to grow with each passing second, threatening to consume me whole. Anxiety washes over me as I ponder the gravity of my new responsibilities. Amelia may have walked away from her duties, but I refuse to let everything my father built be destroyed on my watch.
The door creaks open, and Eva steps into the room. Her chestnut-brown eyes display concern, her lips pressed into a thin line. She crosses the floor with graceful strides, the clicking of her heels against the marble floor echoing through the silent room. As she reaches me, she places a comforting hand on my shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring.
“Vincent,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm amid the chaos of my thoughts. “Let me make you some lunch.”
I look up at Eva, the turmoil swirling inside me spilling into my gaze. “I thought you were here to pack up the last of Amelia’s things for her, not take care of me.”
She shrugs and, in a gentle voice, replies, “Can’t I do both?” I smile, grateful that despite her being my sister’s best friend, Eva has always been a reassuring force in my life.
“I . . .” My voice falters as I struggle to find the right words. “I don’t know if I can do this—”
She shakes her head, peering at me with her oversized doe eyes. “Do what?”
“Lead the family,” I explain. “It’s so much, and I . . . What if I fuck everything up?”
Eva’s eyes soften as she listens, her hand on my shoulder a steady presence. “Vincent,” she says, “you have always been stronger than you give yourself credit for. For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve watched you do everything your father asked of you. The only difference between now and then is he isn’t here to tell you what to do—but you already know. You’re going to be fine.”
As she speaks, images flash in my mind—the late nights spent at my father’s side, the countless hours of training, and the strategizing I witnessed. Despite my doubts, there’s no denying I’ve worked hard to earn my place at the helm of our empire, even if my father lacked faith in me before his death.
“Your resilience is one of your greatest strengths,” Eva continues, bolstering my wavering confidence. “I have zero doubts that you will be able to get through this.”
“I wish I had the same confidence in myself that you seem to have in me,” I admit. Our predicament differs from that of any other business when the CEO dies. Our family business was different, though. Instead of board members, I have capos to answer to. They may not have known about my father losing faith in me as the underboss, but that doesn’t seem to matter. With the death of both my father and his consigliere, the wolves are at the gates, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep them at bay.
Eva squeezes my shoulder gently, her touch grounding me in the moment. “Vincent, you’re not alone in this. Amelia and I, all of us, support you every step of the way. You don’t have to carry all this on your own.”
I close my eyes briefly, trying to understand her words, but the fear keeps gnawing at me. “I asked you not to say her name around me.”
“She’s your sister,” Eva reminds me.
“Not anymore. She’s an Ivanov now,” I state, ensuring my tone remains emotionless.
“I don’t understand. I thought you gave her your blessing,” Eva pleads.
“I gave my blessing for her to marry him and step away from our family, but that doesn’t mean I have to be okay with it. It sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m going to be a fucking idiot and let her in here as if nothing has changed,” I explain. “She made her choice, and choices have consequences.”
“Jesus, why do you always have to be so stubborn?” Eva snaps, her hands falling to her side as she steps around to the front of my desk.
“Is there something else? I have a lot of work to get back to,” I huff, my irritation starting to reveal itself.
“Vincent,” Eva says softly as she watches me, “maybe you should be careful. You don’t have much family left in this world.”
I look up at her, eyebrows raised. Her eyes convey concern, so I do my best to steady my anger in response to her statement. She wasn’t wrong. In one night, I lost both my father and the woman who I believed to be my mother. Months later, my sister married the underboss of a rival Mafia family. Besides a half-brother I don’t really know, I’m utterly alone in this world. That makes it an easy mark for someone within our organization to make a move. “Is there something else you need?”
She purses her lips and peers at me hopefully. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll make us something to eat.”
Despite the weight of everything on my mind, the earnest warmth in Eva’s expression pulls me to my feet, her reassurance cutting through my reluctance.
“Alright, fine,” I agree, pushing back from the desk and standing. “A bite would be nice.”
I follow her into the kitchen, inquiring about how it’s going with Amelia’s belongings. She explained that while she was almost done with the task, she was also disappointed that I was so adamant about not allowing Amelia in to take care of things herself.
From their perspective, it must seem like I’m simply being petty about my sister’s nuptials with Alexei Ivanov, but I’m doing this for her own good too. If I am seen as too friendly with her now that she
has chosen to marry into the Ivanov family, it could make her a target.
Taking a bite of the salami and ham sandwich Eva made and placed in front of me, I chew and smile before looking up at her and stating, “Thank you, Eva. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“Sometimes, we all need a moment to breathe,” she replies, her voice gentle yet firm.
I chuckle. “Quit reading into things. I was just talking about the food.” Despite my deflection, her words resonate, reminding me that even as head of the family, I’m still allowed moments of vulnerability and rest.
“If you say so,” she chimes playfully.
I open my mouth to tease her in response, but before I can say anything, Marco comes running in from the security room, out of breath. “Vin-Vin—” he shouts through gasps. “You got company,” he says at last.
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
Marco catches his breath before responding, “Two men just arrived, asking to speak with you.”
“What men?” I demand, growing impatient with his vagueness.
“A couple of Russians,” Marco continues. “They claim to be from the Ivanov family.”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of the Ivanov family. “Did they say why they’re here?”
Marco shakes his head. “No, just that they’re on official business and have a message for you.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I grunt, tossing my sandwich onto the plate before me. Marco shrugs in response. I glance up at Eva. After what Isabella put her through, the last thing I want to do is get her tied up in some sort of family matter again. “You should probably go,” I tell her.
She looks at me, concern etched on her face. “Are you sure they’re not here for a valid reason?”
I shake my head, ignoring her assertion. “Marco, can you show Ms. Martinez out?”
She scoffs in response to how I formally address her and pulls her arm away when Marco reaches for it. “Don’t you dare, Marco,” she says, glaring at my cousin.
I nod at him, and he steps to the side.
Eva focuses her gaze on me. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself just fine, thank you. I told Amelia I would pack up another load from her room today, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.” She turns and exits the room swiftly.
“You want me to get her, boss?” Marco asks. Hearing Marco refer to me in such a way still feels foreign.
I shake my head and stand, pushing the plate away from me. “You heard her. She doesn’t want to leave.”
I follow Marco back to the security room, watching him open the door. The two tall and muscular men stand at the reception desk, with dark suits hugging their frames. I try to remember if I saw them at Amelia’s wedding, but the entire event was a blur.
“What do you want to do?” Marco inquires, his eyes fixed on me.
I clear my throat. “Thoroughly check them for any weapons, and if they are clean, show them up to my study.”
My study. That felt just as awkward as Marco referring to me as boss.
I stare at the screens as Marco rides down the elevator and frisks the two Russians before escorting them into the elevator. I go to my study and take a deep breath to compose myself. My mind races with possible reasons for their visit. Amelia is at the forefront. Is she okay?
When they enter my study, Marco shows them to the seats in front of my desk. I offer a greeting but do not stand as I do not wish them to view themselves as welcome in my home.
“Vincent King, I presume?” the taller of the two asks, his accent thick.
I nod in response. “That’s right. And you are?”
“My name is Dimitri,” he responds, gesturing toward the shorter man beside him. “This is my brother, Yuri.”
“I’m sorry if this may come across as not being very hospitable, but can the two of you please tell me what the fuck brings you
here?” I ask, hoping to cut to the chase.
Dimitri clears his throat. “Alexei Ivanov has sent us to deliver you an invitation.”
My heart sinks at the mention of Alexei’s name. I had hoped his family wouldn’t interfere in our affairs, but my hopes were in vain. I would never want to hurt Amelia, but I also will not tolerate her husband meddling in our affairs.
“What invitation?” I ask, my tone low and dangerous as I lean forward in my seat.
Dimitri glances at Yuri before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a square envelope. He places it on the desk and slides it toward me. “Alexei sends his regards and requests that you attend a dinner tomorrow night at his estate. He also wishes to discuss a possible partnership between our two families.”
I narrow my eyes at the envelope, hesitating to touch it. “And if I refuse?”
Dimitri shrugs. “That would be your choice, I suppose.”
“Last I checked, Alexei isn’t your family’s head yet. How would your boss feel about his son reaching out to me?” I pose the questions, hoping to create some unrest in the ranks.
“We are acting on behalf of Alexei and our family,” Dimitri responds coolly, not appearing to be ruffled by my questioning. “Our boss is not only aware of our visit but has sanctioned it.”
I sit back in my chair and contemplate my options. Attending the dinner could be a trap, but refusing the invitation could also lead to retaliation. It’s a delicate balance I must weigh carefully. It’s bad enough I have to worry about unrest within my own family, but it looks like the Ivanovs will still be as much of a problem as I feared.
“I’ll consider the invitation,” I say finally. “But I make no promises.”
Dimitri nods, standing. “Thank you for your time, Mr. King.”
As they exit the study, I can’t help the sense of unease settling in my gut. I follow the men to the elevator before handing them off to Marco to escort them from the building.
As soon as the elevator doors close, I turn, jumping slightly when I find Eva standing directly in my path with her arms crossed.
“What did they want?” she asks.
“That’s really not any of your concern,” I answer firmly as I step around her, striding toward the study.
She follows me, her footsteps echoing in the hallway. “Vincent, I may not be involved in your business, but I care about you and your sister. If something is wrong, maybe I can help.”
I stop in my tracks and turn to face her, my eyes cold and hard. “And this is exactly why I don’t want you involved in my life, Eva. You may have grown up around our family, but Amelia and I both grew up in the middle of this world. We know exactly what we’re getting ourselves into with all this.”
“That’s not fair. All I want to do is help you.”
I shake my head, sure that Eva’s relationship with my sister makes her a liability. “I don’t need your help, okay? Please trust that it’s for your own good.”
She scoffs. “How often do I tell you I can take care of myself? I’m not some damsel in distress.”
I narrow my eyes at her, my patience wearing thin. “That’s not the point, Eva. This isn’t some game. I can’t afford to have anyone else involved, especially not someone like you.”
“What do you mean, someone like me?” she asks, her eyes flashing with indignation.
“You know exactly what I mean,” I snap back. “You’re too innocent, too pure. Our world will eat you alive; that’s why I need you to stay away.”
She stares at me for a moment with her lips set in a tight line. Suddenly, her expression hardens. “Fine. But you might want to be careful how many times you push me away, Vincent. You might only isolate yourself from everyone who cares about you.”
I watch as she walks away, feeling a pang of guilt in my chest. She didn’t deserve the way I treated her even though I know this is for her own good. She doesn’t understand the danger of trying to get close to me.
“Go home, Eva,” I say over my shoulder, but she ignores me as I return to my study. Picking up the envelope Dimitri left, I carefully
open it and pull out the invitation to Alexei’s dinner. I read through it, analyzing every word and every possible meaning.
Taking a deep breath, I lean back in my chair, my mind racing with the possibilities. I can’t afford to make a wrong move, not when the stakes are this high. I need to be cautious but also prepared for whatever might happen at the dinner.
I reach for my phone, hoping that Eva isn’t wrong and I can still trust my sister. I dial Amelia’s number. She picks up on the second ring, her voice breathless.
“Vincent? Is everything okay?”
“I hope so,” I say. “I just had a visit from two of Alexei’s men. They delivered an invitation to a dinner he’s hosting tomorrow night.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Amelia responds, her voice tight.
“Oh good, I can’t wait to see you.”
“I didn’t say I was coming.” I chuff. “What’s this for?”
She laughs. “I would think it’s obvious, but a dinner invitation is usually for dinner.”
I grit my teeth, frustration building within me. “Amelia, this is serious.”
“Vincent,” she says, her voice calm. “I promise, it’s nothing bad. We want to have dinner with you and discuss some family matters.”
“Family matters—” I gasp, instantly wishing I had softened my response. “Which family, the one you abandoned or the new one?”
“I’m your sister,” she snaps. “Why would you even say something so hurtful? What do you think? I would let Alexei do something to hurt you?”
“You can’t blame me for being cautious,” I reply.
“Whatever, do whatever you want. Alexei was just trying to extend an olive branch because he loves me,” she exclaims before ending the call.
I hang up the phone and lean back in my chair, my mind racing. Despite the gnawing dread in my gut, I can’t silence the desire to trust that Amelia would never do anything to put me in harm’s way. In the end, I know I will likely accept the invitation.
C H A P T E R T H R E E
This morning, Marco’s perplexed expression greets me as I open the door to my office. “Boss, Eva is at the desk downstairs. Should I buzz her up?” He scratches the back of his neck, as surprised by her unexpected arrival as I am.
After our argument last night, I didn’t expect her presence so quickly, but part of me is relieved. I hate the idea of Eva being upset with me. I never imagined how lonely the house feels after Amelia and Alexei married. Amelia’s absence shone a light on how alone I really am now that both of our parents are gone. “Of course. Tell her I’ll be in the kitchen,” I say as I turn and make my way there.
As I pour myself a mug of freshly brewed coffee, an idea suddenly lands in my mind. I will surprise Eva with breakfast as a thank-you for all she has done for me lately. She practically lived at our place after my father’s murder. When Amelia walked down the aisle, she checked in on me every few days to ensure I was handling the transition of my sister’s wedding, no matter how much of an ass I was. She’s one of the most loving women I have known, and while she was my sister’s best friend growing up, I have always considered her a friend as well, especially as an adult.
The smell of toast fills the air as I crack eggs into the sizzling pan. I hum to myself, focusing on the satisfying sound of cooking. My thoughts are interrupted by the soft creak of the kitchen floors. “Vincent? What are you doing?” Eva’s voice is full of amusement as she takes in the sight before her. I can see her eyes widen with
surprise, then twinkle with delight.
“I hope you’re hungry.” I grin at her.
“You’re cooking?” she asks with disbelief in her voice.
“Don’t sound so shocked. I thought I would make you some food as a little thank-you for everything you’ve been doing for me lately,” I explain.
Eva chuckles and walks over to the counter. “But you don’t cook.”
I act offended by her statement. “This frying pan in my hand would say you’re wrong about that.”
“Touché. Okay, what can I do to help?” she asks, stepping up beside me.
“Smash up those avocados in that bowl.” I nod toward the wooden bowl in the middle of the kitchen island, returning my focus to the eggs cooking in the pan. “We’ll put them on the toast.”
“Wow, aren’t we fancy today?” she teases, winking at me as she grabs a fork from the drawer next to me to mash the avocado. I laugh at her playful tone and am thankful she’s still not annoyed with my shortness with her last night.
“Only the best for my favorite accomplice,” I reply, flipping the eggs carefully. It feels good to share this moment of levity with Eva.
She looks at the eggs and then up at me. “How do you make an egg laugh?”
“Oh my God, is this one of your terrible jokes?”
She ignores me as she reveals the answer. “Tell it a yolk.”
I can’t help but chuckle in response. “Jesus, that’s awful.”
She shrugs. “It made you laugh.”
“I guess it did,” I say before adding, “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Eva pauses her avocado mashing and looks up at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “Amelia may have called me.”
“Of course she did.” I roll my eyes.
“She wanted to know if I knew whether you were coming to dinner at their place tonight.”
My grip on the spatula tightens involuntarily as annoyance flares up inside me. Why would Amelia involve Eva in our family affairs?
“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath before shaking my head. “I’m sorry. She shouldn’t be dragging you into our mess.”
“She’s not dragging me into anything,” Eva replies, her voice soothing. “You’re both like family.”
I turn to watch as she works the fork through the soft chunks of avocado. She tucks a strand of her raven-black hair behind one ear, and I realize I’m staring, but I don’t look away.
“But,” she continues, “since we’re talking about it, why not let me accompany you tonight? I can be a buffer between you all.”
“Absolutely not,” I retort firmly. My protectiveness for Eva overrides any other emotion.
“Why not?”
“What if it’s a trap?”
Eva bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but smile at the sound. “You think your sister inviting you to dinner is a trap?” She shakes her head, her laughter subsiding. “You really are one of the most paranoid people I have ever met. You and I both know how much she loves you. Did you ever think maybe she and Alexei just want to ensure there’s no bad blood between all of you?”
As much as it pains me to admit it, she might have a point. My instincts tell me to keep Eva far away from anything that could expose her to danger, but maybe this is an opportunity to mend the relationship between our families.
“Fine,” I concede reluctantly. “I’ll agree to go to dinner, but no promises on if I will actually get along with Alexei.”
Eva tilts her head, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. “And what time should I be there?”
I laugh, shaking my head at her persistence. “You think you’re so slick, don’t you? I never agreed you could come along.”
She pouts playfully, her bottom lip jutting out just enough to make me reconsider. “Please. Pretty, pretty please.”
“Alright, alright,” I concede, unable to resist her pleas. “Meet me in the lobby of my building at seven. You can ride with me.”
“Deal!” she exclaims, her smile wide and vibrant.
Suddenly, Eva’s nose scrunches up, and she sniffs the air. “Do you smell something burning?”
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Grown sweet ’neath tropic fires, More rich the herbs of China’s field, The pasture-lands more fragrance yield; For ever let Britannia wield The tea-pot of her sires!
2 (Tennyson, who took it hot)
I think that I am drawing to an end: For on a sudden came a gasp for breath. And stretching of the hands, and blinded eyes, And a great darkness falling on my soul. O Hallelujah!... Kindly pass the milk.
3 (Swinburne, who let it get cold)
As the sin that was sweet in the sinning Is foul in the ending thereof, As the heat of the summer’s beginning Is past in the winter of love: O purity, painful and pleading! O coldness, ineffably gray!
Oh, hear us, our handmaid unheeding, And take it away!
4 (Cowper, who thoroughly enjoyed it)
The cosy fire is bright and gay, The merry kettle boils away And hums a cheerful song I sing the saucer and the cup; Pray, Mary, fill the tea-pot up, And do not make it strong.
5—(Browning, who treated it allegorically)
Tut! Bah! We take as another case
Pass the bills on the pills on the window-sill; notice the capsule (A sick man’s fancy, no doubt, but I place Reliance on trade-marks, Sir) so perhaps you’ll
Excuse the digression this cup which I hold Light-poised Bah, it’s spilt in the bed! well, let’s on go
Hold Bohea and sugar, Sir; if you were told The sugar was salt, would the Bohea be Congo?
6 (Wordsworth, who gave it away)
“Come, little cottage girl, you seem To want my cup of tea; And will you take a little cream? Now tell the truth to me ”
She had a rustic, woodland grin, Her cheek was soft as silk, And she replied, “Sir, please put in A little drop of milk ”
“Why, what put milk into your head? ’Tis cream my cows supply”; And five times to the child I said, “Why, pig-head, tell me, why?”
“You call me pig-head,” she replied; “My proper name is Ruth I called that milk”—she blushed with pride— “You bade me speak the truth.”
7—(Poe, who got excited over it)
Here’s a mellow cup of tea, golden tea! What a world of rapturous thought its fragrance brings to me! Oh, from out the silver cells
How it wells!
How it smells!
Keeping tune, tune, tune To the tintinnabulation of the spoon And the kettle on the fire
Boils its spout off with desire, With a desperate desire And a crystalline endeavour
Now, now to sit, or never, On the top of the pale-faced moon, But he always came home to tea, tea, tea, tea, tea, Tea to the n th.
8 (Rossetti, who took six cups of it)
The lilies lie in my lady’s bower (O weary mother, drive the cows to roost), They faintly droop for a little hour; My lady’s head droops like a flower
She took the porcelain in her hand (O weary mother, drive the cows to roost); She poured; I drank at her command; Drank deep, and now you understand! (O weary mother, drive the cows to roost )
9 (Burns, who liked it adulterated)
Weel, gin ye speir, I’m no inclined, Whusky or tay to state my mind, Fore ane or ither; For, gin I tak the first, I’m fou, And gin the next, I’m dull as you, Mix a’ thegither.
10 (Walt Whitman, who didn’t stay more than a minute)
One cup for myself-hood, Many for you Allons, camerados, we will drink together, O hand-in-hand! That tea-spoon, please, when you’ve done with it. What butter-colour’d hair you’ve got. I don’t want to be personal. All right, then, you needn’t. You’re a stale-cadaver. Eighteen-pence if the bottles are returned. Allons, from all bat-eyed formula.
F. Anstey (pen name of J. B. Guthrie) wrote many novels and short skits as well as verses. Like many of his contemporaries he is especially happy in a parody vein.
SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET
Disenchantment
My Love has sicklied unto Loath, And foul seems all that fair I fancied
The lily’s sheen’s a leprous growth, The very buttercups are rancid.
Abasement
With matted head a-dabble in the dust, And eyes tear-sealèd in a saline crust
I lie all loathly in my rags and rust
Yet learn that strange delight may lurk in self-disgust
Stanza Written in Depression Near Dulwich
The lark soars up in the air; The toad sits tight in his hole; And I would I were certain which of the pair Were the truer type of my soul!
To My Lady
Twine, lanken fingers, lily-lithe, Gleam, slanted eyes, all beryl-green, Pout, blood-red lips that burst a-writhe, Then kiss me, Lady Grisoline!
The Monster
Uprears the monster now his slobberous head, Its filamentous chaps her ankles brushing; Her twice-five roseal toes are cramped in dread, Each maidly instep mauven-pink is flushing
A Trumpet Blast
Pale Patricians, sunk in self-indulgence, Blink your blearèd eyes. Behold the Sun Burst proclaim in purpurate effulgence, Demos dawning, and the Darkness done!
Hilaire Belloc, in addition to wiser matters, wrote most amusing nonsense animal verses.
THE PYTHON
A python I should not advise, It needs a doctor for its eyes, And has the measles yearly.
However, if you feel inclined To get one (to improve your mind, And not from fashion merely), Allow no music near its cage; And when it flies into a rage
Chastise it most severely
I had an Aunt in Yucatan Who bought a Python from a man And kept it for a pet She died because she never knew
These simple little rules and few; The snake is living yet.
THE BISON
The Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain)
The Door-mat you see on his head Is not, as some learned professors maintain, The opulent growth of a genius’ brain; But is sewn on with needle and thread.
THE MICROBE
The Microbe is so very small You cannot make him out at all, But many sanguine people hope To see him through a microscope His jointed tongue that lies beneath A hundred curious rows of teeth; His seven tufted tails with lots Of lovely pink and purple spots On each of which a pattern stands, Composed of forty separate bands; His eyebrows of a tender green; All these have never yet been seen But Scientists, who ought to know, Assure us that they must be so.... Oh! let us never, never doubt What nobody is sure about!
THE FROG
Be kind and tender to the Frog, And do not call him names, As “Slimy-Skin,” or “Polly-wog,” Or likewise, “Uncle James,” Or “Gape-a-grin,” or “Toad-gone-wrong,” Or “Billy-Bandy-knees”; The Frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these
No animal will more repay, A treatment kind and fair, At least, so lonely people say Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
They are extremely rare).
Gilbert K. Chesterton, England’s great humorist of today, is cleverly gay in his French Forms.
A BALLADE OF SUICIDE
The gallows in my garden, people say, Is new and neat and adequately tall. I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball; But just as all the neighbours on the wall Are drawing a long breath to shout “Hurray!”
The strangest whim has seized me After all I think I will not hang myself to-day
To-morrow is the time I get my pay
My uncle’s sword is hanging in the hall
I see a little cloud all pink and grey
Perhaps the rector’s mother will not call I fancy that I heard from Mr Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way— I never read the works of Juvenal— I think I will not hang myself to-day.
The world will have another washing day; The decadents decay; the pedants pall; And H. G. Wells has found that children play, And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall; Rationalists are growing rational And through thick woods one finds a stream astray, So secret that the very sky seems small I think I will not hang myself to-day.
Envoi
Prince, I can hear the trump of Germinal, The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way; Even today your royal head may fall— I think I will not hang myself to-day.
A BALLADE OF AN ANTI-PURITAN
They spoke of Progress spiring round, Of Light and Mrs Humphry Ward
It is not true to say I frowned, Or ran about the room and roared; I might have simply sat and snored I rose politely in the club And said, “I feel a little bored; Will someone take me to a pub?”
The new world’s wisest did surround Me; and it pains me to record I did not think their views profound, Or their conclusions well assured; The simple life I can’t afford, Besides, I do not like the grub— I want a mash and sausage, “scored”— Will someone take me to a pub?
I know where Men can still be found, Anger and clamorous accord, And virtues growing from the ground, And fellowship of beer and board, And song, that is a sturdy cord, And hope, that is a hardy shrub, And goodness, that is God’s last word Will someone take me to a pub?
Prince, Bayard would have smashed his sword To see the sort of knights you dub— Is that the last of them O Lord! Will someone take me to a pub?
Envoi
FRENCH HUMOR
Voltaire, the assumed name of François Marie Arouet, was one of the most famous of French writers. Plays, fiction, criticism and letters are among his celebrated works.
We can quote but a short bit from his novel of Candide:
The tutor Pangloss was the oracle of the house, and little Candide listened to his lessons with all the ready faith natural to his age and disposition.
Pangloss used to teach the science of metaphysico-theologocosmologo-noodleology. He demonstrated most admirably that there is no effect without a cause, and that, in this best of all possible worlds, the castle of my lord baron was the most magnificent of castles, and my lady the best of all possible baronesses.
“It has been proved,” said he, “that things cannot be otherwise than they are; for, everything being made for a certain end, the end for which everything is made is necessarily the best end. Observe how noses were made to carry spectacles, and spectacles we have accordingly Our legs are clearly intended for shoes and stockings, so we have them. Stone has been formed to be hewn and dressed for building castles, so my lord has a very fine one, for it is meet that the greatest baron in the province should have the best accommodation. Pigs were made to be eaten, and we eat pork all the year round. Consequently those who have asserted that all is well have said what is silly; they should have said of everything that is, that it is the best that could possibly be.”
Candide listened attentively, and innocently believed all that he heard; for he thought Mlle. Cunégonde extremely beautiful, though he never had the boldness to tell her so. He felt convinced that, next to the happiness of being born Baron of Thundertentronckh, the
second degree of happiness was to be Mlle. Cunégonde, the third to see her every day, and the fourth to hear Professor Pangloss, the greatest philosopher in the province, and therefore in all the world.
One day Mlle. Cunégonde, while taking a walk near the castle, in the little wood which was called the park, saw through the bushes Dr. Pangloss giving a lesson in experimental physics to her mother’s chambermaid, a little brunette, very pretty and very willing to learn. As Mlle. Cunégonde had a great taste for science, she watched with breathless interest the repeated experiments that were carried on under her eyes; she clearly perceived that the doctor had sufficient reason for all he did; she saw the connection between causes and effects, and returned home much agitated, though very thoughtful, and filled with a yearning after scientific pursuits, for sharing in which she wished that young Candide might find sufficient reason in her, and that she might find the same in him.
She met Candide as she was on her way back to the castle, and blushed; the youth blushed likewise. She bade him good morning in a voice that struggled for utterance; and Candide answered her without well knowing what he was saying. Next day, as the company were leaving the table after dinner, Cunégonde and Candide found themselves behind a screen. Cunégonde let fall her handkerchief; Candide picked it up; she innocently took hold of his hand, and the young man, as innocently, kissed hers with an ardor, a tenderness, and a grace quite peculiar; their lips met and their eyes sparkled. His lordship, the Baron of Thundertentronckh, happened to pass by the screen, and, seeing that particular instance of cause and effect, drove Candide out of the castle with vigorous kicks. Cunégonde swooned away, but, as soon as she recovered, my lady the baroness boxed her ears, and all was confusion and consternation in that most magnificent and most charming of all possible castles.
Marc Antoine Desaugiers was a Parisian song writer and author of vaudeville.
His wit was cynical and his versification of a facile sort.
THE ETERNAL YAWNER
Ah! well-a-day, in all the earth
What can one do?
Where for amusement seek, or mirth?
Ah! well-a-day, in all the earth
What can one do
To cease from yawning here below?
Of mortal man, what is the rôle?
To bustle, eat, and labor ply; To plot, grow old, and then to die?
Not very lively this, or droll
Ah! well-a-day, etc
No wonder in my mind begets
The sun, which poets call sublime; Not this the first or second time He rises, runs his race, and sets.
Ah! well-a-day, etc.
To one dull course the seasons cling: For full five thousand years we view The summer following after spring, And winter autumn’s close pursue.
Ah! well-a-day, etc.
My watch (a friend of little use), Whose hands their tedious circuit ply, Tells me how slow the hours fly, Not how I may my hours amuse.
Ah! well-a-day, etc.
I half the world have traveled o’er, To see if men diversion found; But everywhere, on every ground, I saw what I had seen before Ah! well-a-day, etc
In weariness which I abhorred, Wishing to know how sped the great, I dined with men of high estate, And murmured as I left their board, Ah! well-a-day, etc
Wishing to see if, when in love,
Life some unworn amusement has, Love I attempted, but alas!
Love in all climes the same doth prove Ah! well-a-day, etc
Thus being, at this early age, Of all things sick, both night and day, In hopes to be more blithe and gay I did in settled life engage Ah! well-a-day, etc
The street where now my life I led, By neighborhood my steps brought on To th’ Institute and Odéon, Which every day I visited Ah! well-a-day, etc.
By writing this (hope quickly gone), To cheer my spirits I essayed; But yawned the while this song was made, And now I sing it, still I yawn: Ah! well-a-day, etc.
Pierre Jean de Béranger was one of France’s greatest lyric poets. His versatility compassed songs of every sort from political to bacchanalian, from amatory to philosophical.
THE
EDUCATION OF YOUNG LADIES
What! this Monsieur de Fénélon
The girls pretend to school! Of Mass and needlework he prates; Mama, he’s but a fool. Balls, concerts, and the piece just out, Can teach us better far, no doubt: Tra la la la, tra la la la, Thus are young ladies taught, Mama!
Let others mind their work; I’ll play, Mama, the sweet duet, That for my master’s voice and mine Is from Armida set If Rénaud felt love’s burning flame, I feel some shootings of the same:
Tra la la la, tra la la la, Thus are young ladies taught, Mama!
Let others keep accounts; I’ll dance, Mama, an hour or two; And from my master learn a step
Voluptuous and new At this long skirt my feet rebel; To loop it up a bit were well
Tra la la la, tra la la la, Thus are young ladies taught, Mama!
Let others o’er my sister watch; Mama, I’d rather trace—
I’ve wondrous talent—at the Louvre
The Apollo’s matchless grace: Throughout his figure what a charm!
’Tis naked, true but that’s no harm
Tra la la la, tra la la la, Thus are young ladies taught, Mama!
Mama, I must be married soon, Even fashion says no less; Besides, there is an urgent cause, I must, Mama, confess.
The world my situation sees But there they laugh at scrapes like these.
Tra la la la, tra la la la, Thus are young ladies taught, Mama!
THE DEAD ALIVE
When a bore gets hold of me, Dull and overbearing, Be so kind as pray for me, I’m as dead as herring. When the thrusts of pleasure glib
In my sides are sticking, Poking fun at every rib, I’m alive and kicking.
When a snob his £ s. d. Jingles in his breeches, Be so kind as pray for me,
I’m as dead as ditches. When a birthday’s champagne-corks Round my ears are clicking, Marking time with well-oil’d works, I’m alive and kicking
Kings and their supremacy Occupy the table, Be so kind as pray for me, I’m as dead as Abel Talk about the age of wine (Bought by cash or ticking), So you bring a sample fine, I’m alive and kicking.
When a trip to Muscovy Tempts a conquest glutton, Be so kind as pray for me, I’m as dead as mutton. Match me with a tippling foe, See who first wants picking From the dead man’s field below, I’m alive and kicking.
When great scribes to poetry March, by notions big led, Be so kind as pray for me, I’m as dead as pig-lead. When you start a careless song, Not at grammar sticking, Good to push the wine along I’m alive and kicking
When a bigot, half-hours three, Spouts in canting gloom’s tones, Be so kind as pray for me, I’m as dead as tombstones When in cloisters underground, Built of stone or bricking, Orders of the screw you found, I’m alive and kicking.
Bourbons back in France we see (Sure we don’t much need ’em),
Be so kind as pray for me,
I’m as dead as freedom.
Bess returns, and still our throats
Find us here a-slicking, Sitting free without our coats
I’m alive and kicking
Forced to leave this company,
Bottle-wine and horn-ale, Be so kind as pray for me,
I’m as dead as door-nail
Pledging, though, a quick return, Soon my anchor sticking
On the shore for which I yearn—
I’m alive and kicking.
A great name that ushers in the Nineteenth century is that of Honoré de Balzac, chief of the realistic school of French novelists. His humor is keen and is never lacking in his somewhat diversified writings.
From his well known Contes Drolatiques we give two stories.
A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING
Louis XI had given the Abbey of Turpenay to a gentleman who, enjoying the revenue, had called himself M. de Turpenay. It happened that the king being at Plessis-les-Tours, the real abbot, who was a monk, came and presented himself before the king, and presented a petition, remonstrating with him that, canonically and monastically, he was entitled to the abbey, and the usurping gentleman wronged him of his right, and therefore he called upon his Majesty to have justice done to him. Nodding his peruke, the king promised to render him contented. This monk, importunate as are all hooded animals, came often at the end of the king’s meals, who, bored with the holy water of the convent, called friend Tristan and said to him, “Old fellow, there is here a Turpenay who annoys me; rid the world of him for me.”
Tristan, taking a frock for a monk, or a monk for a frock, came to this gentleman, whom all the court called M. de Turpenay, and,
having accosted him, managed to lead him on one side, then, taking him by the button-hole, gave him to understand that the king desired he should die. He tried to resist, supplicating and supplicating to escape, but in no way could he obtain a hearing. He was delicately strangled between the head and shoulders, so that he expired; and, three hours afterwards, Tristan told the king that he was despatched. It happened five days later, which is the space in which souls come back again, that the monk came into the room where the king was, and when he saw him he was much astonished. Tristan was present; the king called him, and whispered into his ear:
“You have not done what I told you to.”
“Saving your Majesty, I have done it. Turpenay is dead.”
“Eh? I meant this monk.”
“I understood the gentleman!”
“What, it is done, then?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Very well, then”—turning toward the monk—“come here, monk.” The monk approached. The king said to him, “Kneel down.” The poor monk began to shiver in his shoes. But the king said to him, “Thank God that He has not willed that you should be executed as I had ordered. He who took your estates has been instead. God has done you justice. Go and pray to God for me, and don’t stir out of your convent.”
This proves the good-heartedness of Louis XI. He might very well have hanged the monk, the cause of the error. As for the aforesaid gentleman, it was given out that he had died in the king’s service.
INNOCENCE
When Queen Catherine was princess royal, to make herself welcome to the king, her father-in-law, who at that time was very ill indeed, she presented him from time to time with Italian pictures, knowing that he liked them much, being a friend of Sire Raphael d’Urbino and of the Sires Primaticcio and Leonardo da Vinci, to
whom he sent large sums of money She obtained from her family a precious picture, painted by a Venetian named Titian (painter to the Emperor Charles, and in very high favor), in which there were portraits of Adam and Eve at the moment when God left them to wander about the terrestrial paradise. They were painted full height, in the costume of the period, in which it is difficult to make a mistake, because they were attired in their ignorance, and caparisoned with the divine grace which enveloped them—a difficult thing to execute on account of the color, but one in which the said Sire Titian excelled. The picture was put into the room of the poor king, who was then ill with the disease of which he eventually died. It had a great success at the Court of France, where every one wished to see it; but no one was able to until after the king’s death, since at his desire it was allowed to remain in his room as long as he lived.
One day Catherine took with her to the king’s room her son Francis and little Margy, who began to talk at random, as children will. Now here, now there, these children had heard this picture of Adam and Eve spoken about, and had tormented their mother to take them to see it. Since the two little ones sometimes amused the old king, the princess royal complied with their request.
“You wished to see Adam and Eve, who were our first parents; there they are,” said she.
Then she left them in great astonishment before Titian’s picture, and seated herself by the bedside of the king, who delighted to watch the children.
“Which of the two is Adam?” said Francis, nudging his sister Margaret’s elbow.
“You silly,” replied she, “they would have to be dressed for one to know that!”
Louis Charles Alfred de Musset was a celebrated French poet and man of letters. Though he died in early middle age, he left many
volumes of wise and witty writings.
THE SUPPER-PARTY OF THE THREE CAVALIERS
“Be silent, all of you!” cried Mimi. “I want to talk a little now. Since the magnificent M. Marcel does not care for fables, I am going to relate a true story, et quorum pars magna fui.”
“Do you speak Latin?” asked Eugène.
“As you perceive,” Mlle. Pinson answered. “I have inherited that sentence from my uncle, who served under the great Napoleon, and who always repeated it before he gave us an account of a battle. If you don’t know the meaning of the words, I’ll teach you free of charge. They mean, ‘I give you my word of honor.’ Well, then, you are to know that one night last week I went with two of my friends, Blanchette and Rougette, to the Odéon theater——”
“Watch me cut the cake,” interrupted Marcel.
“Cut ahead, but listen,” Mlle. Pinson continued. “As I was saying, I went with Blanchette and Rougette to the Odéon to see a tragedy. Rougette, as you know, has just lost her grandmother, and has inherited four hundred francs. We had taken a box, opposite to which, in the pit, sat three students. These young men liked our looks, and, on the pretext that we were alone and unprotected, invited us to supper.”
“Immediately?” asked Marcel. “That was gallant indeed. And you refused, I suppose?”
“By no means,” said Mimi. “We accepted the invitation, and in the intermission, without waiting for the end of the play, we all went off to Viot’s restaurant.”
“With your cavaliers?”
“With our cavaliers. The leader, of course, began by telling us that he had nothing, but such little obstacles did not disconcert us. We ordered everything we wanted. Rougette took pen and paper, and ordered a veritable marriage-feast: shrimps, an omelet with sugar, fritters, mussels, eggs with whipped cream—in fact, all the delicacies
imaginable. To tell the truth, our young gentlemen pulled wry faces ”
“I have no doubt of it!” said Marcel.
“We didn’t care. When everything was brought in we began to act the part of great ladies. We approved of nothing, but found everything disgusting. Hardly was any dish brought in but we sent it out again. ‘Waiter, take this away; it’s intolerable; where did you get the horrible stuff?’ Our unknown gentlemen wanted to eat, but found it impossible. In a word, we supped as Sancho dined, and in our vigor nearly broke several dishes.”
“Nice conduct! And who was to pay for it all?”
“That is precisely the question that our three unknown gentlemen asked one another. To judge by what we overheard of their whispered conversation, one of them owned six francs, the second a good deal less, and the third had only his watch, which he generously pulled out of his pocket. So the three unfortunates went up to the cashier, intending to gain a delay of some sort. What answer do you suppose they received?”
“I imagine that you would be kept there, and your gentlemen sent to jail.”
“You are wrong,” said Mlle. Pinson. “Before going in Rougette had taken her precautions, and had paid for everything in advance. You can imagine the scene when Viot answered, ‘Gentlemen, everything is paid.’ Our three unknown gentlemen looked at us as never three dogs looked at three bishops, with pitiful stupefaction mixed with pure tenderness. But we, without seeming to notice anything unusual, went down-stairs and ordered a cab. ‘Dear Marquise,’ said Rougette to me, ‘we ought to take these gentlemen home.’ ‘Certainly, dear Countess,’ answered I. Our poor young gallants did not know what to say, they looked so sheepish. They wanted to get rid of our politeness, and asked not to be taken home, even refusing to give their address. No wonder, either, because they felt sure that they were having to do with great ladies, and they lived in Fish-Cat Street!”
The two students, the friends of Marcel, who, up to this time, had done nothing but smoke their pipes and drink in silence, appeared little pleased with this story. Their faces grew red, and they seemed to know as much about this unfortunate supper as Mimi herself, at whom they glanced restlessly. Marcel, laughing, said:
“Tell us who they were, Mlle. Mimi. Since it happened last week it does not matter.”
“Never!” cried the girl. “Play a trick on a man—yes. But ruin his career—never!”
“You are right,” said Eugène, “and are acting even more wisely than you yourself are aware of. There is not a single young fellow at college who has not some such mistake or folly behind him, and yet it is from among these very people that France draws her most distinguished men.”
“Yes,” said Marcel, “that’s true. There are peers of France who now dine at Flicoteau’s, but who once could not pay their bills. But,” he added, and winked, “haven’t you seen your unknown gentlemen again?”
“What do you take us for?” answered Mlle. Pinson in a severe and almost offended tone. “You know Blanchette and Rougette, and do you suppose that I——?”
“Very well,” said Marcel, “don’t be angry. But isn’t this a nice state of affairs? Here are three giddy girls, who may not be able to pay their next day’s dinner, and who throw away their money for the sake of mystifying three poor unoffending devils!”
“But why did they invite us to supper?” asked Mlle. Pinson. —“Mimi Pinson.”
Charles Paul de Kock was a novelist and dramatist. A short quotation from A Much Worried Gentleman shows the ubiquitous mother-in-law jest.
THÉOPHILE’S MOTHER-IN-LAW
“Son-in-law, you will offer me your arm; your wife will take her cousin’s.”
“Yes, mother-in-law.”
“Furthermore, when we get to the caterer’s for dinner, you must not whisper to your wife. People might suspect something unrefined.”
“Yes, mother-in-law.”
“Neither must you kiss her.”
“Why, you object to me kissing my wife?”
“Before people, yes. It’s very bad form. Haven’t you time enough for it at home?”
“True.”
“At table you will not sit next to your wife, but next to me.”
“That’s agreed.”
“During the meal you will take care that no comic songs on your marriage are sung. Those who write them usually permit themselves indelicate jokes, so that the ladies are put out. That is the worst taste possible.”
“I’ll see that none are sung.”
“You will dance only once with your wife during the evening. Understand me—only once.”
“But, why, why?”
“Because it is proper to let the bride accept the invitations of relatives, friends, and strangers.”
“But I didn’t marry in order that my wife should dance with everybody except myself!”
“Do you wish to insinuate, son-in-law, that you can instruct me concerning the usages of polite society? You are beginning well.”
