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“For sure,” I said as I consumed the excellent portobello mushroom dish paired with a full-bodied cabernet sauvignon. Dad was a big meat eater, so he cut into a perfectly aged steak. “The biggest closet as well.”
Dad smiled. “Theresa is a fine woman, inside and out. Kind, sweet, great head on her shoulders. Matty, you’ll love her.”
“I’m sure I will.”
I still had my doubts considering they’d gotten married on such short acquaintance, but the part I zeroed on was that he was proud, honored even, to have won over the magnificent Theresa. It coated every word, every dreamy sigh. I swear, it was like watching a youth in the first throes of passion, and, well, it was weird coming from my father.
“What about her son?” I asked after he’d continued to sing her praises. “How do you pronounce his name?”
Dad put down his wine. “Theresa taught me. Say clear-en.” I did as he suggested. “Now remove the L but keep the K at the beginning and glide the vowel. Keir-en. Theresa said that’s what trips everyone up. Most think it’s Sear-an or Karen.”
“Ciaran,” I said, practicing the Kier-en method a few times.
It was nice. I liked how it sounded. It was a raw, earthy name, like it was born in the wilds of Ireland. I conjured his image in my mind. From his photo, he looked like his mom. But was he short or tall? Theresa was tall from what I could tell from the photos Dad showed me on his phone. She might have been wearing heels, but I suspected she was at least five-ten given that dad was six feet tall.
Dante was six feet tall and I was five-eleven, but our mom had been barely over five feet.
“Theresa says Ciaran’s a strong swimmer but his main interest is literature. He wants to be a novelist.”
“Sounds a bit boring, if you ask me.”
Dad shrugged. “Perhaps, but don’t forget, they’ve been scrounging for a number of years. He’s studious, hard-working considering he could open and close the deli by himself. Very independent from what Theresa tells me. He’s never given her an ounce of trouble. Sounds like a solid kid, if you ask me. I’m not saying you need to act like an older brother to him, Matty, but he’s leaving his friends and school before the end of the school year. Try to be nice, eh?”
I finished my meal and pushed my plate away. “So I should take him under my wing?” My voice was harsher than I had intended. “Be best friends and all that?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” Dad looked into his wine glass for a long moment before settling his gaze on me. “How about…don’t be an asshole? Avoid Ciaran if it comes down to it. I don’t want Theresa to regret marrying me, especially if anything negative happens while we’re on our honeymoon.”
I was about to interrogate him about this honeymoon comment but our pastry sous chef brought out small dessert plates in that moment. An elegant plate with three one-inch spongy chocolate cake squares drizzled with thin lines of strawberry sauce was placed before me. Two dollops of cream on the side were meant for dipping. Dad received the same treat.
“Thank you, Zara,” Dad said, and I echoed the sentiment, my mouth already full. I’d wolfed it down before Zara had even left the dining room. Her desserts were world-renowned. It went down smooth and the burst of bright strawberries lingered on my tongue long after the dessert had been consumed.
“Where are you honeymooning, Dad?”
We had properties all over the world so, in reality, they could travel the world over by staying in Vaulteneau properties without issue.
Dad listed off all the places he wanted to show Theresa. It sounded like it was going to be a world tour. He wanted her to see each estate, at a minimum.
“That sounds extensive. That’d take you…” I projected the timeframe in my head. “At least three or four weeks, minimum, if you wanted some downtime in each location. Are you trying to christen every property, Dad?”
His face hardened and I knew I went too far.
“Do not insult my wife ever again, Matthias Vaulteneau. Theresa is the best human being I’ve ever met. Compared to her, we are fucking dogs. Dogs, Matty, which means she’s my bone and I’m not too good to rip out your fucking throat if it suits me.”
I raised my hands in a peace offering. This was coming from a man who wasn’t above giving me a play-by-play on the orgies he’d either participated in or watched as a spectator. I remember being confused at the age of eleven thinking most dads hosted orgies. Hell, on my sixteenth birthday, he and Dante offered to host one for me. I declined but I think they still went through with it. I’d been surfing all day with Filipe and Joan and crashed the second my head hit the pillow.
“Jeez, Dad, fuck I’m sorry. I was joking.”
His expression softened. “That was harsh of me, Matty. I’m just worried that she’ll get here and change her mind.”
That seemed ridiculous.
“We live in a fifty-million-dollar, twenty-one-thousand-square-foot estate. Everything is available to us. What could she possibly regret?”
His dark eyes flashed with pity. “You don’t get it, do you, Matty? It’s not about the money, son. That’s not what she’s attracted to. True love has no earthly possessions. Not money, not fame, not material things. It comes from the soul. I knew the second I laid eyes on her that she was my soulmate. Yes, I loved your mother, but this—dear God—this is some other plane of existence. Someday soon, someone is going to knock you on your ass and then you’ll understand. It won’t be your head telling you…it won’t be your fucking dick telling you, either, son. It will be your soul.” Dad beat his chest with emphasis. “That person will become more important than the air filling your lungs. When it happens…” He took a deep breath, as if to calm an erratic heartbeat. “When it happens, Matty, then you’ll know how I feel; that you’d happily hand over the knife used to cut out your own heart just so they can own a piece of you.”
Who was this man?
Who had my father become?
