6. Matthias

6

MATTHIAS

I 'd never seen my dad this animated. We were dining in the main house and it was just the two of us, so we were dressed informally and eating dinner in the informal dining room. That didn't mean it was a subpar meal. The head chef, the pastry sous chef, and the Vaulteneau sommelier all stood by to ensure our meal was perfect.

Dad's assistant had just left after writing down all his orders about a new wardrobe for Theresa. She'd deliver a few pieces to Vegas before Theresa and Ciaran flew to Malibu next week, but the rest would be waiting for her upon Theresa's arrival.

"She's a Vaulteneau now," Dad explained without needing to. "Theresa will occupy the Pacific Suite next to mine. I don't want her to feel crowded. We'll give her time to acclimate to the Vaulteneau way of life. Plus, that suite has the best views, don't you think, Matty?"

"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?

I'd never been in love. Lust, yes. Crushes, absolutely. But love? Where I'd cut out my own heart for the other person? Did such a person exist?

"I'm sorry I doubted you," I said quietly. "Theresa sounds amazing."

Dad snapped out of whatever reverie he was in and drained his wine.

Standing, he said, "Theresa and Ciaran land a week from tomorrow. That same night, we are hosting a welcome gala. Your presence is required. On Sunday, Theresa and I depart for our honeymoon. We'll be gone three weeks, give or take a day or two."

"Wait a minute." Alarm bells rang in my head. "Who's watching the brat?" I stood to face him. My hip hit the table and the glassware rattled. The dainty fabric of the tablecloth snagged under my callused fingertips.

"Ciaran's an independent kid with a good head on his shoulders," Dad said. "He'll stay in the guesthouse with you until we get back. Show him where everything is and don't let him drown in the ocean, and that should be good enough. Theresa mentioned Ciaran's taking the rest of his AP exams next week and will finish the rest of the school year virtually. Plus, he's a writer, or an aspiring writer. He'll probably be in his room for most of the day. A few select staff for the main house will remain behind to check in on everything and Franky said she'd ensure he was fed. You don't need to worry about his care and feeding. Do you think you can refrain from killing the kid while we're away?"

That might be asking for too much.

I did not want to babysit this child, this seventeen-year-old punk. I did not want him invading my private domain. I did not want him around when my friends came over. I didn't want to look at his handsome face.

"Yes," I lied, not that I thought Dad believed me. "I can refrain from killing the kid, but if he does something stupid, I will knock some goddamn sense into his head."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you." He came around the table and put a hand on my shoulder. There was a sparkle in his eye. "I need to call Theresa to finalize plans. Have a good night, son."

I watched him exit the informal dining room, his stride eager. Zara and others entered to clear away the dishes and straighten the room.

Night had fallen and when I stepped out on to the terrace, the orange sun was right at the edge of the ocean. Silhouettes of palm trees cut through a gradient sky of orange and yellows. Birds squawked and if I listened closely, I'd hear voices on the public beach below. Living on the coast meant twenty-four-hour noises.

Soon another person would be adding to those noises.

Ciaran.

I'd just have to avoid him.