OW

Alex walked briskly into my bedroom and issued me the sternest expression I'd ever seen him wear. I looked at him as he stood in the doorway, then glanced behind me, assuming he'd seen someone else and was glaring at them.

"Father," he said. "We must speak at once."

I inhaled, prepared for the usual conversation with my son—which is to say there was no way to prepare. In one instance he could ask me how sausage was made and the next he could inquire about Aphrodite. There was no telling what he would ask on the eve of my wedding.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

My brow rose as I'd thought we'd already had this conversation. "No, I'm not."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Do you want me to be nervous?"

He looked me over, which reminded me far too much of Madeline. She had a way about her, a masterful expression that said more than words.

"Yes, I think you should be nervous," he said finally, his eyes narrowed.

"I beg your pardon?" This needed an explanation.

"Do you realize what tomorrow is?"

"Yes." He was more a father than a son in that moment. It amused me to see him so terribly concerned.

"Do you?" He scrutinized my affirmation.

"Don't be irritating, Alex," I snapped before I turned away and looked for something to preoccupy my time while he badgered me over nonsense.

"It's important."

"What is?"

"Tomorrow. It's the most important day. Ever."

"In all of history," I said under my breath.

"Everyone I've talked to said you should be nervous," he said with an irritatingly casual tone.

"And just whom have you been speaking with, Alexandre?"

"People who know," he said. He seemed a little too certain of himself and his acquaintances.

"Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles?"

"Yes."

"Grand-mere Giry?"

"Yes."

"Madame Seuratti and Mademoiselle Lisette?"

"Yes and no. I've decided Lisette doesn't know anything because she's just a girl."

"Save that mindset for Wednesday," I grumbled.

"But I also spoke with Mademoiselle Leach and with Ruby because they're women," he said with the dreaminess of a boy who thought he knew what separated girls from ladies, but honestly hadn't a clue—fortunately for him.

"You're taking advice from Mademoiselle Leach and Mademoiselle Dubois?"

"No, but perhaps you should listen to them. Did you know Ruby is marrying Archie? Blech! The poor girl hasn't any idea what she'll be missing in the world."

"And who exactly told you such nonsense?"

"I told myself."

I grunted. Not even nine years of age and he already had his own wisdom.

"But, Father, the point is that tomorrow is such a big day, the biggest day ever, and you should most definitely be nervous."

"Then I shall be."

He stepped closer and wrung his hands. There was something more he wished to say, but he hadn't found it in himself to ask me just yet. I looked away from him and secretly hoped he would gather his nerve and approach.

"Father?"

"Yes, Alex." I didn't look at him, but I could almost feel his hot breaths on the back of my neck as he stood over me.

"Were you ever married to my mother?"

My heart most certainly stuttered. I finally looked at him, and found a frightened boy in place of the one who had walked into my room declaring tomorrow as an important day.

"Never," I answered.

He solemnly nodded. "Did you ask her?"

"Alex," I started. I sighed and held my anger at bay. "I wanted to marry her, yes. But I did not."

"Why not?"

"For many reasons?"

His hands flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed. He no longer looked me in the eye. In fact, he barely looked in my direction. "Was I one of the reasons why she wouldn't marry you?"

His voice had a slight tremble, his eyes a glassiness I recognized as a prelude to tears. If he'd inherited anything from me at all, it had to be doubt. For the most part he kept it hidden beneath his naturally easy smile and impish ways, but now he was sullen and serious.

I hated to see him like this, hated the reminder of my own youth, even if it was only a glimpse.

"No, Alex," I answered with a sigh. "You had nothing to do with her answer. It was because of me."

He blinked, wanting more but unwilling to ask for answers. Perhaps he didn't really want to know. Perhaps he realized it didn't make a difference because she was gone.

But I still wanted to know what surfaced this side of him. "You haven't become nervous, have you?"

He blew a raspberry, and at once the melancholy youth disappeared and the child who had stomped up the stairs appeared before my eyes. He gave a toothy, appreciative grin, one sweetened by mischief. "What reason do I have to be nervous? I'm not the one chained to an eternity to one woman."

"Chained?" I coughed to keep from laughing and pictured a group of boys with cigars between their lips, speaking of wives back home. Chained, indeed.

"That's what Monsieur Leach said. He said it's best if a fellow—especially one as dashing as me—doesn't become tied down to one women."

It intrigued me far too much to merely nod. "What does he suggest?"

"He suggested something with hair."

My brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"He said I would be better off with a hair…something. Heiress? Heirdome?"

"A harem?"

"Yes! He said I would be better off with a harem, but I don't know anything about hair. Even Grand-mere said I need to brush mine more often."

"Then I suggest you stay far away from harems," I replied.

"I shall." He nodded quite proudly, then instantly frowned. "But you don't need a harem, do you, Father? You will marry Madame Seuratti, won't you?"

If your questions don't kill me first, I thought. "Yes, I will."

"Are you…sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. She already agreed, quite happily, actually. Though I do believe the ring played an important part in her answer."

He smiled then. "Good. I was worried she might change her mind."

"I believe she has put far too much effort into tomorrow's proceedings to change her mind," I answered.

"Lisette said it makes her mother happy to do everything. She doesn't like it when others are in her way."

"You shouldn't repeat everything Lisette—or anyone else for that matter—says. It's a bad habit."

"Yes." He shrugged as though he wasn't really listening. "Did you know Aunt Meg doesn't want me to leave home?"

I smiled. "I've heard as much."

"Are we moving far away, Father?"

I explained to him that we would be staying in our home and that his aunt, uncle, grandmother, and new niece or nephew would move into Julia and Lisette's old house, which seemed to please him. There was no set date to move furniture and wardrobes, but I assumed it would be after our honeymoon. Perhaps for a short while we would remain in Julia's home while Meg recovered from the trials of motherhood.

"I'm glad we're not moving into Lissy's house," he said.

"Fond of your own room?"

"Well, yes, but Lissy said her room creates nightmares, and I don't want Lissy to have nightmares. If she's to be my sister, then as her brother I must protect her, and I can't protect her in her nightmares, can I?"

He left me speechless, first as I thought of the reasons behind her nightmares and secondly at home much he cared for Lisette. With a nod I motioned him closer and told him to sit. I enjoyed these seemingly rare moments with him far too much to end our conversation.

"How is the music coming along?"

"I'll practice tonight in front of Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles. Grand-mere says babies like the sound of music even before they are born, but I don't think Grand-mere ever had a baby, did she? She only has Aunt Meg."

Sometimes he perplexed me so much that I didn't know what to say. "At one time Meg was a child, you do realize that, don't you?"

He looked at me quizzically. "Of course, but Grand-mere said she found her and took her home one day."

"She told you she found Meg on the streets?"

"Yes. She said that's where many babies come from."

Apparently that was Madeline's version of reproduction. Some time later I would have Charles clear up any misconceptions, but for the moment I only nodded. "I don't believe I've ever heard that story before, Alex."

"Did I like music when I was a baby?"

"You loved it," I answered.

He smiled. "I thought so."

"It made you stop crying."

His eyes grew wide. "Why was I crying?"

"Because you were an infant and babies often cry for food, soiled diapers…when the musician must pause and turn the page."

"Ah, I understand. But now I'm a man."

Now that was a frightening idea, one that followed lessons on birds and bees and even harems. "Now you're a young man," I corrected, but I didn't much care for the sound of that either.

Alex's spine straightened and he puffed out his chest. "Your best man. Isn't that right, Father?"

I ruffled his hair. "Indeed."