Masson was ready to join battle as soon as I entered his room. He'd been catching up with Miri-ange, but she excused herself quickly. I suspect he'd already told her about Soraya. "What?"
"You'll watch your tone, Sir, while you're under my roof. I thought we were clear that you were to make an end of it with Soraya."
"Yes," he mumbled non-committally.
"I saw you when I was in the garden with Sofie today; arguing, if I don't know better."
"If she's angry with me it's your fault! If you'd let us marry I wouldn't have to—" He clamped his mouth shut, clearly having said too much in his emotion.
"Wouldn't have to what? Masson, it breaks my heart that you consider me your enemy. If I advise you against this course of action, it's your best interests I have at heart—yes, and Soraya's, too."
"Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong about my best interests?" He cried hotly.
"Yes. I could be wrong. When you get older, you can prove me wrong if you like."
"When I'm older, she'll be lost to me! She wants me to stop going with other girls! She doesn't understand! You're ruining my life!"
It was hard to remain calm in the face of my golden lion's grief. I wanted to make it all better so badly, I ached inside. "Alright, Masson. Let me ask you, just as I asked your sister some months ago: have you thought about what you will do? If I were to give you my blessing, what will you do?"
He seemed at a loss for words initially. Then, he found his tongue. "I…would tell Soraya, and…speak to Darius."
"And what will you say to Darius?"
"Why, that we want to marry." He was nonplussed.
"Hm. What do you suppose he will say?"
"He'll make a big scene like you, but—" Poor boy; so confident in his youthful ignorance.
"You think so? I didn't make a big scene when Etienne came to call for Miri-ange years ago. I spoke very calmly and reasonably, but still I turned him away."
He sat thinking that over.
"Would you like to know what I would ask if you came to ask for my daughter? Shall I rehearse you?" I offered.
"This isn't a game!" he huffed.
"I didn't say it was; I'm perfectly sincere. You will not want to be unprepared for your interview with Darius. Let's imagine he doesn't go insane right out of the gate. I suspect first he will ask you whether you intend to make a conversion to Islam."
"I will!" he insisted. I guess he thought this was the highest hurdle possible.
I nodded. "When we finish with this little exercise, remind me to return to this question. You'll want to explore how you intend to explain rejecting Christ to your Mother," I smiled. "But for now, let's move on. Now Darius will want to know about your prospects for keeping his little girl. He'll want to know your salary at the orchestra, and where you intend to live. Perhaps renting a home in Paris won't be acceptable to him; perhaps he'll want to see Soraya settled in a place you've bought and paid for." I paused; my young lion was frowning. "Is there a problem, Son?"
"I hadn't thought of a house."
No, of course you hadn't.
"Masson, surely you didn't really think Soraya would just climb the stairs and join you in your bachelor's bed. It's flattering you're so comfortable here with us, but the family home is no place for newlyweds; you'll want your privacy, believe me. Anyway, I can promise you Soraya would never stand for it. A woman wants to set up her own house, see her own things around her. She takes pride in making a pleasant environment for her husband and their children." Just as I suspected, his eyes darkened at the thought of children so soon. I paused and let him sit with all this information; who knew girls could be so expensive?
"So," I continued, "you'll want to have a look in the paper and see what cozy love nests are going for these days; I really have no idea. Oh, and it just occurred to me--you might check with your Uncle Reza. I don't know if there's any Persian customs about settling a dowry on the girl."
"You were in Persia!" He cried, suspecting me of heaping insult upon injury.
"But I wasn't exactly in the marriage market, Son."
His broad shoulders drooped. No spark danced in his golden eyes; clearly he'd been blindsided. Maybe Reza was right and I'd done Masson a disservice by letting him keep his illusions about marriage being all moonlight smooches and hand holding. Perhaps Christine and I did all our children a disservice by being so improbably happy together; perhaps it was wrong to encourage them to hope for so much, but I prayed not. But Masson's problems weren't of the emotional sort; it was all cold daylight reality for him: housing and food, feverish babies, too much laundry and an exhausted young wife demanding help when he wandered home from the symphony ready for bed.
"I better go look in the paper." He struggled to his feet under his first man-sized burden.
"You'll probably find it in the conservatory with Reza. Oh, Masson," I called. He turned leadenly. I slipped a chocolate coin into his palm.
-0-0-0-0-
Christine had packed, unpacked, and repacked my bag three times. I sat helpless on the bed as she worked a track in the floor. "I'm sure I've forgotten something. You haven't enough shirts," she decided, and she was off to the armoire again.
"Angel, I'm sure I'll be able to stray dressed without you."
"It's damp in Belgium; it's on the North Sea. You'll both catch your death."
"Darling, Liege is nowhere near the sea, as I recall. It's nearer Germany than anything."
"Well, that's a comfort!" She snapped. "All those zaftig frauleins, and Raoul to lead you astray."
"Not this again. I thought we'd moved on to my ill health. Given my generally decrepit condition, don't you think I'd avoid the frauleins out of enlightened self-interest?" It was meant to be a comfort, but Christine was in no mood to be consistent when she was fretting.
"Hmph."
"I can't believe you don't trust me, Darling; you said yourself I've become a perfect lamb."
"I do trust you, but those fat women could overpower you in a heartbeat." She flitted close and I pulled her onto my lap. "Stop it."
"You should be nicer to me before I must leave you; protect your investment. Anyway, I don't like fat women," I corrected, falling backwards.
She struggled delightfully. "Liar, you love chunky wenches."
"Here, if it will make you feel better, why don't you rehearse me? You pretend you're a zaftig fraulein…" I reached for her buttons, "…and I'll demonstrate how valiantly I'll defend my honor against the Hunnic onslaught."
Still she struggled and shoved my hands away. Normally I'd've had her by now. She was obviously even more upset about the trip than I realized.
"You're a randy old goat!"
"Mm, but I'm your randy old goat, Madame."
She turned and encircled my neck with her arms; much better. "Promise you won't let them keep him," she urged, pressing her forehead to my lips.
"Darling, you know I'd never make a decision like that without you."
"I told Manon that you'd keep Raoul out of trouble," she murmured, nibbling my neck.
"Excuse me, Fraulein, I'm a married man; you really must leave off…"