Page 58

The reception is back at his house, which I suppose is now my house, and I need a drink before I think about that too hard. I hadn’t noticed anything when they spirited me upstairs to get fixed up. I wonder how long they took to prepare everything, and I’m amazed that when I came to change for the ceremony, I didn’t notice any of this. There are ice sculptures and a string quartet and waiters with expensive champagne. Tasteful Halloween decorations are scattered on the lawn, and Laszlo would say all is as it should be. I shake hands with a judge, a couple of city councilors, and a man I'm fairly sure I've seen on the news being escorted out of a courtroom, among others.

Julien hugs me too hard near the cake and whispers that he's sorry into my hair, and I pat his back and tell him it's fine, because what else am I going to say to him at my own wedding? By some miracle, Laszlo consented to let him attend the wedding and reception, as long as he behaved.

I find my mother by the windows, away from the music, and she isn't watching the party. She's watching Laszlo's father across the room. She holds her champagne flute so tight, I’m afraid it might snap.

I've never met Kazik Novak in person. He seems to be a charming old man, silver-haired, easy with everyone, and right now he's holding court by the bar with a drink in his hand and a circle of guests around him.

"Maman." I touch her arm and she startles. "You all right?"

"Of course." The smile arrives a beat late. "Weddings can be a little overwhelming." Her glass is full, though. "His father. Have you spent much time with him?"

"Not really," I say evasively. I’ve only seen a picture, which would have been strange under normal circumstances.

"Yes. He—" She stops. "He seems … well-liked."

I look at her face, but cannot make anything out. I think she's just overwhelmed. It's all happened so fast, and it's been an exhausting time since Papa sat her down and told her who I'm marrying and why. I really don't want to get into it right now with this crowd around us.

I give her a hug and mingle a little with the guests. It’s expected of me, after all. Later, I see the two of them by the cake, Kazik and my mother, both very polite, and he holds her hand in both of his a beat too long. Something tugs at me again, the same something as the photograph on Laszlo's desk, and I can't place either one.

Then, Aunt Sylvie starts distracting me with her comments about the garden and flowers, and I’m sucked into a whirlwind of relatives on both sides who want to get a piece of me before the end of the reception.

Meanwhile, I spot Laszlo effortlessly working the room like this is genuinely fun for him, and the horrible thing is that he's good at it. He's funny. He's charming. At one point I hear him tell somebody that ours was love at first sight, with a straight face, mind you, and the other guy had no reason to question him.

The evening wears on and a man comes in through the side door, still in his coat, and Laszlo crosses the room to him. They grip hands, and the man throws his head back and laughs at something Laszlo says. Then Laszlo brings him over with a hand on his shoulder, and I see the collar. A priest. Except I'm still working out why a priest has ink across the back of his hand and more of it past the collar on his neck. He definitely doesn't fit the description.

"My brother," Laszlo says. "Kasper. He flew up from Philadelphia to disapprove of me in person."

I vaguely remember Laszlo mentioning a brother and a sister who lives in Italy, but he never said the man is a priest. That, or I didn’t pay much attention.

"I came for the cake." He has Laszlo's eyes, but where Laszlo would charm you, this one clearly can't be bothered. "So. You're Manon."

"Depends who's asking."

"I already know who you are. It's all anyone's said to me since I landed."

He shakes my hand. His grip is careful. I can see his knuckles are scarred, as though he’s been in more than one fight. Perhaps he’s killed men for his brother, for his family. Which is absurd to think of a man of the cloth.

"Congratulations," he says, and I can't tell if he means it.

Then Laszlo steers him toward the bar. The two of them look relaxed together, easy. Although I’m dead curious to know more about Kasper, I let them go to spend time with each other. It's past midnight when I finally slip away from the noise, up the wide staircase, down a corridor, looking for the bedroom. I open the door and stop as a thought hits me.

This is my life now.

And this is my room, for real.

My books are on the shelves, transferred from my house and arranged in the exact order I keep them, which is not alphabetical or by color but by a private logic I came up with: medicine on the bottom shelf, fiction above it, including an obscene amount of mystery and horror, poetry sideways on top because I don’t have much of that. My grandmother's blanket is folded across the foot of the bed, the fold facing the window, the way I do it. My perfumes are on the dresser in their little crescent shaped tray. My hideous, chipped hospital mug that says WORLD'S OKAYEST DOCTOR is sitting beside an electric kettle on the dresser. I drink chamomile tea late at night when I can't sleep.

There are still a few boxes stacked by the wall, half unpacked. Somebody has moved all my belongings while I was standing in a church, and they’ve arranged everything the way I would have.

Footsteps sound in the corridor, unhurried. I don't have to check.

"There you are." Laszlo leans in the doorway, jacket gone, shirtsleeves rolled, holding two glasses of champagne like a civilized person and not a man who beat another man's face beyond recognition hours ago. "You disappeared. My aunt was asking after you. I think she wants an apology because you haven’t sought her out."

"You moved my things."

"I had your things brought here, yes. You live here now." He hands me a glass, glances around the room, and nods with something like satisfaction. He didn’t mention I’d have my own room and not share his, which I’m grateful for, at least. "They did well. I told them the books were important."

"The books are in my order."