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Fleur De Lies(126)

By:Maddy Hunter


            He grinned. “Virginia thinks I was born and raised in Connecticut. She’s never asked questions about my origins because she’s not interested in my past history. As long as I continue to provide for her in the manner to which she’s accustomed, I could be a fugitive from Krypton, and she wouldn’t care.”

            “If Virginia doesn’t know about your past, why are you sharing it with me?”

            “Because I like you. You’ve been gracious to me without expecting anything in return, and given my status, you don’t know how rare that is.” He graced me with a soft smile. “Believe it or not, Emily dear, after all these years, I was feeling a need to tell someone, so I chose you.”

            “I don’t know what to say.”

            “Nothing,” he suggested. “To anyone. If you’d be so kind.”

            “Of course. But still—”

            Victor heaved himself to his feet with more strength than he’d displayed over the entire trip. “Now that I’ve said my piece, I’ll take my leave before Virginia has a chance to convince herself that she actually misses me. Will I see you at dinner, my dear?”

            “You bet.”

            “Good. Our table needs the diversity.”

            “Victor, would you answer one more question for me before you leave?”

            “If I’m able.”

            “Why did you select the name Mona Michelle for your company?”

            He smiled enigmatically. “When people ask, I tell them quite simply that I liked the name. But to you, I will tell the truth. Mona Michelle was my mother’s name.”

            “And what was yours?”

            “Richard. Richard Michelle. But my family saddled me with a pet name. Dick. I actually like Victor much better.”

            He disappeared behind the wheelhouse, having provided me with the answers to so many unanswered questions. Why he’d refused to talk about where he’d fought in the war. Why he had spoken to Solange with such familiarity. Why—

            “Cigars for everyone!” cried Osmond as he appeared at the rail. He held out a stogie to a man jogging past him. “Cigar?”

            The guy grabbed it and kept running.

            “Cigar, Emily?” He waved a fistful in my direction.

            “What are you celebrating?”

            He raced over to me like a stick figure in an animated short. “I’m a father!” He shoved a cigar at me, a goofy grin on his face, the rest of his body doing a little jump around.

            “Oh, my God! How do you know? Did Solange tell you?”

            “She didn’t need to.”

            I spoke to him in a gentle voice. “Osmond, if she didn’t tell you, how can you possibly be sure?”

            “Because the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “She’s been writing to me all morning about what her kids do for a living.”

            “And?”

            “And her son Osmond? He’s a political pollster!”

            the end