Page 13 of Salt in the Wound
“Thank you for meeting me,” Mark said after a moment. His voice was as cool as his gaze. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”
I hadn’t been sure if I would come either, but I supposed I wasn’t wired for half sacrifices. If I was going to do this, then I needed to do it. Truly and wholly, sparing nothing. Offering everything up to God.
“It seemed smart,” I replied. “It will be good for us to establish rapport over the next four years.”
“Rapport,” said Mark. “Yes, I agree.”
I looked around at the sea of empty tables, lit by gentle ambient light and the lights of the city beyond. “It’s quiet for a Friday night.”
“Yes, I made sure it would be,” Mark said, and then, “Ah, thank you,” as the waiter presented us with heavy, leather-mounted menus.
Made sure?
I stared at him over my menu. “You reserved the entire restaurant?” I was no stranger to money, but Laurences weren’t flashy with their wealth. Bankers needed to appear trustworthy and careful above all else. Better to buy property, to expand into CDs or bonds, than to use wealth in some gauche display.
Although I wasn’t sure I could use the wordgauchefor Mark. He didn’t seem smug or sleazy as he met my eyes with his brows lifted. He seemed as aloof as ever, like he didn’t care if I was impressed or disgusted by such a waste of money.
“We have things to discuss that I preferred not to have an audience for,” he said, and then glanced down at his menu. “This seemed like the most elegant solution.”
I didn’t know if I could agree with that, but perhaps the alternatives weren’t any better. It wasn’t as if I would have felt comfortable going to wherever he lived. And perhaps he felt the same way about being in my father’s house.
At least this was neutral ground.
We each ordered—me the lobster and him the wagyu beef—the waiter took our menus, and then we were left completely alone.
He didn’t speak first, and I decided to take the field, like a white pawn in a chess game. “My father said you had things you wanted to negotiate tonight.”
“Yes,” he said, and then his eyes moved over my face. His expression flickered with displeasure, his lips twisting together. “What’s that?”
“What?”
He reached across the table and brushed his fingertips against the hairline near my temple. I flinched; firstly, because he’d touched me, and secondly, because there was a deep bruise there.
“Oh,” I said, lightly rubbing a knuckle against the spot. “Sister Mary Alice hit me in the head with a bo staff.”
“I hope you appreciate how unique that sentence is.”
I lifted a shoulder.
My reaction seemed to amuse him, because the corner of his mouth pressed in before he folded his long-fingered hands on the table and leveled a stare at me. “I’d like for us to speak transparently tonight. You know what I do,” he said without further preamble. “You know about the club.”
I hadn’t expected him to be so direct about it, although I wasn’t surewhyI’d thought that, only that it had seemed too tawdry to address in public. Or at all.
“Yes,” I said after a beat. “I know about it.”
“What do you know?” asked Mark.
“That it’s a club for sex.” I knew my voice betrayed nothing, which was a relief, because I still felt everything about it. Everything about marrying into it.
“Yes. Among other things,” he responded, and it dawned on me, very slowly, what should have been obvious from the beginning. Mark didn’t merely demand information as an admittance fee; the club was a source of information all on its own. It must have been like the Vatican in that way—you gathered enough powerful people in one place, a place where they felt private and privileged, and the information flowed with no outside incentive. Even just watching his guests interact would be valuable…and if Mortimer had been interested in who pulled whom aside for a chat in a ballroom corner, how much more would he want to know who spent time together at a sex club?
“…to the central issue, which is that I’m very involved with the running of my club, and I’m very visible there,” Mark was saying. I forced my attention back to his cool, polite voice. “Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone will believe that I would marry someone who wasn’t also part of my world.”
My stomach lifted once, and then dropped. I didn’t want to be right about where this was going.
“I understand you’ve agreed to this marriage because it will help your father’s bank.” Mark’s voice was devoid of any judgement; if he thought that was a callow or greedy reason, he didn’t show it. I was relieved he was unaware of my uncle’s role in my life, and of his requests. It was infinitely safer and easier if Mark believed helping my father’s company was the only reason I was doing this.
It made me wonder about his reasons. Why marry someone so young, so outside his world? Why marry someone he didn’t know? Surely his sex club was filled with more appetizing prospects than me.
