A Gamble Called Marriage - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

“You say you know him well, but in the end, you’ll realize you don’t know anything about who he really is. That’s how it always ends.”

 

“What do you even know, brother? You’ve never been married!”

 

It was the same doubt he was sick of hearing at work. How could someone who’d never been married sincerely handle divorce cases?

 

But Mael knew.

 

Those blinded by love failed to truly understand their partners. Those who came to him claiming their spouse had turned into a different person after marriage were really the ones who hadn’t seen what they should have seen.

 

The blind faith of those consumed by passion often resulted in grueling divorce cases that dragged on for at least a year.

 

Mael made his living from the regrets of such people.

 

“You’ve seen too many divorced people, brother. You and I haven’t seen a happy couple or harmonious family in so long that even if happiness comes, we just keep doubting and questioning it.”

 

“What about someone who hits others? We’ve seen enough of that to last a lifetime. I’m not asking you to be happy; I’m saying we should avoid misery. Manon, someone who’s resorted to violence even once never stops.”

 

“Philippe treats me so well. We can live happily with our baby. I promise you, brother, I’ll never, ever marry a man like Dad.”

 

Promises were poison in the well of marriage. Manon, as if unwilling to hear more, rose from her seat. She placed her hands protectively over her slightly rounded belly and spoke in a shaky voice.

 

“Philippe’s family sees me as beautiful. They don’t look down on me or see me as strange for being of mixed race, like people gossip about outside. They say they’re grateful for me. They want us to live long and beautifully, and they’re eager to see the baby soon. They truly recognize me as family and cherish me. But you…”

 

“If they truly cherished you for who you are, why would they change your perfectly fine surname without your consent and announce it to the world? Why would they force you to use it publicly? If they were truly grateful, would they have given you that kind of prenuptial agreement?”

 

The words he had held back for his pregnant sister, who wanted this marriage, poured out.

 

Tears fell from Manon’s eyes. She didn’t bother wiping them as she glared at Mael with wide-open, tear-filled eyes. Yet, there were no words he could say to satisfy her.

 

“Manon, please think carefully. You don’t have to get married. There’s no such thing as a marriage you must go through with.”

 

Even if he ended up being the bad, heartless one, it couldn’t be helped.

 

After shedding tears for a while, her body trembling, Manon finally wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

 

“You fought with Charles, didn’t you? Is that why? I’m fine, so stop.”

 

“What does that have to do with this, Manon? I…”

 

“I’m going to marry him. It’s my marriage.”

 

Her firm voice left him speechless.

 

Should he bring the photos? Should he prove they were real, track down the victims who had reportedly been so scared they even changed their names? Should he ask them to speak directly to his sister, begging, “Please say something to stop her from marrying Philippe”?

 

While he hesitated, Manon began sobbing uncontrollably.

 

“Brother, please. I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re the only one who can celebrate this for me.”

 

Her sobbing continued.

 

Though they weren’t related by blood, they had grown up hearing how alike they were, how they even made the same facial expressions.

 

Perhaps that was why. When Manon cried, Mael felt like crying too.

 

“Can’t you just trust my decision and congratulate me?”

 

Many clients made illogical decisions and were still content with them.

 

If Manon Juliette Moonmathieu were just a client, Mael would have respected her choice. But she wasn’t just any client.

 

Bang.

 

Amid her sobs, the midday firework of Nice boomed in the background. As her trembling shoulders shook, Mael gently placed a hand on them. Manon, her face a mess, finally looked up.

 

“I trust you. You foolish girl.”

 

Though he couldn’t offer congratulations, Manon finally stopped crying. Mael tore off a piece of kitchen towel and pressed it to her face. At the teasing nickname he sometimes used, Manon glared at him with her swollen eyes.

 

“I’m not foolish. And we have to go play tennis.”

 

“Right. Go wash your face. We’ll be late.”

 

Mael sincerely wanted to trust his sister’s decision. That the photos were fake, the prenuptial agreement a mistake, and everything just an unfounded worry. He wanted to apologize to Philippe in secret years later.

 

‘But that probably won’t happen.’

 

If Manon wouldn’t change her mind, he had to at least change that damned prenuptial agreement.

 

There was only one way left to break the stalemate in the negotiations.

 

To find that accursed hotel manager, retract what he’d said, and get the evidence.

 

—

 

The Monte Carlo Country Club, famous as the main court for the “Monte-Carlo Masters 1000” tennis tournament, lay before a light blue sea visible from the lounge bar.

 

As the only country club near Monaco, it usually bustled with weekend crowds. But today, except for a group in the middle surrounded by four or five bodyguards, it was completely empty.

 

In the group, dressed in polo shirts and chino shorts, sipping coffee and drinks, were the Grand Duke’s sons and Charles.

 

“You’re late!”

 

Felix, the presumptive heir, openly scolded the siblings for their tardiness.

 

“There was traffic because it’s the weekend.”

 

Mael’s response barely registered as Philippe took Manon to sit beside him and handed her his orange juice.

 

“Manon, did you really have to go all the way to Nice? I could’ve taken you. Didn’t you leave late? Your eyes look… swollen.”

 

“I fell asleep in the car on the way here.”

 

Manon answered nonchalantly. Felix wrinkled his eyes as he lifted his coffee cup.

 

“Being in a place like Nice makes you late. I keep telling you to move here. Brother, just give Mael a house.”

 

“Should I? You can use any of them. Where would be convenient for your work?”

 

“I don’t need a house. Just please don’t hit Manon and treat her well.” Mael swallowed those words and gave a general reply instead.

 

“It only takes thirty minutes by car from my place to Monaco. Besides, I’m attached to the house I live in now.”

 

“How could you be attached to that old house?”

 

It was Charles who interjected abruptly.

 

Though they’d crossed paths at countless similar gatherings, under the guise of secret romance, Charles had never directly addressed him like this in public before.

 

“What? Charles, are you two…”

 

Felix’s teal eyes narrowed instantly. As a prince, he enjoyed romances and gossip and loved playing matchmaker.

 

“Actually, I’m pretty close with Mael. I see him often at the casino, and we’re work colleagues too. I’m the one who asked Manon to invite Mael yesterday.”

 

“Hmm, really?”

 

His thin lips twitched.

 

Felix and Charles were the same age and had attended the same schools from kindergarten to university. They had spent countless hours together and were nominally friends, though, like everyone else with Felix, their relationship wasn’t truly equal. Still, their shared history allowed for some level of understanding.

 

‘He’s probably aware that Charles has only ever been with women.’

 

So Felix’s eyes were calculating, wondering if his friend, someone who used to enjoy his company, had suddenly become gay—an unusual curiosity.

 

“Shall we play tennis now? Doubles?”

 

Mael had no interest in becoming a spectacle over whether they’d broken up, cheated, or kept secrets. He quickly changed the subject, and Philippe waved his hand dismissively.

 

“I… won’t play. I’ll stay by Manon’s side. She doesn’t look well.”

 

“What? You’re not playing, brother?”

 

“It’s no fun. You… you’re too competitive. It’s hard to play with you. I’ll just watch.”

 

Philippe intentionally called over a waiter and even ordered a cocktail. Manon, seemingly exhausted, didn’t say much, while Felix cracked his neck and gestured toward Mael.

 

“Are you any good at tennis, Mael? It’s been so long since I played with Charles that it’s boring now. Should we rotate singles instead?”

 

“I’m just average.”

 

Though Mael wasn’t bad at tennis, the unspoken rule was to lose to Felix during matches. Stories about a US Open tennis champion who refused to throw a game to Felix and consequently never received the Monaco residency they desired were already infamous.

 

Felix didn’t seem satisfied with Mael’s response and tapped his coffee cup lightly. Then, as his eyes wandered indifferently around, his face suddenly brightened.

 

“Yves!”

 

Rising abruptly and waving his hand, Felix smiled broadly. Turning to look, Mael saw an insolent figure in a stark white polo shirt walking in.

 

“You said you didn’t want to come?”

 

The man merely squinted, perhaps because of the glaring sunlight, without replying. Felix, oblivious to the fact that the man before him was his half-brother, simply laughed in delight.

 

“Perfect. Mael and Yves can be on the same team. I’ll team up with Charles. Let’s make it interesting—what should we bet?”

 

“Ah.”

 

Charles, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke.

 

“How about Mael and I team up? The lawyers’ team.”

 

“Charles, you’re too predictable. Even as an opposing team, you’d be no fun. You’re both okay with this, right?”

 

Felix silenced Charles with a single frown. Mael sighed and offered a faint smile, glancing at Yves, someone he had hoped to avoid today.

 

Their eyes met. Somehow noticing this, Felix grinned.

 

“Oh, and Yves. Did you know Mael’s gay? Just in case.”

 

The way he said it was like announcing a contagious disease. Mael clenched his teeth. There were endless things to tolerate among this disgusting group. He braced himself, wondering what nonsense Yves Valois would spout, but the man simply smiled faintly.

 

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

 

Caught off guard by Yves’ question, Charles’ expression hardened, and even Felix gaped, stunned.

 

“What? …Wait. Yves, are you gay too?”

 

“Didn’t I mention it before?”

 

“Ugh.”

 

Felix, laughing, reacted with nothing more than that and stood up.

 

“Then the teams are Gay Team and Non-Gay Team.”