Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I get worried as Simon and Tristan keep going at it, but Simon keeps his cool. In fact, he baits Tristan in the end, drawing Tristan into a hard block near the rim before tossing the ball out to polite, cheerful Claude, who takes the ball and drops a neat jump shot over Samuel to win the game for his team.
“That’s game!” I call, clapping. “That was great, all of you.”
“It was. Good game, guys” Simon tells them, shaking hands with Theodore and Samuel. “Tackle every obstacle the same way. Fight hard.” He holds his hand out to Tristan, who glares at him.
Reluctantly, he shakes Simon’s hand, his attitude clear. “Elle a un beau cul,” he says mockingly, and before I know what’s happening, Simon has shoved him in the chest.
Tristan comes back, but before a fight can break out, I get in between them. “Both of you, cool it!” I yell. I glare at Simon disbelievingly. “Did you seriously push him?” Tristan smirks, thinking he’s finally gotten one over on Simon. I point at him too. “And the next time you say something about my ass, say it to my face! Don’t hide behind a language you think I won’t understand and tell him like I’m nothing more than his property.”
Tristan freezes, turning red as he realizes I understood him. “I am . . . sorry.”
“Men!” I huff, throwing my arms up. “It was nice to meet some of you,” I tell the few guys who are looking at the scene before them with wide eyes, and then I spin, walking away from the whole lot of them.
Behind me, I hear Simon tell the guys good-bye, and then he catches up to my side, falling in step as he pulls his shirt back on. “I am so sorry. I didn’t expect it to . . . I thought it would be good for both you and them.”
“I know enough Spanish, and listening to Beatrice for a week teaches you that Spanish culo and French cul mean the same thing,” I tell him. “I’ve heard worse, I’m sure. But that was ridiculous.” I’m angry at Tristan and at Simon.
“Not that it matters, but Tristan is weeks away from eighteen. Almost an adult, no longer a child. That’s what scares me,” he admits quietly.
I glance at him, seeing the worry weighing on him. Sensing my openness to hearing him, he confides, “Tristan has so much anger. He is one of the boys here who has a juvenile record, and I fear he’ll have an adult one soon. He has so much to work through, and I’ve tried to be there for him, but he’s not always receptive. It’s as though he only understands brute force. I guess I’ve failed him in the end.”
Simon looks haunted by the future he envisions for Tristan, and I know he’s thinking it just as easily could’ve been him.
I stop, taking his hand. “Hey, you’ve done what you can. He still has to want to get better. The other boys seem to respond to you positively.”
He nods, seeming unconvinced. “I can still do more. It's why we have the charity event coming up at the House. Every euro helps, but a million helps even more. Five million would be even better.”
He looks around the grounds as we begin to walk again, heading back toward the main building. I wonder what potential he sees here. Beyond the kids, if there were more money, could they update the building or serve more kids?
“What charity event?” I ask. “I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“Mon Dieu, that would be perfect,” he exclaims suddenly, making me jump. “One night out of the workroom, but it would be invaluable for the House as well as the designers.”
He’s talking to himself, but I catch that he wants the Sisterhood of the Sewing Pants to take a night off for an event. “What?”
“We have a charity event coming up. I’ll have to discuss it with Jacqueline first because it’s a gala, with the highest of society attending to see and be seen, but it would be perfect to highlight the competition’s designers. There’s an auction of donated pieces and vintage House Corbin pieces, even some of Jacqueline’s personal pieces, and the funds are donated to the orphanage.”
“Wow, that’s amazing. You are doing so much for the boys here,” I tell him, touched. I wonder if anyone else knows Simon’s personal connection with this cause and the way he gives his all, especially to those boys.
“I was one of the boys here. For a short period compared to some of them, but it just as easily could’ve been me fighting with anyone who offered hope because there is nothing scarier than losing hope . . . the second time.”
We’ve made it back to the building, and he pauses at the steps. “This is where my mother left me. Or so I’ve been told. I don’t have any memories of her or know what happened, and Jacqueline refuses to discuss it. Part of me wishes it was something tragic because if she wanted to come back for me but couldn’t, then it wasn’t . . . me. Otherwise, there’s the chance she simply couldn’t handle me and is now out there, happily living her own life. And I wonder if that’s the case, does she have children? Does she think of me? It’s too painful to consider that.”