Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(67)

He cursed aloud in every language he knew, which was quite a lot of cursing to be honest. He only stopped when his voice was hoarse from shouting.

“Impressive, tell me, do you know Finnish?” a male voice asked.

“Stefan, this is none of your concern.”

“Oh, when a man shouts in that many languages you can believe it is my concern. My poor ears will never be the same. I also have it on good authority that your wife is ruining what would have been a nice sensual moment with my own wife upstairs in our bedroom. In short, I have been ousted.” He cursed, though not as loud or fluently as Dominique had.

“So yes, when a man gets kicked out of his own room, it’s his concern. Now, what the devil did you do this time?”

“She’s carrying my child.” There, he'd said it.

“Ah, congratulations are in order then.”

“I don’t know how it happened... I don’t...” Dominique ran his fingers through his hair, cursing again.

“Blast. Didn’t think I’d have to give a biology lesson. All right…” Stefan took a seat and propped his feet up on the sofa. “When a man and woman find each other attractive, or in some cases, available, they begin a mating ritual I like to call—”

“Please, no further. I don’t imagine I’ll ever recover if you explain to me your sordid view on sex.”

“Yes well, there was once a time when an innkeeper felt the need to have the talk with me. In a room full of patrons, no less. Imagine that, and you’ll know just part of the traumatizing moments I’ve been exposed to.”

A smile cracked through Dominique’s tough exterior, though he made great pains to hide it from Stefan. “I know how it happened. I just… I took precautions so it wouldn’t.”

“Don’t all young men?” Stefan said indifferently. “But, you are married, are you not? Why, with your own wife?”

“I cannot have children.”

“Evidence proves otherwise—”

“I know,” Dominique interrupted. “What evidence proves and such. I should word this differently. I am able to have children, I do not wish to bring any into the world, not into my world, not of my seed.”

“Is your seed particularly bad? Does it not do the job?” Stefan asked.

Dominique poured whiskey into two cups and handed one to Stefan. “I cannot be my father.”

Stefan threw back the contents and grimaced. “Of course you cannot, because you are not your father. Just because you are his son does not mean you must be his copy.”

“What if…” Dominique could not even bring himself to say it.

Stefan leaned forward, hands folded. “Go on.”

“What if I cannot help it?”

Stefan laughed.

Dominique wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or just stupid.

“Everyone has a choice. By saying you cannot help it, you are saying that you are choosing not to fight against it. I cannot help but have my hair color. I was born with it. But when it comes to actions and behavior, you can always help it, you can always choose to do good despite your upbringing.”

Dominique wanted to believe him, truly wished that he didn’t feel so helpless and cynical about what Stefan was saying. “I wish I could believe that. But my past proves...”

“What? That of the weak line of men in your family? Did any of them possess backbone enough to go against their father? Did they have the strength you have? Did they even try?”

“No.”

“Did you defy your father?”

Dominique gave a hollow laugh and shook his head. “At every turn. I even pushed him to his death.”

“Yes, well…” Stefan reached for the whiskey, obviously in need of more to steel himself against this particular conversation. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

Was it so terribly wrong to agree with him? To say out loud that his father was a monster? That he would do anything not to become him?

And then a thought occurred. So brilliant, so clear and truthful in his mind that he had no choice but to believe it. To test the theory by speaking it aloud.

“I will not be him.”

“By Jove, I think you’ve got it,” Stefan muttered. “Of course, you will not be him. It isn’t possible to be the same person he was, because you were made differently. You have been given the same type of choices that every human being has been given. Yes, we cannot help who or what we are born to, but you can help how you respond to your environment.”

“I can.”

“Yes.” Stefan moved away from the sofa and put a hand on Dominique’s shoulder. “You truly can. Dominique, you’re a good man. I’ve no doubt in my mind you can make Isabelle happy. But you must let it go, everything. Just like this room.”

Stefan sighed and looked around. “Do you see the mess around you? It has been kept this way, as a trophy in honor of the violence of your upbringing. But, it is time, don’t you think? To sweep the floors?”

“How do you even know of my pain? My past?”

Montmouth shrugged. “That Hunter fellow told me quite a lot. He thought I should at least know why you were so disagreeable.”

Dominique smiled then looked around. A weight lifted from Dominique’s shoulders as he looked down at the glass beneath his boots. The blood stains, just to the left of the piano, the tattered curtains and finally the dust particles amidst the furniture. Why had he left it this way? Truly, he had used it as a reminder of what he was capable of.