In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright #3)(16)
At sixteen, I had still been convinced that piety could protect me and mine from the realities of living in this world and from the fact that all that lives must die. At eighteen, after everything that had happened to me, I did not much believe in anything anymore.
Still, I did not mind if my sister believed. In fact, I found the idea comforting.
At St. Patrick’s, we lit candles for our mother, our father, Nana, and Imogen. “They’re watching us,” Natty said.
“Do you really believe that?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but I want to. And even if they aren’t, I don’t think it can hurt.”
* * *
I woke in the afternoon. My business ran on vampire hours, and in that first year of running the Dark Room, my whole life, perhaps appropriately, would pass in a series of dark rooms. I ambled out to the living room, where I found Theo, impossibly bright eyed, sitting on my couch. I had told him he could use Nana’s old room for as long as he stayed in New York.
“Anya, I have been waiting hours and hours for you.” He probably had been; Theo’s work on the farm required him to rise at dawn, and it must have been difficult for him to break the habit. “Listen, we have business to discuss.”
“I know,” I said, pulling my bathrobe around myself. “But maybe some breakfast first?”
“It is past lunchtime,” Theo said. “Your kitchen is the saddest place I have ever seen.” He produced an orange from his pocket and held it out to me. “Here, eat this. I brought it from home.”
I took the orange and began to peel it.
“I have already arranged for the next month’s cacao shipments,” Theo said. “Looking through your books and seeing how last night went, I believe you underestimate demand by half.”
“I’ll up my order. Thanks for doing that, Theo.” I arranged the orange peels into a tidy stack.
“I am not being nice, Anya! I want to work for your club. No, I lie. I want to work with you. I see how successful the club could be and, if you want to keep it that way, you are going to need someone to supply your cacao. And in the kitchen you need an overseer with a deep understanding of cacao, too. I can be both someones.”
“What are you saying, Theo?”
“I am saying that I want to be your partner. I want to stay here in New York and become the director of operations for the Dark Room.”
“Theo, won’t they miss you on the farm?”
“We are not talking about that. Pretend you know nothing about me. Pretend we are strangers. But no, they do not miss me. I will make a bucket of money supplying our cacao to you, and Luna takes care of much on the farm since I was sick last year.” He looked at me. “Listen, Anya, you need me. And not because I am the most handsome boy you know. But I look around last night. Delacroix, he raises money for you. He talks to the press. He takes care of the law. But you do some of that and everything else, too. I am not criticizing you, but you are a young business and you need someone else to help you with the kitchen and supply aspects. I make sure everything we serve is delicious, safe, and of highest quality. It would have been certain disaster last night if not for me—”
“You’re always so modest.”
“I want to organize your club so that you never again experience a supply shortfall. No matter what happens—la plaga, el apocalipsis, la guerra—the Dark Room will keep serving drinks.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“I supply you with cacao and offer my services in exchange for 10 percent of the business. Also, I want to be a part of this. I want to build something with my own two hands. It is exciting here. My heart beats like a madman’s!” He grabbed my citrus-coated hand and held it over his heart. “Feel, Anya. Feel how it beats. Last night, I am so tired but I cannot even sleep. I have waited to be a part of something like this my whole life.”
His proposal did not seem unreasonable. Cacao was one of our larger expenses, and Theo had been indispensable since his arrival yesterday. (Had it only been yesterday?) If I had a hesitation, it was probably that I considered very few people to truly be my friends, and Theo was one of them. “I don’t want this to spoil our friendship if the business doesn’t work out,” I said.
“Anya, we are the same. No matter what happens, I know the risk I take and I will not blame you. Besides, we will always be friends. I could just as soon hate you as I could my sister. My sister Luna, I mean. Not Isabelle. Isabelle, I could hate. You know how she gets.”
He held out his rough farmer’s hand, and I shook it. “I’ll have Mr. Delacroix draw up the papers,” I said.
It was only right. Theo Marquez had taught me everything I knew about cacao, and without him, there probably wouldn’t have been a Dark Room.
IV
I GO FROM INFAMOUS TO FAMOUS; CONSEQUENTLY, ENEMIES BECOME FRIENDS
THE NIGHT BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY, I had been sternly warned by Mr. Kipling not to expect the club to be a success right away—or ever. “Bars are tricky,” Mr. Kipling had said. “Nightclubs are worse. In this economy, do you know what the rate of failure for nightclubs is?”
Hadn’t Chai Pinter said it was 99 percent? But that figure seemed high. “I’m not sure,” I said.
“And that’s precisely what worries me, Annie,” Mr. Kipling had said. “You have no idea what you’re getting into. The rate of failure is 87 percent, by the way. And most people aren’t foolish enough to open a nightclub in the first place.”