To my Dearest Friend

My family

Yves Montague

I walk quickly and trying my best not to stumble over my own feet as I approach the restaurant where the scheduled meeting with Oscar is. When I enter I struggle to open the buttons of my coat, I am sweating, I do not get why I am so nervous. I hand my coat and hat to the doorman. I spot Oscar relieved I won't have to wait here alone I approach him. I notice that he's talking to some people, not the normal type that Oscar likes. I tenderly put my hand on his shoulder, he quickly turns around, lightly startling me.

"Ah Yves there you are!!" Oscar exclaims with a genuine smile. 'Gentlemen meet Marquess Yves Montague." I hate being introduced like that, it feels too much like my father's name. But I won't tell Oscar that. I shake their hands and smile my most modest smile. '

Pleasure to meet you.' I say. 'Likewise.' The two men say. We sit down at the table. 'So gentlemen, this is the talented writer of The Woes of Being Foolish.' Oscar says as if I am already a world renowned author. He makes me even more nervous. I nod.

One of the two men from the publishing company clear his throat and sits up straight before saying: 'I didn't expect somebody like you to be so talented marquees' I chuckle. How strange must I take this as a compliment or not?

'Thank you, I do not know whether to be flattered or offended.' 'Sorry I didn't' the young men stumbles over his words, clearly scared to have offended the son of the richest men in England. Oscar laughs it off to clear the air.

They grab a contract. Oscar instructs me what it means, I feel little to no hesitation as I read it. I smile and sign it. My book will be published, I would not even care what I would earn with it. Money is never a problem for me why should it be now? I look at Oscar, he has little lights in his eyes. I see my mentor is proud of me. I smile one of the first genuine ones since Cyril left. I feel good, I feel happy, I am excited for my book to be published I have dreamt of this, I never would have believed it would happen.

I struggle to open the big door. 'Ezra, Charlie, I am home!!' They run down the stairs. Charlie embraces me as soon as he can. Ezra looks at him like the proud brother he is. I remember that look. I still look at Frances that way. I kneel in front of Ezra. 'As you two know I will be going to Paris in a day and Akiva is also coming with me. We are also going to Vienna so also think about that too. So I wanted to know if you'd love some souvenirs from France.' I ask them.

'Cheese!!!!' Charlie screams in my ear, which honestly makes me doubt if kneeling was a wise idea. 'Smother your saucebox Charles Montague, alright cheese I will take that with me Charlie.' I answer.

'I'll be happy with whatever you'll bring.' Ezra says with a modest smile he has definitely  'You wanted a new pen rignt? What about a luxury pen?' I ask, trying to be as considerate as I can be, Ezra never wants things. I hate his modesty, he deserves so much more. 'I would love that Yves'

We sit down on the sofa when Ezra asks: 'Did you get approved?' I smile and say 'It'll be published in a few months because Oscar already tweaked everything.' His eyes light up. 'Really?' He looks so proud, it moves me to see how much he cares about me. However much I care for him I never thought he would care for me too I slowly nod. 'I'm so happy Papa!' he says while giving me a hug. I feel myself smiling, He nevers calls me papa. I just hug him and smirk to myself!

We are sitting on the ground together, Charlie has been playing with my socks while I was reading alice in wonderland to him. Resulting in my squeezed toes when it is thrilling parts which results it a slowly ripping sock, which in turn results in a chuckle Ezra can't help but utter. The warmth of the fireplace warming our joyfull smiles. I love being a little family, I adore them.

The bell rings. I stand up and walk towards the door, having problems with opening it again. I take a deep breath before using my body weight to open it. Akiva is standing there. I smile, he smiles back his strangely different smile.

'I brought the cut of beef you asked for.' He says in his usual socially akward tone. 'Thank you Akiva. How expensive was it?' 'Don't worry about it I am very honoured you are eating Kosher for me so don't worry.'  Ezra and charlie run into the hall 'Akiva!' 'Hello boys' he says cheerfully.

The candles on the table light the smiles of akiva, Martha and the boys. The dinner is delicious, everything is especially made so Akiva can eat it too. I smile as I look at the children.

Akiva looks at me. His whole demeanor as warm as the morning sun on your face. He smiles his modest smile, I know exactely what he is checking. He is checking how much I am drinking, if I seem genuinely happy. It's almost as if I am a labrat he needs to keep alive and has been poisoned. But it is still incredibly caring, in Akiva's way.

Ezra is tells us a joke, I feel my smile involuntarily form on my face. The laughs of these people are the only thing that seem to be able to fix the utter hopelessness I experience every day. I wish this could be my whole life. I smile a rather melancholic smile. I pet little Charlie on his soft hair.They make me so happy. I wish this would never stop. I wish my whole life was as easy as it is here.

Akiva and I are leaving. I am instructing the boys what they can expect. 'So boys I'll be gone for about two weeks, Martha knows what to do, she knows everything just like normal. You have enough money for everything your heart desires, doesn't mean you should do it though Charlie. You'll be fine without me right boys?' They nod I embrace them. 'Be kind towards Martha and anybody else.' they nod again before waving untill we cannot see them anymore.

I am meticulously folding my clothes, I am not sure what to wear to paris but decide to be rather extravagant. I take off my signet ring, or well technically Cyril's signet ring. I look at my right hand, It still hurts when I stretch my fingers too much. The top looks normal but when you see my palm most people are appaled, the white scar surrounded by the red irritated flesh, it looks horrifying. Like a devil's tongue has tainted my hand.

That's why I mostly wear gloves. Frances, my little sister, was always fascinated by the scar. She would tenderly touch it and tell me what exactely it resembles and why. I follow the scar with my fingers, it hurts with every little touch. A reflection of my worst sin, a reflection of my failing, a reflection of my regret. The thing I wished to have been able to forget. A constant reminder of God's cruelty. What God in the right mind would kill a mother and save the sons?