The Price of Protection

Chapter 1~ All Is New

Marius Gray:

     "Tu ne peux pas être sérieux." (You cannot be serious)

     "English, Marius," my uncle warns in his gruff accented voice, "You had better get in the habit of talking like l'adolescent américain."
(The American teenager)

     "Impossible," I reply with my own thick French accent, "They have no respect or sense of elegance. It would take years to learn that you're of self negligence."

     My uncle glared, "Then you will learn to do so while around them! You know how important this is to the family, Marius," he said walking over and clasping his hand around the back of my neck. Les Américains would not recognize this gesture but it is a sign of affection that is used in Europe. We are not so huggy as Americans are. I give him a brisk nod and he walks back to the large desk surrounded by boxes.

     "Dois-je y aller?" He glares at me. Damn, English, Marius. "Forgive me, uncle. Shall I go?"

     He nods, "Yes, boy."

     I turn and leave his office without any other conversation. Our men were waiting outside as always-- his protection. Every important member of our family has a personal guard assigned to them but uncle is paranoid and always has several. I believe he thinks too highly of himself.

     When I left the lower floor, I went upstairs to my room. It is very large, as is the whole house. A half wall separates the back of my room that divides my bed area from my desk and sofa. It would be nice to have my own bathroom but not all great houses are created equal. The house has 6 bathrooms in total. Two in the largest bedrooms, 1 in the servant's quarters, and 3 others throughout the house. I have one just across the hall, so it's not a terrible inconvenience. I just missed my old chambre (room). This house is what a mansion passes for in this part of the world. Lyons is a large bustling city with gorgeous scenery. The houses are historic and full of art in their designs. America has proven to be much sadder, unfortunately. People don't care as much about true art and character here. I find their culture lacking.

     Tomorrow I am starting at le lycée international de la nouvelle Orléans (The International High School of New Orleans). I am already exhausted thinking about how to get along with American teenagers. They are more concerned with looks, dating, and unimportant statuses than with actual real-world problems. Sighing, I remind myself that this is life for only a little while. I need to remember how important this is for my mother and our family business, and also for my future. The connections I make can make it break the next part of our plan.

     Sitting at my desk, I lift one of the books about the teen years that we picked up a couple of weeks ago when we first arrived. I have been studying very hard to try and fit in-- the thought makes me shudder-- but tomorrow will tell me how much information will be useful. Truth be told, I hope not much. There is nothing on earth that could interest me in the lives of these American Teens.

~

    I had been up to my eyes in stupid phrases and common boyish traits displayed by "the modern teen" when I  glanced at my phone to see that it was already nearly 2 am. Merde! I'm supposed to be in training by a quarter after 5 so that I have time for a full hour before getting ready for school. Groaning, I run my fingers up my face and into my hair. They immediately get caught in my curls. I was going to deal with that yesterday too but there was too much going on.

     We've been trying to run things in France from Louisiana for about a month now and it's been difficult to say the least. If I show up to my first day looking like a mess, my mother would be highly disappointed so I slammed my book down in a fit of irritation and went to deal with the tangled nest on my head. After 30 minutes it was washed, conditioned, and styled. I decided since I wasn't getting sleep any way that I should probably clean up my facial hair. I had quite a bit for a typical teenager, I suppose, but all of the men in my family matured early so it didn't seem strange until I saw the teens in America. I raised my electric razor and made perfect lines on both sides of my face and under my chin. I was satisfied with my work, even if I looked a little too young for my taste with almost no shadow remaining and then cleaned up the hair around the sink.