Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (26 page)

“LIFE IS SO
much better with
you in it.”
Sébastien
sounded as happy as I
was.

We were watching a quartet play music on a small stage in
the Galeries Lafayette, where Christmas and Paris came together in splendor. I
nodded, hoping my eyes conveyed what words could not.

After leaving the massive store, we walked down Rue Royale. It
was twilight as we wandered through the Jardin des
Champs-Élysées
.
On both sides of the path leading through the garden, trees were wrapped in
white lights and the Arc de Triomphe glowed in the far distance.

“It’s beautiful. Could we sit for a little while?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied.

We walked not too far along the
path flanked by benches and trees before we found a vacant spot. He draped his
arm around me, pulling me close. “For warmth.” He grinned down at me. “And
also, so that I can believe you are really here with me.”

“I am really here.” Absolutely happy, I contemplated how
much my life had changed since September. I offered my lips to him. He immediately
answered my request
.

As we sat, our conversation
wandered from topic to topic. I learned that he had been accepted into
Fontainebleau to study his MBA, had wanted to attend École des Hautes Etudes
Commerciales de Paris but had made do with attending the highly respected École
Superieure de Gestion, specializing in business management.

“Why ESG then?” I asked, feeling
quite surprised.

“Gisella was pregnant with Chantal.
Fortunately, going to school in France is not too expensive, but even so…”

I squeezed his hand. “I didn’t
even think of that. I should have. If you don’t mind, I would like to know more
about Gisella.”

He stared into the distance, as
if searching through stacks of memories and deciding which ones were
interesting. “She was a painter, actually. That is where Chantal gets her
creative abilities.” He described her as a gentle soul whom he’d met when he
was a young teen. He kept the stories brief and the number few, but when he spoke,
there was a wistfulness, a sadness.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” I
offered when he had been silent a while.

“Thank you, chérie. She was,
first and foremost, my friend, and I miss her still. I hope that doesn’t bother
you.”

I nudged him. “How could it?”
After all, I knew I would miss Mikkel forever, and we had barely the history
Sébastien had shared with Gisella. “You can talk about her,
if you like.”

He looked at me calmly and said,
“Thank you. Most are uncomfortable with it.”

I kissed his cheek and then
changed the subject. “All right. What’s next?”

“Food!”

“Perfect.”

His eyes held a challenge. “Then,
Hôtel de Ville, Gare Montparnasse. We can ice skate and enjoy a beautiful
evening view of the Eiffel Tower.”

I flashed him an encouraging
smile, teasing, “And then?”

“It would be ungentlemanly of me
to answer.”

Playing it coy, I uttered, “Oh,”
and then quickly switched my train of thought. “Before I forget, are you
available to go to the Christmas market tomorrow?”

“
Mais oui
, if we aren’t too
sore.” I’m sure my face registered shock, because he laughed out loud. “From
the ice skating, chérie.”

I burst into laughter as I
blushed. I was utterly embarrassed by where my imagination had taken me. “Oh,
that!” I managed to say between bouts of laughter.

***

Once we’d
returned to Sébastien’s apartment, neither too sore nor too tired, Sébastien’s
jaw dropped when I appeared, wearing only my fur coat and my recently purchased
knickers. He bolted from the couch where, five minutes before, he had been half-asleep
in front of the fire. He ran his hands over the fur, slowly untying the belt. A
glimpse of my bare flesh had him whispering, “Mon Dieu!”

***

I felt him dozing off, so I wiggled my shoulder beneath
where his head rested. He didn’t move. “Are you asleep?” I whispered.

“
Hmmm
.”

“We’ve
decided on what we’re doing for Christmas. Would you and Chantal like to join
us? If you want to stay with your parents, that’s fine.”

He
lifted his head and looked at me, struggling to push aside the lethargy of
sleep. “What is the plan?”

When
I told him, he guffawed. “Seriously?” he asked.

I
nodded, also amused.

“I
wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll check with Chantal, but assume yes.” He
snuggled back down, a snort of laughter erupting every now and again.

“
Shh
!
Go to sleep,” I playfully scolded. I should have asked in the morning, but I
had been too excited to wait.

DENISE APPEARED
at my office
door, looking excited. “Monsieur Huse would like to see you in his office.”

There could be a thousand reasons, but only one made sense.
Worried that I appeared nervous, I asked, “Do I look okay?”

Surprise spread across her face. “You look beautiful.”

I squeezed her hand as I walked past her. “Thanks.”

Clearly he was waiting for me. His secretary sent me
straight in. I opened the door and saw Monsieur Detriche sitting near Daniel
Huse’s large desk. Both men rose as I entered. I clasped my nervous hands
behind my back and said, “You wished to see me?”

“Mademoiselle, good news. Wonderful news for us all.
Monsieur Detriche has officially announced his retirement, so that he and his
wife can move to Marseille, where their daughter lives. Which means we would
like to offer you the position of managing director of administration and
finance.”

I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt before offering one to
Monsieur Detriche and wishing him the very best. Then I shook Monsieur Huse’s,
assuring him that I was quite excited to take on the added responsibility of
managing the division and staying involved in the negotiation process.

When I finally made it back to my office, I gave Denise the
good news, adding, “Of course, I would like for us to continue working
together.” She accepted the new position eagerly.

“Wonderful. We’ll be moving offices at the end of January.
Oh, and there is a nice increase in salary.”

Back in my office, with the door closed, I took a few
minutes to absorb the future. When
Sébastien and I
had gotten back on track, I’d called Aksel Pedersen and told him I would be
staying in Paris. He assured me the job was mine, if I should ever want it. “It
only proves you are excellent at your job.”

Right now, I wanted to give Sébastien
and me time to see where life took us. Accepting the new job at
L’Oréal
would allow for that. I picked up the phone and dialed him
to share the great news. I spent the morning calling the girls one by one, then
my mother, Anaïs, and Yvette, telling them all about my promotion.

I ENJOYED THE
mindless task
of washing breakfast dishes while the girls relaxed, scattered about the room. It
had been an ideal Christmas season so far. I was particularly happy to have
Sébastien and Chantal with us; Chantal had been pretty
excited to meet Des, of course.

“Admit it. It put you over the
edge.” While Charlotte snuggled with Sean in an oversized chair, she gave
Marian a hard time about their recent Christmas shopping expedition in London.

Marian shot Charlotte the stink
eye. “Jaysus, you’re perverse, you are. You tortured me over a pair of fecking
boots. You’d think they were the Holy Grail, the way you dragged me around…
This I promise you, I am never going shopping with you, postpartum, ever
again.”

“They were Liam’s first Christmas
gift from Sean. They had to be perfect.” Charlotte had the sense to laugh at
herself, while coming to her own defense.

Marian announced to everyone
within hollering distance, “If my husband buys me boots as a Christmas gift from
my child…”

Whatever she was going to say was
drowned out by a loud popping sound and lips smacking. Sean was finished
breastfeeding, attracting everyone’s attention. Hillary laid her paper down on
the kitchen table, startled. Marian leaned forward, aghast. I smiled at
Tiziana, who praised, “Oh darling, he is so perfetto, no?” She crossed the room
to coo over him and offer him her finger. “And he has such a strong grip!”

Charlotte propped him over her
shoulder to burp him. Only eight weeks old, he seemed happy to be nestled
there, chewing on his fist. Pointing to an enormous bag at her feet, she asked
Tiziana, “Would you get one of the circular pads out of the side pocket for me,
please?” Tiziana rooted around for a minute before pulling out a small, white,
circular disk. Charlotte took it and covertly rooted around inside her bra for
a moment.

“What’s going on over there?”
Marian wondered aloud, green eyes wide.

“Really want to know?” Charlotte
smirked an evil grin.

“No, but yes.”

“My breast, the one he didn’t
nurse on, is leaking. You put the pad inside your bra to absorb the milk. I
should have put it in first, actually. I’m still learning.”

“I’m never having children!”
Hillary announced. Her face twisted in distaste as she quietly returned to her
paper.

Marian leaned back into the cozy
loveseat. “You can have children. Just have someone else feed them.”

“What a bunch of wusses!” I chastised,
noting that Tiziana was taking it all in her stride.

Dishes finished, I plunked down in
a chair opposite Charlotte and rested my feet on the coffee table partially
covered in baby paraphernalia. “Seriously, I cannot believe we are here.”

“And in this chair is where I will
stay,” Charlotte declared as she turned her gaze to the snowy wonderland
outside the window. Chamonix, France.

“Amen!” I concurred. We had a day
to ourselves after sending everyone else off to the slopes to ski. After
yesterday’s frenzy, today’s quiet and cozy were very much appreciated.

“It seems really strange to have
returned to the scene of the crime,” I noted.

I looked about the deluxe
accommodations of the massive house where the eleven of us were comfortably
housed. Ted had put quite a bit of effort into finding a chateau that was so
hidden that, if the paparazzi got wind of Des being in the area, it would
practically take a helicopter to follow him. It meant our getting to and from
the village was challenging, but, given our last experience there, which had
been quite harrowing, we were willing to limit ourselves to a few days of
skiing and one or two dinners out. We’d had an excellent chef preparing most of
our meals, so we still had plenty of opportunity to relax or dress up.

“I wonder how this place compares
to where Ted and Des stayed when we first met them,” I wondered. I couldn’t
help but compare our perfectly fine but bare-bones accommodations during our
last trip to Chamonix to our current opulence.

***

One
minute, we were relaxing happily, and then one phone call from the others had
us rushing around, getting ready for dinner out. When it came to driving the
sketchy roads to town, I was grateful that we had a large SUV and driver at our
beck and call. To pass the time it took to drive from the chalet to town, we
shared some favorite Christmas memories.

I told them how my mother and I used to take an annual
Christmas ride aboard the Duck Boat, an amphibious vehicle, whose driver would
sail up and down the cheerfully decorated one-way streets of Seattle, pointing
out historical markers, quoting fun facts, and sharing anecdotes before plunging
into the cold gray waters of Lake Union. Then we would putt along the lake’s
shoreline, cruising past the houseboats of
Sleepless in Seattle
, the
boathouse for the UW crew team, and Gas Works Park.

I was lost in the memory of my absolute favorite tradition: bundling
up and watching the Christmas boat parade, while sipping hot chocolate and waving
to the boaters who glided past on the still, dark water that reflected colorful
Christmas lights.

When we arrived in town,
I could
tell from the way Charlotte eyed the slushy sidewalks that she didn’t want to maneuver
the stroller, Sean, and herself down them. When she asked, “How about a
coffee?” I was ready to say, “Yes,” but Marian was not having any of it. She
shook her head firmly enough that her auburn hair threatened to fall out of her
carefully-constructed messy bun. “Jaysus, I need a proper drink. From a bar,
not a barista! I want alcohol, not caffeine.”

Charlotte took a deep breath and
calmly asked her, “What’s wrong?”

Looking to Hillary and me for backup,
she answered, “I’m happy for you. Really. But for those of us without husbands
and babies, we aren’t ready to retire to the fecking country and bake. I’d like
a proper drink in a proper bar to look for a proper man to chat with for five
bloody minutes.”

“The spit-up got to you, didn’t
it?” Charlotte teased Marian, trying to lighten the mood. Sean had lost his
lunch in the car on the way into town. The car had reeked of sour milk the rest
of the way.

“Yes, it fecking did!” Marian said
aggressively, as she threw her arm warmly around her friend. “Sorry, but this
is all a bit… I love him, but… Jaysus.”

“For me, too,” Charlotte admitted
and then turned to Tiziana for help. “Do you see somewhere we can get her
liquored up?”

Tiziana turned in a circle and
pointed to a bar nearby. “I wouldn’t mind a drink, myself. Even though I’m
married.”

Marian had the grace to blush in
embarrassment at her outburst.

While we crossed the street,
Charlotte sarcastically asked Tiziana, “You did remember to take the cake out
of the oven, didn’t you?”

“Jaysus! I’m sorry. All right?”
Marian held her hands up in surrender.

I linked arms with Marian and said
sotto voce, “I could murder a beer right about now.”

“What, no wine?” Marian asked with
mock severity.

“Years of living in France hasn’t
rubbed off enough, I suppose. Every once in a while, I want to bust loose and
get a beer at a sports bar.”

“When your mam gets married, we
should go to one in Seattle! There must be dozens.”

“We should!” I smiled as I thought
of these women sitting on barstools with a basketball game playing on a
big-screen TV. “Do you think it would be safe to take Tiziana and Des, though? Could
be pure mayhem.”

“My god, you’re going all perverse
on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love you all the more for it. But we can’t get too
out of control. After all, it’s poor Ted who’ll take the beating.” Marian’s
green eyes shimmered in eager anticipation.

***

Sean’s
squalling rose above the din of the bar. “I think he’s tired.” Charlotte wore a
worried expression as she stood, holding him, and began to sway back and forth.

Just as Hillary opened her mouth
to speak, a squelchy sound emitted from his diaper, causing her to push her
chair back. Marian yelled, “Jaysus” and belted out laughter. Tiziana and I
joined in. One little boy was testing all our modesty and discretion.

Charlotte, looking more worried,
said, “That’s not good! I need to change him.” She immediately disappeared,
looking for a place to clean him up.

Tiziana sniffed the air. “Mio Dio!
That’s powerful, no?”

Hillary sniffed in Tiziana’s
direction, placed a finger under her nostrils, and breathed through her mouth.
“I’m never having one. Ever!”

When Charlotte returned, she
apologized, and looked unsettled. Tiziana and I endeavored to reassure her. She
confessed, “It’s pretty challenging to feel
and
smell fresh, let alone
exotic, when handling a baby morning, noon, and night. Fortunately, Liam is so
dazzled by the size of my boobs, he doesn’t care what I smell like.”

Hillary looked surprised and amazed
the rest of us by asking, “Surely you two aren’t…
already
?”

Charlotte laughed at Hillary’s
horrified expression. “I never thought you’d be the one to bring that up! No.
We have to wait, which is fine by me. When it happens, I want it to be
fabulous, not rushed in between feedings.”

“Considering the number of babies
you’re planning on having, you won’t be able to wait for that!” Marian snorted.

Before Charlotte could respond,
Tiziana purred in a lowered voice, “Darling, all men enjoy a quickie! When
you’re ready, buy some provocative lingerie and embrace ten minutes of bliss.”

Charlotte glanced at her sleeping
baby. “I’ve got them, but between working and taking care of Sean, while I want
sex, I’m too tired by the time I climb into bed.” She looked genuinely
befuddled. “When do you suppose all the planets are going to align?”

“How the conversation has
changed!” Marian stated.

Tiziana, always the romantic,
said, “What? We’re talking about lingerie, sex, and men while we drink. What’s
changed?”

Hillary rested her index finger
beneath her nose and nodded her head at the sleeping baby, who had just
emitted, indelicately. “That!”

***

Since he
was sore from a day of skiing, I offered to give Sébastien a massage. He lay
stretched out on the bed, belly down, while I straddled him, sitting on his bum
and massaging his back and shoulders. “Are you sure they don’t mind?”

He snickered at my concern. “Of
course not. They understand. They are happy for me. Chérie, has it occurred to
you that this is the first Christmas that I’ve spent with a woman who loves me,
whom I love, in many years?”

I stretched out on top of him,
feeling his spoken and unspoken words. I drew in a deep breath of his new cologne,
a gift from Chantal.

“What do you think of it?” He
pushed himself onto one elbow, rolling me off him, then scooped me near.

“It’s… marvelous, incredible,
manly, sexy.” I tried to find the perfect combination of words.

“Let me show you how manly I am,”
he flirted with me.