Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (27 page)

“MERDE. SALAUD!”
I was
shocked. I had never heard Sébastien swear or even seen him this kind of angry
before. Keeping a blank face, I cautiously inquired what the problem was. He
held up the newspaper. A picture of Chantal and Des racing down the slopes
together graced the cover of the local newspaper.
Des Returns to Sample the
Local Cuisine
was the headline. Everyone around the breakfast table
inhaled. In sync, we swiveled our heads toward Des. Before he could say
anything, Charlotte burst into laughter, merriment brightening her eyes.

“What happens in Chamonix doesn’t
stay in Chamonix!” She turned her attention to Des and wondered aloud, “Are you
going to place a restraining order against her?”

While everyone but Des and
Sébastien laughed, Chantal snatched the paper from her father’s hands, and read
the entire article for herself. “What, Papa? This is in-depth journalism. The
writer…” She paused to search for the byline. “…Jean Rene Bernard, has all his
facts quite correct.” She listed them ironically. “I am a beautiful young
waitress, born and raised in the village, who wants to break into the modelling
business. Bon! Now I know what my past and future are.”

She read silently again and then
turned a woeful gaze to Des. “Mon Dieu, it seems that I am only using you for
your connections. I was seen with an older man in the village last night.” She
held up the paper. One picture showed her looking adoringly at Des. Another was
taken from outside the restaurant where we’d eaten, featuring her and Sébastien
looking relaxed and happy together. A third photo showed Chantal kissing her
father’s cheek. She turned her focus on Des. “It’s not true, mon amour. My
heart belongs to you. Do not worry, I shall never leave you.” An impish smile
spread across her face.

Des smiled back and dared a glance
at Sébastien, who was looking more relaxed.

“You are right, chère, there is no
point in being angry. Merci.”

Chantal dropped another kiss on
his cheek and returned to her interrupted cup of coffee.

“If my advice counts for anything,
hide,” Charlotte said sagely. “It’ll only get worse if you say or do anything.”

***

It got worse. Quickly. While we
stood in line for the chairlift, the paparazzi swarmed Chantal, shoving
Sébastien aside in their efforts to reach her.

“Where is Des? Are you in love? What’s your name? When did
you meet? Which restaurant do you work at? Who’s the other man? Did Des leave
you because of the other man?” The succession of questions came fast and
furious and in different accents. This had received worldwide attention.

Sébastien was about to respond, so
I grabbed him and forced him out of the way. We floundered around on our skis
while I tried to reason with him. “Don’t! Charlotte is right. If you respond,
if they see you, things will just get worse. I’ll take care of Chantal. Get in
line, and we’ll find you at the top.”

The anger in his eyes faded to
worry, and, with a slight nod, he shuffled forward in the queue. I went to
rescue the poor girl, and what I found was a disaster. She smiled broadly,
flicked her hair over her shoulder, and struck a few poses while wearing a
pouty look.

“What the hell?” I asked her.

The paparazzi began shouting more
questions at me. “Are you another girlfriend? Her mother? Her agent? Where is
Des?”

I scowled. “Have you said anything
to anyone?” The lawyer in me rose to the surface, and she immediately looked
contrite and shook her head. “Good. Stay quiet. Just take my arm, and let’s get
in line. Don’t look at them, either.”

She nodded and kept her head down.
I was certain several thousand photographs of her had been taken already. I had
learned from Charlotte’s experience that they would be filed and reused at some
other point in Des’s life.
Thank god he isn’t here! What a mess that would
be.

Once settled on the chairlift with
Chantal tucked in tightly next to me, I asked her if she was all right. She
bubbled with happiness. “What is that saying? This is my ‘fifteen minutes of
fame.’ Tomorrow, someone else will take my place. Now, my friends will have to
believe me when I tell them I spent Christmas with Des Bannerman.”

Silly girl!
I’d watched Charlotte start out strong and then chase her
lost confidence across the globe, looking for redemption. It was hard, but I
didn’t say anything. I was certain Chantal’s father would handle that,
especially when he saw the photographs and manufactured truths in the newspaper
tomorrow.

The chairlift began to climb
steeply. I searched for Sébastien and spotted him easily. For Christmas, I had
given everyone ski helmet covers. His was a red Mohawk. It was so incongruent
with his natural elegance that I couldn’t resist it. Then I realized he was
talking animatedly to a person wearing a jester’s hat.
Des
. How had they
managed to run into each other? I hadn’t seen Des in line earlier. As we reached
the summit, I said to Chantal, “Take off your helmet cover. Let’s hope your dad
and Des think of it.” She immediately figured out why. Off came her pink
dreadlocks, which she stuck inside her jacket.”

Nope. They didn’t think of it. So,
as the two men stood off to one side, being photographed by paparazzi, Chantal
and I took off down the hill. Out of the crush of skiers, I slid to a stop and
waved Chantal over. I sent a text to Sébastien and told him to take off his
helmet cover and meet us at the bottom. I hoped he didn’t tell Des to take his
off, since I wanted the press to follow him. We’d figure that out next.

When we regrouped, I purposefully
stood between father and daughter. “Everything okay?” I asked, wondering what
he and Des had had to say to each other.

He nodded, his lips a bit tense
and his brow a straight line. He looked at Chantal, who finally looked worried.
He looked at me and saw my concern. “Everything is fine. Des apologized. I
cannot believe he is so unprepared for such events. He…” He searched for words
to vent his anger. Now was probably not the time to tell him about Chantal
taking advantage of the attention, nor the fact that Des shouldn’t have to live
under siege or spend his life surrounded by NoNecks. “Thank you, Kathleen.
Undoubtedly you handled that better than I would have.” He leaned forward and
kissed me gently.

Chantal thanked me, also. I
couldn’t tell if the look of contrition was about facing her father when the
photos hit print or because she had taken the situation too lightly. I quickly determined
she felt guilty. She was too inexperienced to realize how far this could follow
her
.
Oh, to be hunted by the press.

Sébastien advised his daughter,
“Stay away from him for the rest of the day. Just ski with us.” She immediately
agreed. I guessed none of us were happy about that. I had been looking forward
to skiing with him, having some time alone, but was getting a taste of what
being a stepmother could be like.

Halfway down the next run,
Sébastien let Chantal blast past him and swooshed to a stop. I slid in close
beside him, spraying his skis with snow. The sun glinted off his helmet as he
gathered me close in his strong arms. I couldn’t see his eyes because of his
sunglasses, but I could see the crinkles at the corners. A dimple came and went
as he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed the breath out of me. Father or not,
the man was smokin’.

***

Mum was
still the word that evening. Hillary and Marian had fled to town to take in the
nightlife, while the rest of us except for Chantal lounged around a blazing
fire. She was upstairs indulging in a bath in one of the largest tubs I had
ever seen. My eyes were riveted on the fire, watching the flames bounce and
change color, while I kept track of the conversation.

Ted and Tiziana were planning
their boat-renaming party for some time in August. When Charlotte asked her if
they had come up with a name, Tiziana refused to reveal it. “It’s bad luck,
bella. Only the ship’s captain can know. That is the tradition.”

Ted grinned at her. “Actually, the
tradition has to do with the breaking the bottle of Champagne against the
boat.”

Tiziana shot him a confused look.
“Si?” He nodded. She shrugged and gave us a comical grin before relaxing
against him once again.

“Where does that, the tradition,
come from?” Liam wondered.

It was Sébastien who answered,
“Legends say that it is to appease Poseidon, or Neptune, who rightfully names
and protects all water vessels.”

Des, impressed and very eager to
appease Sébastien, refilled wine glasses while asking, “How’d you know that,
mate?”

“One of the perks of working for
Condé Nast! I read the magazines.”

“MERDE. MERDE. FUCK!”
I was
shocked once again. Sébastien’s face was florid with anger. His eyebrows were
angry slats above penetrating, nearly black eyes. He was spectacularly angry,
and I knew why.

In a repeat of the day before, I kept a blank face and
cautiously inquired what the problem was.

He shoved a hand through his hair and stated, “Chantal.” I
felt relief that he laid the blame at her feet and not Des’s.

I gently pulled the paper from him
and hissed at the headline:
Des’s Nouvelle Grande Jeune Femme: Tasty Chou à
la Crème Française.
Literally translated:
Des’s New Young Woman: A Tasty
French Cream Puff
. My jaw dropped. Just below it were pictures of Chantal
striking a myriad of tried-and-true poses, some far too sexy for her to claim
being caught off guard. I said nothing. I couldn’t think of a single thing to
say that would comfort him or paint her in a better light.

“Why would she do this?”

I assumed it was a rhetorical
question and gave him an “I have no idea” look, suggesting he go talk to her.
He dropped a kiss on my head as he walked past me. I called after him, “She’s
probably still asleep.”

“She won’t be for long.”

Not having seen this side of their
relationship, I wasn’t sure how things would play out. I just hoped she was the
only one to be awakened. Hillary and Marian had returned quite late from town,
and a tired, hung-over Marian wasn’t something I would wish on anyone, let
alone add to the tension between father and daughter.

I picked up my coffee and sipped
cautiously as I flipped through the paper and put the matter out of my head. That
is, until I saw page three, where a picture of a tearful but exquisitely
beautiful woman taking long strides down the streets of Vancouver, Canada
gained my attention. Well, that and the headline,
Des Abandons Lover for Ski
Bunny Teen
.

Oh fuck.
This was about to get bigger. I didn’t know how or why. I
just knew that it would. I tore the page out of the paper, folded it up, and
stuck it in my pocket.

***

A chagrined Chantal apologized to
Des over breakfast. He waved off her apologies, clearly used to people taking
advantage of his fame to get a few minutes in the spotlight. While she smiled
at being so easily forgiven,
Sébastien’s expression
clearly said he wasn’t pleased, but he remained silent.

“Skiing today?” Hillary asked as
she nibbled on toast and drank coffee.

“How about something completely
different?” Des suggested snowshoeing. Immediately, he got quite a few takers.

“See, he’s trying,” I whispered to
Sébastien. “He’s trying to protect them both and keep them out of the line of
fire.”

I walked over to Des and said,
“Snowshoeing is a great suggestion,” then continued softly, “I have something
from the newspaper that I need to give to you.”

He frowned at me and nodded. “You
can put it in my room.”

I gave him a smile for an answer
and then called over my shoulder, “See you soon.”

I was standing in the shower when
Sébastien entered the bathroom. “Are you going snowshoeing?” I asked.

His eyes traveled the length of me.
“Only if you are. I can think of other things to do.” He stripped and stepped
into the shower.

“Me, too,” I said against his
mouth.

***

I lay on my side, staring out the
window and watching snow fall, while
Sébastien dozed
behind me, his arm thrown across my waist. I found myself wondering how one
conveys falling snow in a painting. I had painted some complex images when I
was young but never attempted falling snow or rain. Wind blowing and objects
caught in motion were much easier to paint, I imagined. That which was normally
“looked through” seemed more challenging, since you would want people to look
at the images beyond the rain and snow while having a sense of the
precipitation, as well.

Sébastien’s wandering hand
returned me to our bed. He pulled me up tightly against him. The feel of him
undulating gently head to toe against me left me breathless. His gentle hands
caressed my breasts and belly. All of my most sensitive and tender flesh was
aroused, so that I was left wantonly pushing back against him, wanting release.
When it came, I opened my eyes and watched the snow fall gently, noting how
peaceful it was, in comparison to the free fall one took when an orgasm ensued.

***

As we set
about dressing, he walked to the dresser and pulled out the gorgeous lingerie
he’d given me for Christmas, exquisite pieces from the Simone Pérèle
collection. I took the bra from him and ran my fingers over the delicate lace
and satin. Looking quite devilish, he handed me the matching thong. “Indulge
me, chérie.”

At this, I raised an eyebrow. “I
did. All afternoon. You prefer this to the other?” He had also given me a
front-closing bustier that was cupless and narrowed at the waist. It was
absolutely decadent, with
black
floral-embroidered guipure lace stitched onto pale blush Italian crepe, both
dramatic and demure.

“This,” he said, caressing the
bra, “will work better with your dress.” His intimate gesture made me blush.

Shyly, I admitted, “I’ve never
worn a bustier before.”

He seemed pleased by my admission.
He lowered his lips to mine and pulled me to him. Before passion could blossom
beyond control, he gently released my lips, using his thumb to dry the moisture
there and causing little bumps to erupt across the surface of my skin.

Squatting down, he looked up into
my eyes. “Chérie, if I cannot be next to your skin, I would like this to be.” I
stepped into the thong he held and swayed into him as he slid it up my legs.
The gesture was intimate and exquisitely erotic.

Unable to resist him, I gently
tugged his earlobe with my teeth and then whispered softly, “They are
beautiful
,
and I would love to wear them for you… and for me!”

He brushed the back of his hand
across my cheek, gently gliding over my upswept hair. “No man could conceive it
possible that someone as enchanting as you has never received such a gift.”

Clutching the bustier to myself, I
kissed him several times before confessing, “I only care that you gave them to
me. I love them.”

“I am glad to share another first
with you. I’ve never bought a woman lingerie,” he admitted.

***

Tiziana
had arranged for a formal dinner at the chalet and requested that we all dress
accordingly. Although it was not necessarily clothing I would wear to L’Arpège,
I put on a beautiful, bright-blue Karl Lagerfeld cocktail dress. The Peter Pan
collar and plunging neckline was just sexy enough. When packing, I had pondered
my clothes carefully, since Chantal was with us.
She’s twenty-one.
Still,
she lived in Paris. People wore sexier clothes to the grocery store. Sometimes.

In the living room, a fire
crackled, and the heavenly scent of garlic and rosemary drifted in from the
kitchen. Everyone was dressed beautifully, cocktails in hand. Immediately, I
sensed celebration in the air.

Ted asked, “Kathleen, would you
like a French 75?”

“I would love one.”

Sébastien took one and raised his
glass while everyone followed suit. “To Kathleen, for climbing one step further
up the ladder of success. And let us not forget Monsieur Detriche. May he enjoy
a pleasant retirement, while Kathleen leads L’Oréal into the future.” They all
cheered and whooped while my belly did somersaults. I beamed at their compliments,
returning excited hugs and thanking them for their support.

“I’m so happy for you, bella. You
are achieving your goal. But we knew you would. Someone should tell your new
boss he had better be on his toes. His job is next!”

I laughed. Daniel Huse had nothing
to be worried about. Despite my current state of happiness, I knew my time at
L’Oréal was limited. I had set my mind to pulling my two halves together. It
was just a matter of when.