Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (35 page)

BY THE TIME
we met for
breakfast and walked to Du Pain et Des Idées, everyone had had enough time to
come to terms with the previous night’s revelations to be on more comfortable
terms. As we strolled along the Quai de Valmy, John and I began to forge a
deeper connection. While he knew quite a bit about me, I knew little about bhim.
I asked him about his family and wished I had gotten to know his brother,
James, better.

Suddenly I realized I had grandparents. “What are they like?
Do they know about me?”

John and my mother looked guilty. She said, “John told them
about you. I gave him pictures for them.”

“They’re really proud of your achievements. It would mean
the world to them if they could meet you someday,” John added. “But no
pressure. When you’re ready. Just keep in mind, they are in their early
seventies.”

We stayed in the neighborhood, leaving the rest of Paris
ignored. We had one month and many, many conversations to go. We ended the day
with dinner at Hôtel du Nord. They enjoyed the ambiance as much as the food, a
repeat of hamburgers and Champagne.

“I can see why you love living here, Kathleen.”

I smiled. I did. I truly loved living in Paris.

“TELL ME AGAIN…
what were we
thinking?”

Sébastien made an odd noise, like
gagging, and answered, “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I’m not so
sure.”

So, it isn’t just me?”

We stood, surrounded by family,
friends, and celebrities, waiting for the photographer, who was trying to
position a motley crew of people. He and his staff had their work cut out for
them.

Under an unusually warm summer
sun, people showed signs of wilting. Des, the last to be located, called to me
while pointing at Tiziana, Hillary, Marian, and Charlotte in the crowd. “It’s
like sprinkling gold dust on a cupcake.”

“Eloquently said.”

Charlotte called back, “I’ll bet a
hundred euros that’s a line from his newest movie. The British don’t use the
word cupcake.”

Moving my head carefully so I
didn’t blind Sébastien with the feathers and beading of my vintage headpiece, I
scowled at Des. “Is it?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. Still
applies.”

“True.” It was too wonderful a day
to get annoyed.

“I’ll take my money,” Charlotte
butted in.

Sébastien teased, “We’ll pay you
in cake.”

I blinked back tears for the
millionth time. “I love being a part of your ‘we.’”

Tilting my chin, he kissed me
softly, conveying he felt what I meant. The photographer clicked away,
capturing the moment.
Ahs
and
Ohs
instantly comingled with the
clicks.

A baby cried in the distance, and,
from the sound of the wail, it was a newborn. Des sprinted out of the grouping,
shouting apologies as he trampled a foot or two in his haste to reach his newborn
son, James (whom we lovingly referred to as “the Canadian one”). With Des’s departure,
the carefully constructed vignette fell apart.

My practical side kicked in. “I
think he should just take candid shots. Who needs posed photos?” Sébastien went
off to placate the photographer, while I sought the shade.

Almost everyone migrated to stand
beneath a large cluster of trees to cool down and drink ice-cold Champagne. I
saw Chantal chatting with John while Des soothed his fussy son and talked with
“the Canadian one’s” mother. It seemed to be going well.

From the moment I’d met them,
Margaux and Paul Langevin had been warm and welcoming to me. Clearly, they were
delighted that their son was happy. When I didn’t see my mother, my best guess
was she was with Margaux, who had embraced her and John, as well. The four parents
had spent a few days together, getting some of our wedding plans completed
ahead of time, namely the homemade gifts that the French traditionally give to
guests.

I searched for Anaïs and Yvette,
who had been truly helpful in helping me balance French and American
traditions. They appeared to be flirting with a couple of Sébastien’s cousins
.
Interesting!
I looked next for my dearest friends and found them floating
amongst the hundreds of guests (most of whom I had been introduced to but
couldn’t remember).

When Sébastien returned to my
side, Marian wandered over, too. “Almost ready?” she asked. “I need to tell
your families to get seated before the hoards take all the chairs.”

We looked at each other and
nodded. I pressed a kiss to his lips and said, “See you on the other side.”

Smiling at my Americanism, he
squeezed my hand, and then made his way slowly to where a string quartet played.
They quietened down, and the pianist began to play “Our Love is Here to Stay.”

I whispered to Marian, “Give me
five minutes.”

Behind a wall of fabric, I slipped
out of a white Monique L’Huillier halter dress that was covered in thousands of
beads and wiped myself down with a cold towel soaked in orange-blossom water. I
could see Sébastien offer Marian his arm and lead her to the large circular
arbor enveloped with deep red bougainvillea, fuchsia roses, pinkish-white
hydrangeas, and garlands of crystal beads.

The guests, realizing the time had
arrived, found places to sit. I was just zipping up my dress when I saw
Sébastien nod at the cellist, who had joined the pianist. They played “A
Thousand Years,” a song that could both lift and break my heart at the same
time. I made my way to him, wearing a vintage Chanel silk gown that swirled
about my legs. The silvery-gray fabric with a tint of lavender looked like the
swirling waters of the Seine. As I walked toward my soon-to-be husband, just
thinking the word “husband” made me catch my heel. I took a deep breath, and
continued until I reached him and he took my hand.

In the silence, I heard Liam
whisper, “I’m still a bit confused as to why Marian is saying the wedding
ceremony.”

Amidst shushes they chose to
ignore, Des answered, “Who knows? Something to do with an argument. I played a
priest once. You’d think they would have asked me.”

I spoke the words, looked into
Sébastien’s eyes, and, for the life of me, was utterly surprised at how quickly
Marian happily arrived at the words, “You may now kiss your Frenchman!”

“Tell me again… What were we
thinking?” I asked
Sébastien once again as I leaned
against him. The quartet, who’d played on and off through dinner and dancing,
would soon pack up, and then, a band Chantal had invited was going to rock into
the wee hours. I would love to say it was romance that made me want to go to
bed, but it was pure exhaustion. Yvette and Anaïs had warned me that wedding
receptions could last all night, even go on for several days. I was in
desperate need of catching my second wind.

“I’m going to find drinks. Who
wants what?” Ted offered. When the order grew larger than he could carry,
Sébastien offered to help.

“Hey, Hill, show her the photos
you took,” Charlotte suggested, her arms full of a sleeping baby boy.

Hillary raised her brow, showing
her indignation at the nickname. I guessed that having Aksel Pedersen sitting
beside her, as her “plus one,” might have had something to do with that. She
had called me when she’d received the invitation and asked if she could bring
him as her date. She was worried there would be tension, due to my turning down
his job offer. I was worried about Sébastien. After talking to him about it,
he’d decided he would keep his distance but wanted to see Aksel through my
eyes—see if he saw a changed man.

She handed me her camera, and I
scrolled through what appeared to be hundreds of photographs. At first, I
scrolled quickly but then, realizing that I had been offered an excellent
opportunity to recuperate, slowed down. I was still flipping through them when
the men returned with a tray of drinks.

Sébastien sat beside me, and we
flipped through more together. I paused to examine one of John more closely,
still startled by his change of appearance. He’d surprised us by shaving off
his beard again. Now that the mystery of his being my father had been unveiled
to me and everyone else, there was no reason for him to hide behind it.

I looked to where I had last seen
him seated, amongst a group of people at a cluster of tables. In the waning
light, I found him with my mom, sitting beside Sébastien’s parents, who were
helping them communicate with various of Sébastien’s relatives. They looked
really happy. I wondered how amazing the world was, that they’d ended up
together, here, on my wedding day, so far from the bar where they’d first met.

I patted Sébastien’s hand. “I’m
going to ask John to dance. It’s an American tradition, a father-daughter
dance.”

His smile was thoughtful, and he
asked, “May I pick the song?”

“Of course.”

When I approached the group, they
offered me a new round of compliments and congratulations. I thanked them,
fending off the usual questions about the future, and then found an opening to
ask if I could borrow John for a few minutes.

Startled, he stood and reached for
me. “What’s up?”

I grinned at him, wanting to erase
the concern in his voice. “Everything’s fine. I was hoping for a dance.”

“Of course. I would love to dance
with you.” He tucked my arm through his and walked me to the makeshift dance
floor. As we approached, “It Had to Be You” floated on the evening air.

“Sébastien picked the song,” I
told him, as he held me awkwardly in his arms. Once we were safely circling the
floor, I ventured, “I wanted to tell you that I’m really glad you could be here
tonight. Apart from the fact that you make my mother so happy, it means a lot
to me that my father is here. I know someday we’ll tell this story to my
children and know how far we’ve come.”

He pulled me a tad bit closer.
“Thank you, Kathleen.”

After we finished our dance,
Sébastien stepped in and twirled me, which reminded me of the giddy night at
Bethany Halvorsen’s show. I turned in a wide arc, my dress swirling around my
legs. It was exactly what I needed.

“I love you,” I told him, as we
danced to Norah Jones’s “Come Away with Me.”

***

 “Let’s go
sit down,” Sébastien suggested as the band set up.

Happy to oblige, I wandered with
him to where the girls sat. While Des cuddled James, Liam cradled Sean. The
others shuffled about and helped us get settled in. As I wearily sat down, I
looked pointedly at them and said, “It’s about to get noisy. I’m sure there’s
somewhere quiet you can lay them down.”

Sébastien brushed the little boy’s
cheek. “My parents’ room will be the quietest.”

Des looked relieved at the
prospect. Liam harassed him. “He’s a wee bitty thing.” He stood, wrapping his
arms carefully around his son. “Since you’ll have two, you could use them to do
arm curls. That’s about all you can lift, anyway.”

The two disappeared into the
night, posturing.

“What can I do for you, Kathy?”
Sébastien asked sweetly.

Smiling at his endearment, I said,
“Right now, all I need is you and to think about our future.”

He helped me by giving me a
heart-searing kiss. It was the sound of guests hootin’-n-hollering that made me
realize how passionately we were entwined, how easily he had transported me
somewhere else. Ignoring the playful remarks, I looked up at him then scanned
the garden. Most of the guests were still in attendance. As I looked for an
unoccupied dark corner, I pulled the lapels of his jacket together, which
caused the scent of his cologne to rush upwards and wash over me. Spotting the
circular arbor, I asked, “Want to go for a walk?”

His eyes smoldered. “We could, or
we could leave.”

I gave him a playful version of
his smoldering glance. “We can?”

“I’ll find my parents and tell
them we’re leaving.” They had arranged for us to stay at a relative’s vacation
cottage a few miles out of town, a shabby-chic hideaway along the Somme River.
“I can’t wait to get you to myself.”

I quickly glanced over at my
friends and wondered what bawdy comments we’d have to survive once we announced
our departure. Sébastien followed my gaze, and we listened to them play, “Which
designer do you want to see?” They were planning next month’s trip to Paris for
fashion week.

An unexpected yawn escaped me.
“Sorry!” I tried to hide it behind my hand.

“I believe it really is time to
leave.”

“I feel a little guilty. Some of
them have come a long way.”

Kissing away my worries, he reminded
me that we would see all of them the next day at lunch. “If they get hostile,
we can always tell them you’re pregnant.” His voice was ripe with laughter as
he pressed kisses next to my eye.

I hesitantly smiled. “We could.”

He settled his gaze onto my
mismatched eyes. “Chérie?”

The End… for now!