21. Storm the Bastille

CHAPTER21

Storm the Bastille

Wyn

“I want whatever the fuck is going to happen tonight like I want someone to tie me to a chair and pull my teeth out,” Remy muttered to himself where he stood beside me in the bathroom, hip to the counter, arms crossed on his chest, watching me as I peered into the mirror, gliding lip stain on my lips.

I didn’t have a chance to reply.

There was a knock on our door, we heard it crack open and Sabre call out, “You guys decent?”

“Yup,” Remy called back, pushing from the basin and turning toward the door.

I looked into the bedroom to see my children march in.

And my heart actually fluttered with how magnificent they were.

Sabre was wearing gray slacks that fit him so perfectly, they looked tailored for him, a sparkling white shirt with a navy-blue vest over it, and black loafers with his skin showing at his ankles, so either no socks or likely (because his mother taught him better) footies.

Yves was in darker gray slacks with a black shirt, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and burnished leather dress boots.

And Manon was a vision in a flowing, mauve chiffon, long-sleeved maxi dress with a high, round neck. It was embroidered with big flowers in pink, purple and yellow with bold green stems and leaves. A dress I knew (because I’d bought it for her) had a full cutout back. Her lustrous hair was in a side pony.

Remy was in blue and gray. Blue slacks and a lightweight gray sweater, over which he wore a matching gray sports jacket.

I was in a currant-red, twist-front kimono dress that had dramatic sleeves, was delightfully slouchy around the middle and had a short hem that showed off my best asset: my long legs. My hair was smoothed up in a wide, velvety top knot. On my feet were Rene Caovilla gold, bejeweled, embroidered lace, slingback pumps.

And yes.

If my family was going to war, I didn’t care what it said about me, this was the armor I’d choose.

“Before you say it, we know we look like the fucking Kardashians,” Yves grumbled. “Sah and I have already puked.”

“I didn’t puke. I’m killing it in these duds,” Sabre replied.

I started laughing.

Manon moved forward and used the doorframe to lean into the bathroom. “And we have it figured out, Dad. If things get weird, I’m faking an epileptic seizure.”

“And if Grandma gets mean, Yves is going to start talking about how big and buff Theo is,” Sabre added.

“I can talk about that, for, like, three hours,” Yves shared. “She’s got some chops, but I think I can outlast her.”

They were being so funny, and so fabulous, they took all my attention.

So it came as a surprise when Remy ordered roughly, “All of you, in here.”

As I’d mentioned, the bathroom was heavenly.

However, it was not large.

But that wasn’t the only reason we all huddled together when the kids wedged in with us.

Remy’s long arms almost wrapped around us all, but considering Sabre’s and Yves’s were just as long, we were covered when Remy said, “Everything I live for is in my arms.”

All kidding was now aside, Manon made a peep, and I held her eyes as I kept hold on my own emotions.

“I messed up, and you rode that wave with me,” Remy carried on. “And I cannot express how much that means to me.”

All right.

No.

He had to get beyond that.

I looked right at him.

“Honey—” I began.

“But right now,” Remy spoke over me, “I have to remind you, your grandfather is losing the woman he loves, so I have to ask you to see to him. She might make it hard, but we’ve all learned things today, where what you just gave me is what we all have to give him. Soon, we’re all he’ll have left.”

Manon had been briefed about the morning’s revelations (though she, like us all, did not miss her grandparents fighting).

And I’d shared with Remy the conversation I had with his mother on the veranda.

“In other words, no fake epileptic seizures. You with me?” he asked.

“With you, Dad,” Sabre said immediately.

“Totally,” Manon chimed in.

“Always, Dad,” Yves said.

“Right,” Remy muttered on a squeeze of his arms that made us all squeeze ours. “So we don’t look like we’re prepared to storm the Bastille in Tom Ford and Stella McCartney—”

“This isn’t Stella, Dad, it’s…”

Manon didn’t finish when Yves bumped her with a hip, which meant we all got a corresponding hip bump.

“How about we stagger our arrivals?” Remy’s gaze swung between his sons, “But one of you escort Manon.”

“I’m totally making a solo appearance. My outfit is rad, and I don’t want Manon to steal my big entrance,” Sabre declared.

“You sure you’re not gay?” Yves razzed.

“I could be, with how hot I look,” Sabre returned.

“Settled. Yves will go with Manon,” Remy broke in. Then he moved in a way we all broke apart, but only to stop holding each other. We still stood close together in the bathroom because there was no room to move. “Now, your mom isn’t ready so head out.”

“You go first,” Sabre said to Manon and Yves.

“You go first,” Manon replied.

“I don’t know if anyone is down there yet,” Sah retorted. “You can’t make an entrance when no one’s there to see you enter.”

“Oh my God, you’re straight but you’re still somehow gayer than me,” Yves remarked.

“Dude, get an eyeful, I am all that,” Sabre shot back.

“Men, shut the hell up and roll out,” Remy ordered.

“Come on, Manon, the booze is down there,” Yves muttered, grabbing his sister’s hand and pulling her from the room, which worked for me—breathing space.

But Sabre clearly hadn’t thought ahead to where the alcohol was and how he’d get some. I could see he was realizing his mistake as they walked away.

Our two youngest headed down, and Sabre went into our room and threw himself on our bed.

I turned back to the mirror to assess the stain and add gloss.

I did this with a side eye to Remy and teased, “You will note what’s happened after you shared your gateway beer with our youngest.”

“Is Manon of age yet?” he asked.

I shot him smug smile. “In Louisiana she is.”

He grunted.

I got serious. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Trying to figure out how and when, but more how I say to my dad, ‘You know, you fucking around on Mom wasn’t the reason I blew up my marriage. At least, not the way you think it was. You inadvertently leaving me to take care of her was,’” he replied.

I finished with the gloss and turned to him. “How about I talk to him?”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know, I’ll figure it out when I talk to him.”

“I’ve thought about it today, and with what Dad said, I want this visit to be about healing. At least for him and me.”

I nodded. “That occurred to me with what you just asked of our kids.”

“What I mean is, whatever is said should come from me.”

He was right, and I gave him a small smile to share not only that, but that I’d stand down.

“He’s been a mess all day,” he noted.

Guillaume had.

To anyone else, he would seem no less dashing and confident.

But none of us (especially Remy) had missed he’d been quiet, withdrawn, and it hurt to look at him because his eyes often rested on Remy, and they were haunted.

“All of this is exacerbated by her illness,” I noted and shifted closer to him. “And he’s been confronted with something unbearably heavy in the midst of it. He’s losing her, and he’s justifiably furious with her. I can’t even imagine. But one thing I know, baby, is the only balm for a hurt like that is love. And you and your dad might be feeling your way with that, but we have it in abundance, and it’ll be all around him.”

Before Remy could answer, Sabre was at the bathroom door.

“Heads up spoiler. I just watched Jason and Clare walk in the side door. And when did Nat become a knockout?”

“Shit,” Remy whispered, and I wasn’t sure why.

Mystery special dinner solved, Guillaume and Colette had organized a dinner party with their son’s childhood friend.

He was close with Jason, I was close with Clare, and the kids had grown up with Nat.

Maybe he didn’t want to pretend things were okay in a crowd, even with one of his oldest buddies.

Maybe he didn’t want his son to make a move on his oldest friend’s daughter.

Remy clarified with his next.

“Park the killer charm, son. Jason and I go way back. I don’t need to talk him out of shooting you.”

“I can’t help it if they fall at my feet.”

I smiled as I turned and tucked my dual tube stain and gloss in my small gold bag, along with the compact I’d already put in it, the lip liner, and mints, because this was New Orleans and Melly. Dinner was going to be amazing, but it might lead to unpleasant breath. It was a house party, so I’d take the bag with me, set it somewhere so I didn’t have to carry it, but it’d be closer than running up the stairs for touch ups and breath duty.

“Sah,” Remy warned.

“Right, right, I’ll try to be less awesome. It’ll be hard, but for you, I’ll do it.”

“Jesus,” Remy murmured, but I could hear the amusement.

I turned back and asked, “So, do I get two escorts?”

And to that, I got two answers.

My husband: “Absolutely.”

My son: “Totally.”