33. Adulting

CHAPTER33

Adulting

THE FINALE

Remy

“I’ll drop the charges.”

They were out by his pool, sitting next to each other in his armless chairs, a champagne bucket filled with ice, the martini shaker that still had half the double martini he’d stirred for Wyn in it on the table between them.

Remy was drinking a beer.

The sun was setting. The outside lights he had on a timer had already switched on. He’d left the wine room illuminated. It gave ambience, and it was a cool view.

And he’d just finished telling his wife about the surprising conversation he’d had with his ex.

“You don’t have to do that, honey,” he replied.

“She needs money. She clearly needs not to be further in the hole with her mother. Attorneys are expensive. We can all cut our losses and move on.”

“That’s big of you,” he noted. “It’s also unnecessary. She’s ready to face up to her actions.”

“Okay. But I think after your mother behaving like she did, and Bea behaving like she did, and neither of them willing to take even a step toward the center to find an impartial place to discuss things, Myrna going totally off the rails and having the wherewithal to drag herself back deserves to reap the rewards of demonstrating she has the capacity to be a decent human being.”

Remy sucked back a pull from his beer in preparation.

He dropped the bottle to his knee, swallowed the brew, and asked after what had not yet been shared, “My guess is that means things didn’t go well with Bea.”

“I didn’t time it, but I figure our conversation lasted five minutes. The last thing she said when my fabulous Valentino wedge was on her not-so-welcome mat as I was on my way out to my car, and out of our friendship, was not nice. So yes, I can confirm things didn’t go well with Bea.”

After saying that, she took a sip of her drink.

He watched her, and when she was done, he promised, “I can take it. You can tell me what she said.”

“Well, this time, it wasn’t all about you. It was about me and how weak a woman I am that I need you.”

Right.

There was all that had been going on the last few weeks.

There was him knowing Wyn was off to talk to Bea that afternoon, at the same time he was waiting for Myrna to come over, which had been stressful as fuck.

There was his conversation with Myrna, one that ended on a hopeful note, but it didn’t delete the fact that not only had she done all she’d done, he’d discovered she’d also used him for his money so she could take “a break” from being a responsible adult. And he still didn’t trust her, so it remained to be seen if she’d do as promised and leave them alone.

But none of that was the reason he took a breath to control his fury.

And failed at controlling his fury.

“That fucking cunt!” he roared.

Wyn, twisted in her seat to face him, only grinned at his reaction and took another sip of her martini.

After that, she drawled, “God, you’re hot when you get protective.”

“I’m not finding anything funny,” he growled. “That bitch is a goddamned bitch.”

“I’m not being funny. You’re undeniably hot when you get like this.”

“Wyn,” he warned.

She kept grinning.

Remy kept being angry.

“I wanna prove that piece of shit right, flip the neanderthal switch and demand you have nothing to do with that woman again, but it’s your choice. I will state, however, that I will be very displeased if you have anything to do with that woman again.”

“Don’t worry about that, baby,” she replied, the humor leaving her expression. “The bridge has been burned. There’s no rebuilding it.”

Shit.

He needed to get a handle on it. She’d lost a friend that day.

“Honey,” he murmured.

“It’s okay,” she said, but everything about her screamed it was not.

“Come here,” he ordered.

She moved from her seat to squeeze into his with him.

He held her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I thought,” she told the pool, “Bea loves me. I thought today would be tough on you. That Myrna was a deranged stalker and we had to gird our loins for more of her shenanigans. I thought Bea would see reason, meet me in the middle, discuss things like the adults we are, and even if she still held some animosity toward you, she’d shield me from it, because not doing so hurt me. I thought she loved me enough to do that, because I loved her enough to reach out and try to find middle ground. I thought I’d come away with my friend, and right now, I’d be comforting you.” Not moving her head from his shoulder, she took another sip before she concluded, “I thought wrong.”

“I was thinking the same.”

She sighed.

“Gird our loins?” he teased.

She twisted to set her glass down on the table behind her, turned back and slapped him in his abs.

He chuckled.

She retrieved her drink.

“I’m sad,” she admitted. “But even so, if one of us had to come out a loser, I’m glad it was me. Myrna was freaking me out.”

He didn’t want her to be a loser, ever.

And he wasn’t going to share, but he didn’t think she was one.

He detested Bea, didn’t trust her one bit, and he was glad she was out of both of their lives.

It was selfish, but it was the truth.

And he was also pleased his experience meant they were hopefully going to be free of Myrna’s bullshit. Because it pissed him off it freaked out Wyn and their kids, and he’d worried what was already damned extreme would only get worse.

“I’m just glad it’s over,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Have you told Noel and the girls?” he asked.

“I wanted to debrief with you first.”

“They’re probably worried.”

“Kara isn’t. It’s sex night for her and Reed.”

He laughed, even if mostly that knowledge made him feel slightly ill. He didn’t need to know that much about Kara and Reed, or anyone.

But he had this back, all that was her, including her sharing all that went on with her friends…their friends.

He’d missed Kara. And Bernice.

And it was good he had this back.

“You should probably tell her anyway,” he said. “At least send a text. But I know Bernice and Noel are probably stressed out, so you need to see to that, baby.”

She heaved another sigh, kissed his jaw, then rose from the chair, holding her glass, a long column of grace in crisp white jeans, an over-sized, gray boyfriend shirt French tucked and silver Valentino wedges.

His wife.

A fashion plate.

Always stunning.

She stopped a few feet from him and turned back.

“Do you know how she tracked Sah down at school?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We didn’t go there. I can contact her again and find out.”

“No,” she quickly replied. “We’ll let that be a mystery for the ages.”

She seemed genuinely unconcerned, so Remy let it go.

For his part, he’d thought about it, and he’d remembered Sah had left his class schedule on the kitchen counter, where it had remained for a week before his housecleaner had moved it to Sabre’s bedroom. It would not be a surprise if Myrna read it, just out of curiosity.

Though it seemed farfetched Myrna would have memorized it enough to know how to find him on any given day. But it was an explanation that made sense, and between that, and those two kicking back on occasion, when Sabre could have talked about his classes, he figured she was no supersleuth. Something stuck, and she’d followed that lead.

And that was that.

Wyn moved to the house to get her phone, and Remy alternately watched her legs and ass as she did it.

She disappeared, and since he had his phone in his pocket, he took that opportunity to call his dad.

It wasn’t a long call, but it was a disturbing one.

Guillaume tried to be positive, but Melly was also now reporting in, and Remy knew that it seemed Colette had been holding on for Remy and his family’s visit.

Now, even if it had only been a few days, the news was it seemed she was declining rapidly.

Remy knew it helped his father hearing from his son.

In the end, Guillaume didn’t offer to pass the phone to Colette, and Remy didn’t ask, which was probably a relief for them both.

It was even darker now, so Remy moved to the firepit across the way where it sat between some loungers. He lit it, contemplating what they’d have for dinner, thinking some takeout would be a good idea, when he realized that Wyn hadn’t returned.

He looked to the house, seeing one lamp in the living room lit, but not seeing her there. The rest of the house, save the wine room, was dark.

He moved that way.

She was nowhere to be found, until he commenced a full search, and discovered her in his walk-in closet.

The minute he appeared, she turned to him and said, “Darling, this is dire.”

He burst out laughing.

He had a lot of clothes, because he did what he did and it included having a lot of meetings, not to mention she was his wife, and finally, he just liked clothes.

Still, it was only half full.

But it was a galley walk-in, long, but close, and very dark.

She lifted both hands in front of her, pressed them out and asked, “Can we blow out this wall, do a wee expansion of the bathroom, give you your own closet, and build an oasis for me?”

Remy stopped breathing.

She kept talking.

“And by that I mean I want a full vanity and room for expansion. I’m already at my limit with my closet, which was not good forward-thinking on my part.”

He had to push it out, so it was guttural when he inquired, “You want to move here?”

She turned fully to him. “Your kitchen, it’s cool, but a negative.” She whirled a hand at her side. “This. A disaster. But your outdoor space, pool, wine cellar and the guest suite are all positives. You also have more bedrooms and I like the sunken living room and bedroom. Mine, or our old house,” she quickly amended when she caught the look coming over his face. “The kitchen, memories, and my closet, which I’m growing out of. But,”—she flipped out both hands—“we’re all in a new chapter in our own ways. The kids off to do their thing, you and I starting over. I might want to do some painting and a bit of redecorating. It’s all very bachelor. It doesn’t have to scream that a woman lives here, but some cosmopolitan neutrality wouldn’t hurt.”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want,” he said.

“It’s going to cost a lot and I expect you not only to design the addition,” she parried. “But also be involved with the redecorating.”

Like he’d allow it any other way.

“She lived here,” he reminded her.

“She stayed with you,” she amended. “It’s always been yours. However, I fully intend to make it ours.”

Remy neither moved nor spoke, he didn’t trust himself to.

If he did, they’d be fucking on the floor in his closet, and he wasn’t sure his cleaner vacuumed in there regularly.

“I have poor girl syndrome,” she announced.

He felt his brows come together. “Sorry, what?”

“That’s what Noel calls it. Sure, I recognize I now have money. I’m comfortable. I treat myself. I live well. But it surfaces in weird ways. It makes me do strange things that don’t make sense. Like I’m totally okay buying expensive crabcakes for the kids because they love them, but I balk at lobster rolls, when everyone loves those too. But just the word ‘lobster’ triggers something in me, and that something holds me back. Like I was fighting Noel about the kind of champagne we’d serve at the wedding. I’m spending fifteen thousand dollars on a dress I’ll wear once and serving our guests champagne that cost seven dollars a bottle.”

“I already overrode your decision on that, baby,” he murmured.

He was mildly surprised that admission caused her to smile and walk to him.

She put both her hands to his chest, and he wrapped both his arms around her.

“What I’m getting at is that what you, and Noel I’ll add, have been trying to explain to me for a while, I finally understand it. I don’t know how to stop doing it. But I think it’d be a good idea if we had some kind of safe word. Like when it happens, you say ‘syndrome,’ I’ll come into the moment, and we can maybe take a time out and explore why I regressed to that place.”

“That works for me.”

“If we do that, my hope is I’ll work my way beyond it, and eventually it’ll go away. But even if it doesn’t, we’ll both be aware of it, rather than just you, so it won’t cause harm.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

But he loved her.

“Sounds good,” he grunted.

Her eyes moved over his face before they caught his. “You gave me a beautiful life, Remy. From the moment I met you.”

“Wyn,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers.

“I’m sorry. It’s like a tic. Me doing that, making you feel like you weren’t giving me that kind of life.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I never, ever wanted you to feel like you weren’t giving me everything I needed, Remy. Everything I needed and much, much more. Because you did, you do, and you do it in a way I know you always will.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“One thing’s for certain, you always gave me that. Even when we fought.”

That made him smile.

“I love fighting with you.”

She started giggling. “Honey, I know. You pick fights so we’ll fuck.”

He started moving backward, toward the bathroom, which would lead them toward the bed.

And he asked, “What would piss you off right about now?”

She stopped giggling and burst out laughing.

He loved that sound.

So he decided not to piss her off, and instead, listen to it.

But when she was done, he didn’t delay.

He dragged his wife to bed.