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God.
This man.
I pushed through his hands on my head to plant my face in his chest.
He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his breath in the side of my hair.
I stood in his arms, taking on the crushing weight of understanding I didn’t have the information, but that didn’t mean I failed to understand, for decades, my husband was battling some pretty fucking significant demons.
His mother had essentially shoved him down the stairs, he’d twisted this in his head that he had to be all things to me (as well as, obviously, Manon), and I had bitched to him about Bea’s ugliness, telling him the nasty things she’d said about him.
He should have told me.
But I knew one thing.
The Gastineau family were skilled with façade.
And I’d just learned Remy was the master.
This did not enrage me.
No.
No matter what I’d lost to it.
Nope.
You see, I did not go from a loving family in a small house on a small farm in a small town in Indiana to styling award-winning movie stars by backing down from a challenge.
Oh no, I did not.
If I wanted something, I got it.
I wanted my husband back.
All of him.
And by God, I was going to have what I wanted.
“Do you want Lisa to make the arrangements, or Noel?” I asked his chest.
His arms tightened. “Lisa can do it.”
“Do you want me to call the family meeting, or do you want to do it?”
“I’d like to further discuss Manon being there.”
I tipped my head back. “No, Remy. From here on out, from Yves being gay to you surviving your upbringing, there is no more hiding in this family.”
“She has to know she can count on her father for anything.”
“And you have to get, she already does.” I shook my head. “How perfect do you need to be, Remy?”
“I walked out on you when your business exploded, and I understood that you never again had to count on me for anything. How perfect do you think I need to be, Wyn?”
My God.
This man.
I forced my hands between us only to lift them and cradle his jaw. “I counted on you for everything.”
“If you did, you’d know you could throw away a glass of wine, because there’s more where that came from, and if that’s what you wanted, I’d break my back to make sure there always would be.”
Oh.
My.
God.
I closed my eyes, shoved my fingers up into his hair and pulled his forehead to mine.
“I need to know,” he said, his voice thick, and I opened my eyes.
“Know what?”
“Is this what it seems? Are we working on us?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said instantly.
That was when my arms got caught between us when he crushed me to him.
His face was in my neck, which meant I told his ear, “Let’s eat. Talk about our days. Get you through this with the kids, your parents, and then we can…figure out all the rest.”
“All right,” he said into my neck.
“Somewhere in all that, I’ll call Fiona and tell her it’s good to know the right people.”
He gave me a powerful squeeze that nearly made me peep.
Then he lifted his head and I saw conflict mixed with warmth and humor in his eyes.
This was the gift my husband gave me before he gave me another and smiled.
CHAPTER 14
Really
Wyn
“I’m going too,” Noel declared, pacing my office while I leaned against the front of my desk watching him.
“Noel, I told you this in the strictest of confidence,” I reminded him severely. “And anyway, you have to remain here to hold down the fort.”
He stopped pacing and glared at me.
“I met her. I liked her. I thought she was fabulous. A killer queen. The bitch even smoked cigarettes in vintage holders, and cigarettes are revolting, but she rocked that.”
I’d shared with Noel…well, pretty much everything about the night before at Remy’s. And clearly, Noel was feeling personally deceived that she’d turned out to be a monster.
Also clearly, Colette should have quit smoking a long time ago.
Last, even I had to admit she was fabulous.
Definitely a killer queen.
“I regret to inform you of this, but I thought you two were just in competition for Remy’s attention,” he went on. “That happens.”
“I love that you feel a part of my family,” I said.
He waved a hand to wave this comment away because Noel didn’t do sentimentality.
“I love how much you care about him,” I kept going.
“I love that you two are working things out,” he replied. “Though, I don’t know why you didn’t spend the night with him. He needs comforting.”
Dear Lord.
“Working things out is not the same as things being worked out,” I returned. “A lot is going on and we don’t need to confuse the situation by getting physical.”
“Have you considered the fact things getting physical might go a long way to working things out?” he asked.
