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“I can’t speak for Remy,” I said carefully. “And he also doesn’t want me to, but what I will do is encourage you to think on things, Guillaume.”
He fixed his eyes on what I knew was nothing across the room and asked benignly, “And you don’t think I have, now doing this for decades?”
“I think that the thoughts you’ve been centered on have blinded you to the fact your son is standing right there.”
His body gave a mild jolt and his focus shifted to me.
So I kept talking.
“I also think you know your son. So you know, if he didn’t care, not only would he be nowhere near here, his wife and his children wouldn’t either. And that, Guillaume, is what you should be thinking about.”
And with that, I moved closer, then in, kissed his cheek and walked away, catching my daughter’s eyes.
She read me, turned and said something to Yves, and they both immediately made their way to their grandfather.
I approached Clare and Katy, who had formed a small knot because Remy, Beau and Jason were in their own.
“I hate you for those legs,” Clare, who was petite, said.
“I hate her for that hair,” Katy, who had great hair, said.
“We have to set aside our hate, sisters, because there’s so much youthful testosterone flying around this room, things are bound to give, and someone might get their dress torn,” I joked in reply, instead of what I normally would do. Find some way to shift the genre of words out of jovial envy, which included negativity that didn’t hide talking yourself down, even if at the same time you were talking someone else up.
I had great legs and great hair.
Clare had a great ass, also great hair, and was sweet as sugar.
Katy had a great rack, further had great hair and an awesome edge.
We were all fabulous.
The word “hate” shouldn’t come into that in any way.
But even if I’d chosen what I thought was a playful conversational gambit, I’d said the wrong thing.
Clare gave Katy a look then smiled tightly at me. “I need another drink. Do you?”
I shook my head and didn’t point out her glass was half full.
She took off in the direction of Guillaume.
I turned to Katy. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Ah hell,” she replied.
I’d said something wrong.
“What did I say?” I asked.
She visibly engaged in a mental battle before she came closer and shared, “Not my place, and you didn’t know, and Clare gets that. You’ve also got great boys, but considering Sabre’s not attempting to hide he’s smitten, you need to know. Nat was assaulted.”
My throat closed.
“I’m sure you remember, she used to be really outgoing, a total extrovert. But unsurprisingly, men scare the shit out of her now,” Katy shared.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, because I did remember that. I just thought she grew up, Sabre grew up, and even if you were outgoing, you could get shy around someone you were attracted to.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Jason lost his fucking mind. Beau had to sleep over at his house a couple of nights because Clare was worried he’d do something stupid. It was…a thing.”
“When did this happen?” I whispered.
“A year ago.”
“Does Remy know?”
She gave me a funny look, then it occurred to her Remy and I were not together a year ago, and she said, “I’m sure he does. Even if Remy is nearly a continent away, those guys act like they’re still in high school.”
Of course.
And in all that was happening, it wouldn’t be on Remy’s mind to say, “By the way, Nat was assaulted.”
My gaze wandered to Sabre. “I need to talk to my son.”
“I kinda think you don’t,” she said, and I looked back to her. “Sah’s a good kid. He’d never, not ever, and she needs to remember there are guys like that. She also needs to remember she’s beautiful and it’s okay for men to think she is, and they’re not all monsters. But more, for her to know there’s good attention to attract, and she’s funny and sweet and pretty, and it’s healthy to attract it. But I also think maybe you should, because if Jason clues in, the night could get testy. He tries to act like things are normal, but he’s always been protective.”
I nodded.
Her eyes went beyond me, and she murmured, “Oh boy, prepare to curtsy.”
I turned and watched Colette swan in wearing a forties style green dress with a keyhole neckline and dotted lace Dior kitten heels with the signature side ribbon.
It was simple, but as women like her were wont to do, she made it fabulous.
And then, it actually hurt to further watch no one give a damn she’d arrived.
On the one hand, you couldn’t act alternately queenly and cattily to everyone you knew for years and expect them to continue to kiss your feet. That kind of crown always got tarnished and people learned to avoid the strike of claws.
