Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2)

by Celia Kennedy

  I smiled when he shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands wide. “Of course I have picked somewhere memorable to celebrate your turning twenty-one. I think Joséphine Chez Dumonet is the perfect place, both for quality and quantity."

  Chantal accepted his selection with a broad and enthusiastic smile. “Merci, Papa. An excellent choice.”

  He looked from her to me and said, “Bon. Now that is settled, I will collect our coats and we can go.”

  We stood out front while the concierge hailed a taxi. Suddenly, the clouds converged, resulting in a torrential downpour. Chantal and I stood undercover while the concierge and Sébastien pulled the doors open for us. As carefully as high heels and long gowns would allow, we dashed through large drops of rain and across shiny concrete into the taxi. The concierge firmly closed the door, enclosing us in dry warmth. The familiar scent of perfume, stale cigarette smoke, and diesel retreated to the background as the three of us tried to pat ourselves dry with Sébastien’s pocket square.

  “Papa, at least carry a handkerchief,” Chantal teased. Their heads together, they laughed gently over the silly comment. I watched them silently, enjoying the simple, intimate moment, and felt a part of something so much bigger.

  ***

  Amber light poured from the café-curtained windows. The cozy but expansive room bustled with activity as a young waiter immediately led us to a group of tables. Sébastien had invited a handful of Chantal’s closest friends to join us to celebrate Chantal’s twenty-first birthday. We sat crowded around tables in the back of the restaurant.

  When it was our turn to order, the waiter remarked, “The two belles femmes must be quite famished, no?” He glanced at Chantal and quietly whispered his name, Henri. Her coy smirk and the jut of her chin implied she found him intriguing.

  Over a variety of house specialties—steak tartare, cassoulet maison, and bœuf bourguignon—I set about getting to know Chantal and her friends better. Saying, “I’m very curious about your art studies,” was all it took to get them talking in between bites. Eventually, I revealed that my childhood had been filled with art classes. They eyed my expensive gown suspiciously. I smiled at the obvious effort they were putting forth to draw the line between starving artist and financially solvent businesswoman.

  Chantal endeavored to bridge the gap. “My father told me about the set you helped design and build. I saw some photos. Most women I know who help build sets spend their days in… Comment dis-tu…? Coveralls? I think I’d like to do that.”

  “To be honest, it was a lot of fun working on the set. I learned a lot. The lighting specialists were particularly patient.” I told them the story of how hard it had been to find the right color walls. “It also reminded me how frustrated I would get, trying to find the perfect color combinations when I went to paint something. I never had that ‘let’s try and see’ attitude. I wanted perfection every time, the first try.”

  Chantal and her friends took up the conversation as I thought about this and chewed on an olive. Sébastien took advantage of Chantal’s being swept up in another conversation to ask, “Chérie, how did the conversation go with your mother?” I had called her to share the girls’ congratulations and hint that they’d like to be invited.

  I quickly wiped my lips on the starched white napkin. “To be honest, I think she was surprised they wanted to attend. By the time we were saying goodbye, she reassured me that she was happy about it. I think she’s also a little star-struck.”

  He frowned. “I think I am missing something.”

  Chantal swiveled back to us when she overheard me say, “Somehow, Des Bannerman got thrown into the mix.”

  “Des Bannerman?” Her voice rose in excitement.

  I quickly explained my mother’s wedding and my connection with the British movie star. She enjoyed my story about Charlotte’s fifteen minutes of fame, back when the paparazzi thought she was his girlfriend.

  “Is he more gorgeous in person?” Chantal asked me animatedly.

  “Yes, but, more importantly, he’s a very nice man.”

  Without hesitating, Chantal turned to her father and squeaked, “Will you go to the wedding?”

  Both Sébastien and I were startled. He answered his daughter as diplomatically as possible. “A date hasn’t been set.”

  Obviously, I had thought about asking him to go, but, with no date set and other things very much on my mind, it had seemed odd to ask him before a few things were settled.

  ***

  As I relaxed back into the pillows on his bed, Sébastien, breathing heavily, gently traced his lips over the curves of my mouth. I crept my hands up and over his chest to his back. I wrapped my arms around him so that I was able to pull his spent body down onto me. The weight of him on top of me was so satisfying.

  Minutes passed before he slowly opened his eyes and found my lust-filled gaze. My desire for him had already rekindled. Or could it truly be extinguished? He released a throaty moan before trying to find the answer to this question.

  A sound resembling a whimper escaped me when he withdrew his mouth from mine. He slid his hand, which had been caressing my swollen, trembling lips, to my breast. At the sensation, I closed my eyes, and my breath quickened at his sensual attack. My chest rose and fell quickly when he trailed his fingers across to where my heart thumped and then down to the supple flesh of my thighs. Heat pooled between my legs and my desire for him grew. I cried out, urging him on. And with that, we were lost. I was desperate, in a place where I wanted nothing more than his rolling hips and questing hands to push me up and over the precipice of desire.

  The phone rang in the distance. I managed to ignore the persistent bleating until I recognized Liam’s joyful voice. “Charlotte’s had the baby. Give us a call if you want to know his name.”

  I continued to writhe, breathless.

  10:00 AM, Saturday, November 21

  The Grange

  BACK IN LONDON three weeks later for Sean’s baptism, Sébastien and I arrived late morning with a cool autumn breeze pushing at our backs and walked into utter bedlam. Before we caught our breaths, we were introduced to a sea of people. Liam’s brothers, their wives, and his parents were all in attendance, as were Charlotte’s parents. Once we walked the gauntlet, Tiziana, Hillary, and Marian signaled for us to find sanctuary with them in the living room.

  “Wow!” One word could not express how overwhelmed I felt at the noise and exuberance. “I wonder if they’re always like that.”

  Unaware that Charlotte had followed, I was startled when she said, “I’ve only been at a few events where they were all together, and I can promise you, it’s pretty loud!”

  So caught up in imagining how much “more” it could be, I didn’t realize Sébastien wasn’t behind me until I overheard Liam asking about his job at Condé Nast. After Sébastien answered, Liam’s brother, Rory, was muddled. “But aren’t you the prince of some country?”

  One of my drunken confessions to Sébastien, back in September, had been about my supposed predilection for royalty, a ruse I had invented after graduate school to explain why I never dated anyone. “I’m the prince of a very small municipality known as Ehlersland,” Sébastien said, turning to me with a raised eyebrow and wearing a grin.

  Liam intervened before his brother could parse Sébastien’s response. “Sorry. Pay no attention to him. He’s already been down to the pub and had a few pints.”

  Just then, two women came downstairs. Charlotte encouraged them to come sit with us. “Ladies, these are my sisters-in-law, Fiona and Aishling. Fiona is married to Aidan and Aishling is married to Dallin.” She pointed at each person as she spoke their names.

  While Hillary, Tiziana, and Marian endeavored to make conversation with them, I whispered to Charlotte, “What the hell was that all about?”

  Charlotte quietly responded, “I’m so sorry. Last time we were in Dublin, they were giving me such a hard time about the whole Des Bannerman incident that I tried to distract them by throwing you under
the bus. I told them about your pining away for a member of royalty. I just couldn’t take anymore. Sorry!”

  I gave her a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s no big deal. I’d have done the same.”

  When Fiona and Aishling joined their husbands, the girls grilled me about the state of things with Sébastien. I admitted, “Perfect. Wonderful. Great! Things are really, really good. Now shush! I don’t want him thinking we’re talking about him.” Except for the fact that I still hadn’t told him about the job offer. It was eating me alive, and, while I could fashion all kinds of excuses, the simple truth was I was a coward.

  “Well, unless he’s a fecking eejit, he knows we’re talking about him. He’s fresh meat, more or less,” Marian said as she eyed the Molloy brothers.

  Tiziana changed the subject. “Darlings, I need to talk to you privately. Do you think there will be time, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte said, “I’m way ahead of you. I have it all sorted out. The caterer is managing the food, and the Molloy brothers are taking Ted, Sébastien, and Marcus to play cricket or some such. Taylor has offered to take Fiona and Aishling shopping. Meanwhile, the grandparents are going to watch Sean while we pop out for an hour or two.”

  “I don’t feel good about leaving out Taylor, Fiona, and Aishling,” Hillary said.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I invited them, practically begged them, to join us, but Fiona and Aishling are intimidated by the lot of you. Not Taylor, so she’s happy to help out with them. Everything is fine.”

  Marian said incredulously, “How the feck do we intimidate them?”

  Charlotte dramatically swept her eyes over us and muttered, “God alone knows.”

  I shot a look at Sébastien. He was not a small man, but, in comparison to the Molloy brothers, he came across as… less physical. Tiziana followed my worried gaze. “We should just say a little prayer for them both, don’t you think?”

  My eyes shot to Ted and then back to her. I nodded, eyes wide.

  Charlotte stepped in. “When you called to say he was coming, I had Liam send an email telling him to bring whatever he’d need for a game of soccer or whatever. He responded and said he was looking forward to it. Don’t worry.”

  Just then, Taylor and Marcus entered the house, bearing gifts and balloons.

  With all the guests in attendance, a buffet brunch was served. When Sébastien sat beside me, I thanked him for being the Prince of Ehlersland.

  He chuckled loudly. “Anything for milady.”

  Mikkel Sørensen

  Hillary cautiously offered, “We’d go with you.” They had suggested a trip to Aarhus to visit Mikkel’s grave, in order to give that chapter of my life some sort of closure.

  I felt utterly gutted. Blindsided. I’d settled in for a peaceful chat with the girls and instead found myself in the middle of a conversation I didn’t want to be having. I wanted to shut out their questions, their sadness. All eyes were on me, waiting for a response. I searched my mind for one to give them, but, truth be told, I had enough weighing me down that I couldn’t find a starting point. The longer I sat there, the angrier I became, at them, at myself. I wanted to be happy. Fuming, I wondered, Who are they to take away my hard-found happiness by bringing up the past? In this moment, I understood why I hadn’t told Sébastien about Aksel’s job offer. I wasn’t ready to risk losing the happiness I had found.

  I unfurled my clenched fists and laid the back of my hands against the blistering heat of my flushed cheeks. I looked at Charlotte. “I now have a pounding stress headache. Do you have something?”

  She got up and headed toward the stairs. I closed my eyes. Her rustling and shuffling sounded thunderous in the otherwise quiet house. When she returned, she said, “Here you go.”

  I opened my eyes and saw a glass of something fizzy and two aspirins. “I hope this is alcoholic.” I thanked her acerbically before throwing the aspirin in my mouth and chasing it down with what turned out to be water.

  Back in her chair, she resumed staring calmly at me. I looked at each of my friends, one at a time, and gave them my best “Leave me alone!” look.

  While I knew they were trying to help, their timing was atrocious.

  I turned my attention to Tiziana, who’d started this conversation. “Why would you bring this up today?” I looked at each of them. “Why would you bring this up at all? If I wanted to talk about it, I would. I distinctly remember telling you, when you were in Paris, that we would talk about it someday. Today isn’t that day. I get to decide the day.” While I started out calmly, my emotions quickly got the better of me, and I ended shouting.

  Marian tried to speak.

  “Be quiet! That was a rhetorical question.”

  I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, but the harshness I heard in my own voice told me I’d failed. “Today, I am deciding to celebrate Sean’s birth, being alive, and being with people I love.”

  Marian continued, softly but determinedly, “Kathleen, I heard you. We all heard you. Today. Back in Paris. You’re in pain. You may not see it, but what happened to you affected all your decisions, and it will keep affecting how you move forward, until you deal with it.” She took a deep breath and boldly continued, “Ask yourself, why are you angry?”

  I struck the cushion on my lap and all but threw it at her. Why couldn’t she let it rest? Real anger had been bubbling below the surface, and god help me, her persistence caused me to lash out. “Do you want to go so that I can get closure? Or so that you can assuage the guilt you feel at not noticing I was in pain?”

  Her eyes immediately filled with tears, but she said calmly, “Maybe it is for us, too. Maybe it’s for Sébastien. Maybe it’s for everyone who loves you.”

  I wanted to storm out, I wanted them to leave, but I felt too exhausted to move. They quietly sniffled in the company of my anger. We sat in silence for quite a while, long enough for my temper to subside.

  With a sinking heart, I realized I was still angry at Mikkel for leaving me long before I was ready for him to go.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You want to help. And if it helps, you’ve given me plenty to think about.” I looked at them each individually. “Now, whether or not you like it, I am done talking about it. So, we either change the subject, or I go.” I’d laid my cards on the table, and then I waited.

  “Charlotte, did you manage to get that revolting brown stain out of Liam’s christening gown? And where in the name of Christ is the wine?” I was never more grateful to Marian for injecting levity into the room.

  Charlotte disappeared briefly, returning with a huge tray loaded with glasses, wine, and snacks. While she poured massive glasses of cold, crisp white wine, she talked happily about her baby and regaled us with stories I couldn’t process. I wanted to, but, unsurprisingly, I kept sliding in and out of the conversation.

  More stories to tell, but when? Or if? I didn’t know. After this afternoon, it was all too much to think about. Me, oscillating between listening to the present, trying to sort out the past, and figuring how it affected the future. Fuck.

  “Kathleen?” Marian barked at me.

  Startled, I yelled back, “What?”

  “Feel better?” She wore an arrogant expression.

  “Fuck you!” I said through more tears, residual anger flaring up. “No. Yes. You fucking cows.”

  “She does. She feels better. I told you she would,” Marian said confidently.

  Unraveling

  Late afternoon, when everyone had reconvened at the Grange, the men were worse for wear, and that was an understatement. Grass stains burnished their knees, bits of grass clung to their clothes, smudges of dirt were ground into their skin, and more than a few of them sported bloody patches. Rory held an ice pack to the side of his face with one hand while he gripped a bottle of beer in the other. When I spotted Sébastien and Ted, I was relieved to see them mostly unscathed.

  While we stood in shocked silence, Charlotte dared to ask, “What happened?”r />
  What began as their recount of an afternoon’s soccer game became an epic exaggeration of the men’s strengths and foibles. Michael, Sébastien, Aidan, and Marcus had played against Liam, Dallin, Rory, and Ted. “The Frenchie there is a crafty bastard,” Rory announced. “He convinced us all to play football instead of cricket. Turns out he’s a demon. I was blissfully running down the field when, from out of nowhere, bam! He slide-tackled me.” Throughout his recounting, he put his whole self into the play-by-play, throwing his body this way and that.

  Liam added his version, starting with maligning Rory. “I remember you joyfully running down the field, pummeling anyone who got near you. It was only when Aidan grabbed ahold of your arm that Sébastien got his foot on the ball. If you hadn’t given Aidan a kidney punch, the Frenchie wouldn’t have had to clout you! You can’t blame a man for defending himself.”

  “What?” As she entered the room, in one clipped word, Liam’s mother Niamh Molloy gave voice to her annoyance. All the Molloy boys dropped their eyes, unable to make eye contact with her as she cast her glare upon each one. “What were you thinking?” To me, her question sounded more like, “Wha t’wer ya tinkin?”

  Charlotte whispered, “She’s actually quite lovely underneath her tyrannical exterior.”

  Eamonn, Liam’s father, came to his sons’ rescue. “Boys will be boys, Niamh. If Rory got what was due him, good.”

  Niamh gave a heavy sigh of exasperation, looked at the ceiling, and whispered to herself, “Right, then,” before dousing them in a thick layer of Catholic guilt. “But you’ll look a sight in the baptism photographs, won’t you?”

  Rather than answer, the men unanimously decided it was time to get cleaned up for the evening. Liam, Marcus, and Ted chauffeured them to the local hotel for a shower and shave. Grandparents, sisters-in-law, and friends all disappeared in a flash. Marian took the opportunity to observe, “Just imagine, underneath those starched shirts and fitted suits, your Frenchie has some foin, foin, foin muscular legs. And his arse in those shorts… Jaysus, you must love getting ahold of that."