Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2)

by Celia Kennedy

  Still not recovered from this afternoon, I sputtered a mouthful of wine then coughed and wheezed. She was treading on dangerous ground.

  Hillary lurched forward in her seat and gaped. “Holy Hell!” she finally uttered, when she could speak.

  While I mopped up the mess with the back of my hand, I tried to decide what shocked me more: Marian’s comments or Hillary’s expletive.

  Unexpectedly, Hillary railed, “Marian! After this afternoon, don’t you think we could all use a break? Even for you, that is out of line.”

  While I agreed with her, Tiziana and Charlotte were tittering behind their hands while the other two faced off.

  Not one to go down without a fight, Marian defended herself. “Seems to me, Charlotte took quite a ribbing…” She winked lewdly before continuing. “…if I recall correctly, when she and Liam first took up. All we talked about was her chafing bits.”

  By now, I was laughing with Tiziana, while a pink flush rose on Charlotte’s cheeks.

  Not content with the havoc she’d wreaked, Marian went for broke. “Don’t forget those friction burns she tried to pass off as sunburn.” She tossed her head in Charlotte’s direction and then asked me conspiratorially, “Have any bruises or abrasions you’d like to show us?”

  I feigned a virginal air. “Of course not! We haven’t… you know—”

  I was going to say, “Played that rough,” but Tiziana’s flair for the dramatic intervened.

  “Bella, how can you resist him, darling? He’s so…”

  Marian, wearing a lecherous grin, slapped Tiziana on the knee and waggled her brows. “Don’t you worry. Our girl is just playing cat and mouse with him. Slowly reeling him in. I’m sure he’s beyond desperate at this point!”

  Hillary noted, “Those visuals, we did not need!”

  Taking it in stride, Marian waggled her brows. “Oh, I’m all about the visual!” Then she looked at me and said, deadpan, “Seriously, she believes you haven’t slept with him!”

  ***

  The evening’s party was in full swing when Sean Patrick Molloy finished tolerating cuddles and coos. He let out a huge bellow (or as big a one as a four-week-old baby can emit), calling for the familiar and comfortable scent of his mother. Tiziana, who had been nuzzling him, passed him to Charlotte.

  Just as she returned from putting Sean in his bed, the front door burst open, and there was a blinding light.

  “Bloody hell!” the newcomer shouted as he leapt inside.

  Hearing his voice, I raised an eyebrow and said to Sébastien, “Des is here!”

  The ruckus outside died when he closed the heavy wooden front door. There was dead silence within. Those who hadn’t encountered Des before stood in awe. The rest of us were surprised to see him. “Er, hello!” Des said to the group at large, waving his hands like windshield wipers. “Sorry about that,” he continued when no one said anything. Confused, he finally asked the obvious. “This is Charlotte and Liam’s house, right?”

  I heard Charlotte say, “‘A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.’”

  Des chuckled loudly and answered, “The Godfather.” Craning his neck, he peered around the Molloy men, who had jumped to their feet when he entered. “Charlotte, where the hell are you? Where’s my godson?”

  Defensively, Michael called out, “Oiy! He’s my godson!”

  Des ignored him when Charlotte hushed everyone. “Over here. Keep your voices down! Sean is upstairs, sound asleep. At least, he was before you and the paparazzi arrived on the scene.”

  Des put his arm around her. “Bugger. Sorry, Charly. Liam.”

  Pulling them in, he asked conspiratorially, “Seriously, why is he the godfather?”

  “Do you remember your little speech at Tiziana’s wedding, when we asked you to be godfather? You said you’d be crap at it—forget all her birthdays and then, when she’s eighteen, take her out for a few drinks and try to shag her!” Liam reminded him.

  Looking utterly amused, Des explained, “I thought we were playing the movie trivia game. When you asked me, I said the lines from About a Boy.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you threatened to shag our daughter,” Liam replied, ignoring Des’s argument.

  He quickly responded, “Unless I’m mistaken, you have a son.”

  Charlotte quickly intervened. “Desmond Allan Bannerman, we’d be delighted if you would be one of our sons’ godfather. Someday.”

  Des dramatically wilted, accepting defeat. Then he applied his swoon-worthy charm and retorted, “My godson’s more likely to get laid. And be famous. Plus, he’d be in my will. By the way, how is the cheese weasel?”

  Charlotte looked stunned. “What did you call him?”

  “It’s an endearment. Tell her.” Des looked around the room for support.

  The Molloy clan broke their silence, raucously supporting the oh-so-impish movie star.

  After a lengthy pause, Des suddenly turned his world-famous blue eyes on the occupants of the room. After spying Michael, battered and bruised, he admitted defeat. “Well, it’s him. It’s not like I’m going to arm wrestle the bloke. He’s bloody huge.”

  As Liam made the rounds, introducing Des to the other guests, Sébastien and I watched with amusement as the women asked for selfies. “He certainly is patient,” Sébastien acknowledged.

  "Honestly, I don't know how Charlotte survived it or how Des manages it daily. I would hate to be in the spotlight like that."

  Once the chaos of Des's presence dissipated, Charlotte and Liam announced dinner was ready. The grandparents sat first; as the others filled in the chairs around them, I peeked at Charlotte, who was the epitome of calm. Earlier in the week, she had called me, overwrought with hormones and emotions. In between soothing Sean and making herself some desperately needed food, she had grumbled about her party being sabotaged.

  "Why couldn't Michael and Hillary have waited just a bit longer to break up? This effing seating chart! All I wanted was for the people I love to come together and celebrate our baby's birth. Now, it's all a mess. New rule! None of my friends can date any of Liam's friends or brothers. I don't care if they are literally the last two people on earth.” Charlotte's voice had risen higher and higher as her emotions had built. Eventually, she’d sounded like an overinflated balloon hissing air. In an effort to calm her, I had taken the list of names and offered to sort out who would sit with whom, arriving in London with printed name cards.

  Searching the tables, I saw now that everyone was seating themselves as planned. I went to sit across from Sébastien, who held my chair for me. The stark white tablescape was offset by shabby-chic centerpieces made by combining three different blue-and-white china patterns in different shapes, styles, and sizes. Each had a vase with delicate, white ranunculus blossoms.

  As I studied one flower arrangement up close, Sébastien asked, “Interesting, no? There is something whimsical about them that reminds me of your seashell dresser.”

  “You have a seashell-covered dresser? Wherever did you find it?” asked Fiona, who sat beside me.

  Until now, Charlotte’s sisters-in-law had been fairly quiet. I immediately confessed my passion for flea markets and secondhand stores.

  Hillary joined in. “Kathleen’s always had a penchant for the unique. Not long after we met, she invited us over for wine one Saturday evening. Little did the four of us know that we were going to spend the evening decoupaging vintage maps, wallpaper, and music sheets to dressers, end tables, desks, and bookshelves!” She gave me an affectionate glance.

  I wrinkled my nose as I recalled that project. “It was a bit much!”

  Conversation hummed throughout the room. The food and wine helped everyone relax, and gradually people loosened up. When it came time for dessert, after dishes had been cleared, we had delicate tiffany-blue macarons with orange blossom buttercream, brought from Paris, nestled in vintage milk-glass parfait glasses.

  “Du Pain et Des Idées?” Sébastien’s said with surprise
.

  I nodded as Des gently tapped his knife against his wine glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I would like to propose a toast.”

  Liam and Ted shook their heads no; Des gave them scathing looks and continued without pause. “For those of you who don’t know, I had the pleasure of meeting Charlotte almost two years ago, in a casino in Chamonix. If you had told me then that I would be godfather to one of her children someday, my lawyers would have told you that you were crazy.”

  Genuine laughter rang throughout the room at this point.

  When it subsided, Des continued, looking at Liam. “Seriously, you are a lucky man, Liam Molloy. You have a wonderful wife who loves you! A son who will grow into a fine man. And me. You have it all, mate!”

  A resounding, “Cheers!” rang throughout the room.

  Before he sat down, Des quipped, “And to Charly! What can I say but that Sean is one lucky little bugger to have such a tyrannical wee thing as yourself for his mother. He’ll be loved by all, feared by many.”

  ***

  With his arms wrapped around me, I lay on Sébastien like a blanket as my heartbeat slowed. The bristle of his beard felt sharp against my skin as he pressed a kiss against my temple.

  “Am I heavy?” I asked groggily.

  His response was swift and soft. “Never.” Then his voice changed to one of concern. “Are you feeling better?”

  I laughed lightly. “Yes. Thanks. You were right, sex does cure all woes.” Once we’d returned to the hotel from Charlotte’s, I’d told him about my upsetting afternoon and how angry I’d become. I felt anxious when I thought back on it.

  I rolled onto my side, facing him, and drew patterns in his chest hair. We lay, staring at each other. I put aside all my secrets and sorrows, wanting to focus on this, the fact that it was so easy, so perfect to lie beside him. My thoughts remained there until my eyelids fluttered shut, and no matter how hard I tried to keep them open, they seemed intent on closing.

  3:00 PM, Sunday, November 22

  St. Nicholas Church

  THE NEXT DAY, all the members of Sean’s fan club stood in front of St. Nicholas’s Anglican Church to be photographed. The photographer, a friend of Charlotte’s, posed us in various combinations with the baby. The bright blue sky was chilly but refreshing as we milled about, waiting for someone to tell us what to do or where to go.

  The afternoon quiet was disrupted by a loud ruckus. A cacophony of voices emerged from the woodland that surrounded the church’s ancient cemetery. Sébastien quickly gripped my elbow, ready to steer me to safety. As the commotion quickly closed in, I heard voices call out, “Des! Look here! Over here, mate! Oy, is that your baby?” I saw Liam’s brows draw together and anger spread across his face.

  For those of us who’d been in this predicament before, we knew we had to move fast. The rest stood still, confused. I quickly herded those nearby inside the church. Once they got moving, I asked Sébastien to bring up the rear, as I made my way to where Marian, Hillary, and Tiziana circled around Charlotte and the baby. I took my position and held her arm to make sure she was steady on her feet, while calmly encouraging her to keep a firm grip on Sean.

  “Charlotte!” Liam called so fiercely, we jumped.

  “Christ, he’s intimidating,” Marian said approvingly.

  Instantly at Charlotte’s side, he directed her, “Take Sean somewhere and hide, in case they make it inside. We’ll handle it. Just try to relax.”

  The noise and chaos was crushing. Activity came from all directions. Even the church seemed to crackle with manic energy, once all of us were inside. Looking at the stressed-out family members, I could only assume they would finally understand what it had been like, two years ago, when Charlotte had been hounded relentlessly by the press. I looked for Sébastien, who was conferring with Liam.

  Des suddenly popped his head out of a curtained panel of one of the wooden confessionals, scaring everyone.

  “Fuck!” Charlotte squawked from fright. Most of us lurched in her direction then relaxed just a bit.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry. I tried sneaking in the back door. Bloody paparazzi! Never a moment’s peace.” Des’s eyes were full of regret. He glanced down at the squalling baby and observed, “I’m not sure what he’s doing, but your son looks like something straight out of Aliens.”

  I looked at Sean, whose little face was red and contorted. An angry squall burst from his tiny mouth. Charlotte looked around her. “I’ve got to feed him. Even if he isn’t hungry, it will quiet him.”

  Seeking a solution in the wide-open church, Sébastien hustled mother and son into the confessional Des had just exited. “You’ll be safe,” he promised calmly.

  Meanwhile, Liam and the rest of the troops were in position, ready to do battle. “Make sure the paparazzi don’t see her,” he commanded.

  I tried but failed to contain my snicker and ended up laughing. He gave me an angry glance. I tried to sober up and apologize, but just then, the vicar appeared from out of nowhere and seemed completely confused.

  “What on earth?” he uttered.

  Liam apologized and gave a brief explanation. Then he spoke loud enough that everyone could hear. “We don’t want anyone to recognize her. God forbid they think Sean is Des Bannerman’s baby. What a mess that would be!”

  You could almost hear, Oh! ricochet through people’s minds, as the room’s energy surged higher. None of the Molloys, the Youngs, or any of the friends wanted Sean’s parentage questioned or any related circus. We had all read enough tabloids in our lives to understand quickly what would follow if Des was associated with Charlotte’s baby.

  “Mon Dieu! How can you tolerate this?” Sébastien asked Des as he pulled off his overcoat, used the back of his hand to wipe his sweaty brow, and then tugged his shirtsleeves into place.

  Marian appreciatively observed him. “Your fella looks positively medieval. Ready to do battle while rakishly handsome.”

  I looked at him and found some primal part of myself appreciating his elegant battle stance and willingness to defend my friends.

  Liam, who peered through the window in the door, had finally found his sense of humor. “I feel like I should shout, ‘You can take our lives, but you can never take our baptism!’”

  “What? I thought you were Irish. You’re Scottish?” asked the photographer, Samantha, who was crouching nearby.

  Des noticed her for the first time. His eyes grew huge at the sight of the camera hanging around her neck. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he demanded.

  Liam took charge. “Des, this is Charlotte’s friend, Samantha, baptism photographer. Samantha, Des Bannerman, celebrity idiot!” Liam’s expression turned from bewildered to determined, as he asked his friend, “What are you going to do to sort this out?”

  Des glanced down at his cell phone before answering Liam. “Glad you’ve asked. I’ve called for help. Security is on the way.”

  “Next time, could you think of that first?” Liam gave him a look of derision, his expression making it perfectly clear what he thought of Des’s celebrity baggage, at the moment.

  Des sputtered a bit, clearly taking offense at having his intelligence called into question, but realizing he’d blundered again, he was immediately contrite. “You’re right.” He glanced around the church. “I’m going to talk to Ted. He’s nice.”

  Liam shot him an angry look, but, before anything further could develop, the vicar cleared his throat and fidgeted in his clergy robes. “Might I suggest we use the smaller baptismal font in the annex? There’s an indoor walkway and small stained glass windows. No one will be able to see us.”

  ***

  A half hour later, all twenty-six of us were crammed into a small space meant for more intimate gatherings. Once everyone had finished jostling for a view of the stone baptismal font, the vicar led us through the ceremony. The hullabaloo outside gradually dissipated into silence. The clergyman called for the godparents to step forward. Upon seeing Tiziana, his eyebrows shot h
eavenwards. Though covered completely from head to toe, her assets were still evident. The look on his face when he took in little Sean’s godfather Michael, bruised and hung-over, made me laugh. I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the noise. For that, I got a chastising glance from him. We proceeded through the ceremony at lightning speed. I think we had made quite the impression upon him.

  After the ceremony, we executed our exit strategy smoothly. Des was escorted from the church into a waiting limo by a swarm of NoNecks, while Ted and Tiziana allowed the paparazzi to bombard them, and Charlotte’s family peacefully exited, unnoticed. The rest of us watched with relief as we made our way to the street where the cars were parked.

  “Jaysus, that was a fecking nightmare! Liam would have Des’s balls if harm came to Charlotte or the baby. Is it always like that when he’s around?” I heard Rory ask Marian.

  “Yes and yes. Poor Des, though. ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we endeavor to succeed,’” Marian replied mirthfully.

  Impressed, Rory asked, “Did you just make that up?”

  “I did. I am a master at tangling up well-crafted literature.”

  10:00 AM, Monday, November 23

  Truth or Dare

  SÉBASTIEN HAD FLOWN directly from London to New York yesterday for work. Though I would miss him, I was excited to be having dinner with Anaïs and Yvette. We were going to try a restaurant Chantal suggested, Pirouette.

  Just before I dashed out the door for my final meeting of the day, my computer pinged. Foolishly, I took a glance.

  To: KEhlers@LOParis.com

  From: AkselPedersen@FlytningVærktøj.com

  Subj: Dates for a tour

  Mademoiselle Ehlers,

  It is my sincere hope that you have had a chance to review the offer we have made you.