Repairing her makeup, she took a quick run at her hair with a hairbrush and applied a spritz of perfume.
She was all the way to her table before she realized she’d unconsciously primped herself for a man who hadn’t acknowledged she was alive since the night she’d told him she loved him. She’d gone so far as to visit his granny at her nursing home and learned that Declan was roaming Europe with some woman called Catriona. She’d taken an instant dislike to the name.
“All right?” Branna asked when she saw Marian’s touched-up makeup and anxious eyes.
She willed herself not to look in Declan’s direction. Branna seemed to understand that a lazy Friday lunch had become a wind sprint to the finish, not commenting at all when Marian asked the busy waitress for the bill.
Safely outside on the sidewalk a few blocks away, Marian came to a stop. Holding her bag up on her shoulder, she shared with Branna that Declan had “been someone special.” Begging off popping into the shops before they returned to work, she admitted she needed time to herself. Declan’s unexpected appearance had thrown her off-kilter. After a hug and some reassuring, Branna told her, “No worries. Call if you want to go out for a drink later!”
It was only hours later, while she sat alone in her apartment, that Marian allowed herself to cry. She’d just gotten off the phone with Charlotte and heard the good news.
“Early days yet. Don’t say anything,” Charlotte had warned.
She’d painted an effervescent smile on her face and made it through the whole conversation without a single snarky word. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault that their lives were coming together and hers was the same as always—working all hours of God’s day to come home to an empty, benign house.
Her phone rang. She expected to see Hillary, Tiziana, or Kathleen’s phone number, wanting to share in the good news, but no, it was Declan. Wiping her eyes, she hoped she didn’t sound all nasally when she answered.
“Marian, thank Jaysus you’re home. Can I come up?”
Rushing to the bathroom, she took in her smudged mascara, alarmed. “Where are you?”
“Downstairs. Hence the ‘can I come up’ part.”
“Yea, all right.” Throwing open the window, she let fresh air rush into the room. With any luck, the smell of self-pity would exit. She spoke calmly into the phone as she dashed around her apartment, stuffing dishes into the oven, throwing cartons into the bin, and trying to make the house look somewhat tidy.
When they were face-to-face, he kissed her cheek. “You look great. Can I use the toilet?” She stepped back and pointed in the general direction of the loo.
While he was gone, she rushed around the apartment, fluffing pillows, folding blankets, using her sleeve to dust as she moved from one surface to another. It was only when he cleared his throat that she realized she’d been caught.
“Sorry! Not expecting guests tonight. Working too hard to clean the place often.” If possible, he’d grown more handsome since lunch. “How’d the interview go?” she asked as she returned to her place on the ugly floral couch.
He sat down dangerously close to her. Heat emanated from him, as well as his luscious scent. Just as Marian was about to throw herself off the couch or onto him, he pushed himself back onto his feet.
“It went well.” He walked to the window and looked out at passersby. Turning his focus back to her, he continued, while pushing back his dark hair, which had flopped into his eyes. “I’ve been traveling quite a bit for work. Non-stop, actually. And I’m hoping to find something that will let me stay in one place longer than a few nights.” It was only then that she noticed his usually mischievous brown eyes lacked their spark.
“I didn’t know.”
“No? My granny told me you’d come to visit. I’d hoped she told you I was working like a rabid dog.”
“She told me you were travelling through Europe with a woman called Catriona.”
When he laughed, she felt the sting. About to let loose her anger, she stopped short when he raised his hands. “I’m guessing she was hoping to make you jealous.”
So angry she couldn’t hold her tongue, she hissed, “Well, it fecking worked. I tell you I love you, then I wake up and you’re gone, and I’m left to wonder. Where did you disappear to, anyway, you gammy piece of shite?”
“You love me?”
Still angry, she said, “I did.”
His shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
***
Kathleen Ehlers
Lying naked on top of a drop cloth, we stared at the ceiling, breathing hard. He was having a harder time, as he was laughing. “That wasn’t good for my ego, chérie!”
“All I said was that you did a good job at keeping time with the jackhammer.” I rolled onto my side, facing him, as I tried to keep a straight face.
“Merde, when will it end?” Sébastien asked, rubbing his temples.
“Sorry, I was hoping to distract you. Have I failed miserably?”
“No! You are very good at distracting me. I hope you don’t think I’m horrible, but I’m glad it is your mother and John who will be living here and not us.” There was a major renovation taking place nearby and the ta-ta ta-ta of the jackhammer was loud and annoying. We’d been assured that the project would be finished by the end of June; we could only hope that, six weeks later, it would be any day now.
“On the bright side, everything is painted, and all we have to do is make it presentable.” I dropped a kiss onto his shoulder and coiled myself around him.
We lay there another thirty seconds before he said, “We have a perfectly comfortable bed at home. Let’s get this finished and then have a nice evening out. It will be one of our last for several weeks.”
I had been trying to ignore the pain in my hip, so I was more than happy to take him up on his suggestion. I struggled to my feet and pulled him up while he gave me a lewd look. “I think we should have a new rule. At home, we go naked. I like this.” He trailed his fingers up my arm and along my collarbone before cupping my breast. His pained grimace had been replaced by a lusty grin. “It is amazing to think of what life was like a year ago, no?”
I smiled cheekily at him. “Yes. A year ago my apartment needed painting, and now it is done.”
He handed me my clothes, one piece at a time, while speaking one word at a time. “Admit it, that was your plan all along.”
I looked around the space that had become my studio. The warm white walls allowed for the best light to work in, and the few personal items I had left behind made the space homey and comfortable. I sighed in happiness.
As quickly as possible, we shoved furniture into place, made the bed, put towels out, and stacked my canvases and painting supplies in the second bedroom.
Standing under the spray of the shower, he lathered himself up and proceeded to glide himself against me. “Let me wash you.”
“Why, thank you.”
“My pleasure. I assure you.”
***
Over dinner, he had asked me if I felt “moved in.” I had assured him that I did, but said, “As much as I love living here, I think we might want to consider a long-term solution, an apartment that reflects both of us.”
I had been surprised how open he was to the idea. Truthfully, I had a bigger plan, hopefully one he would like. Now, lying curled around each other in bed, seemed like the time to broach it.
“Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“About the future…” I took a deep drink of water before launching into my idea. “I happen to know that the apartment above us is going up for sale at some point this fall.”
Once his surprised expression wore off, he was clearly intrigued. “How do you know this, chérie?”
“I ran into Madame Levi’s son, Denis. Apparently, they’ve convinced her to sell her apartment and move into a smaller place near them.”
“And…”
“We could buy it, hire an architect, and connect the two. Have one very large apartment. Do
n’t worry! I’m happy to hire the professionals, including your friend, the interior decorator who did this place, and see what she comes up with. We could live in mine while the work is being done.”
He ran his fingers across his lips and organized his thoughts. “It appears there is quite a bit to be discussed.”
4:00 PM, Wednesday, August 17
A Penny Drops
IN JARDIN VILLEMIN, I spotted Sébastien sitting on a bench with his head tilted back, face turned upwards to the sun. He looked utterly relaxed. I myself was a bundle of nerves. My mom and John were arriving tonight, and I still needed to stop by a market and get a few staples for them. I’d been surprised when he’d asked me here at the last minute, but there was time to get everything done.
I sat down beside him, and, instead of receiving a kiss, I looked into worried eyes. “What’s wrong?”
He pecked my lips. “Mon coeur!” He held my hand and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles.
“Just say it,” I said, far more bravely than I felt.
He frowned. “First, I need to apologize for waiting until the absolute last minute to talk to you, but I wanted to be wrong, so I did everything I could think of until the last minute.”
Frightened, really frightened, I asked, “What?”
He handed me the laptop that sat beside him on the bench, opening it for me. There was a picture of my mother, John, and the two of us when we were in Seattle. I stared at the picture.
“What? What am I looking for?”
He drew his finger between John and me. I didn’t see what he was trying to show me. “Have you seen John without a beard?” he asked.
“No. Never.”
“Try to imagine him without one,” he suggested.
I stared at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his face shape, looking for something that would help. My eyes skipped back and forth between his eyes and mouth. Then the penny dropped. “Oh, my god. Do you think he’s my father?”
He nodded. “I do. I saw the resemblance in Seattle but thought perhaps it was just my imagination. I kept looking at the photos, the two of you side by side. The beard hides quite a bit, so I did some research and stumbled upon one thing that leaves me with no doubt.” He took the laptop and said, “May I?”
I relinquished it from my clutch. With a few taps on the keyboard, a new window appeared, one with smiling faces. He handed it back. It was a picture of John and his co-workers in the art store, some kind of promotional article, dated last month. He was clean-shaven. Our similarities were striking. He had to be my father.
I stared at the photo for quite some time before Sébastien asked me what I wanted to do. Thousands of questions ran through my head. Had they had an affair? Had he known all along I was his daughter? Had Sarah, his late wife, known? Why hadn’t they told me when we were in Seattle? It would have been uncomfortable, but it was always going to be uncomfortable.
His squeeze on my hand brought me back to the present. “What do you want to do?”
“Talk to them. What else is there?”
***
Our reunion was challenging. It took my stilted hug for my mother to ask, “What’s wrong, Kathy?” Her eyes darted between Sébastien and me.
I noted John’s beard then smiled to reassure her that he and I were fine. “Let’s get you to the apartment, and then, if you’re hungry, we can go to our place for some food,” I suggested.
The time between dropping off their luggage and walking to our apartment felt interminable. When they didn’t bother with small talk or looking around the apartment, it was clear they knew something serious was happening.
Sébastien poured us all wine, while I set out food on the counter. As I went to cut the bread into slices, my mother stilled my hand. “It’s time to talk, Kathy.”
I followed her into the living room, where I chose to sit beside Sébastien, leaving her to sit on her own, while John hovered in the background, uncertain of his place in this.
“Out with it.”
Without hesitation, I leapt in and told them what I suspected. I turned my attention to John. “Are you my father?”
He rested his hands on my mother’s shoulders and said, “Yes.”
I drew in a sharp breath. There it was. The truth. “Did Sarah know?”
My mother took over. “Kathy, what I told you is true. John and I met in a bar, but it was before he and Sarah married. Yes, she knew you were John’s daughter, and, before you ask, the decision not to tell you was mine, not because John and Sarah didn’t want you to know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I teetered between relief they hadn’t had an affair and confusion over why they had all agreed not to tell me.
My mother stroked her brow with a trembling hand as she stared at the carpet. I looked at John for explanation. He gave none, just looked down at my mother, clearly following her lead.
Finally, she said, “Kathy, I have wondered every day of my life since John and Sarah showed up at my door, asking me if John could be your father, if there aren’t bigger forces in the universe. They had seen us at the grocery store, and John remembered me, did the math, and bravely told his wife that you could be his daughter.”
When she broke down in tears, John continued the story. “At the time, Sarah and I were still hopeful we would have our own children. Your mom thought it would complicate things if we told you, that somehow you might find it too confusing—wonder if I loved you as much, if you lived with her while my kids with Sarah lived with me. I’m not looking for a lame excuse. The simple truth is things were different then. Every decision made, whether right in the long run or not, was made with your best interests at heart.”
“So your solution was for me to take art classes from you and have Sarah babysit me after school?” I could not hold back the hurt I felt. “What about when I was older? What about then? What about when we were in Seattle in February?”
My mother answered, “You’re right, Kathy. Not telling you was wrong. We should have told you, but we didn’t. So how do we move forward?”
I drew in a deep breath, startled by her admission but lack of explanation. “Is that all? Nothing else?”
“What can I say? I was worried that, when I told you, you might think less of me. John and Sarah had a hard time keeping their marriage together when they found out she couldn’t have kids, and I didn’t want you to be a part of that problem. I, we, all of us were trying to protect you.”
Sébastien kissed my temple then got up and poured everyone a glass of water. When he returned, I gulped mine down. It took a while, but I absorbed all they’d said. When I focused on them, they sat side by side, looking nervous, like worried parents. “I feel bad that I never went back and saw Sarah after I left for school. Not once. I would have, had I known. I would have said goodbye to her when she got sick.” To my mom, I added, “To me, they were just two really kind people, a part of my childhood. She deserved to have been more.”
“You’re right, they should have been more. You should have been able to say goodbye.”
***
After we managed to swallow down some food, we walked them back to my old apartment and struggled through a strained goodbye. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As Sébastien and I lay in bed later, my mind reeled at the night’s revelations.
“Can I help?”
“No, not really. I understand. I just need to absorb it all. This might sound crazy, but I was just lying here, wondering if this is the reason I was so secretive. Maybe on some level I felt something. Or maybe I just want to find an excuse.”
“Children can be very intuitive. Maybe you saw or heard things that confused you.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m never going to fall asleep. I think I’ll get up and do something.”
Before I could move, he pinned me down. “I have an idea.” Tender passion smoldered in his expression.
Surprised how quickly I responded to him, I asked, “Is it better than this?” N
uzzling my lips into the crook of his neck, I nibbled him while I slid my hand up to his nape and caressed strands of his hair, curling them around my fingers. His skin grew warmer, and his scent became more intoxicating. I gently pulled him so that his lips met mine.
“You’re right, mon coeur. Your plan is better than mine.”
Wanting to feel all of him, I tugged at his loose cotton pants; he withdrew just enough to give my hands room to wander. I lifted the waistband and pushed them down, using my foot to work them off his legs to tangle at his feet. While he made quick work of removing them, I ran my hands across his chest, kneading his soft, springy curls. Beneath their silkiness, I slid my hands over his shoulders and down his back, memorizing the feel of his muscles as he forged his own exploration of my body.
He pulled up my nightie and pressed his forehead against my naked belly. I watched his passion climb as he stared at my erect nipples then darted his eyes to the small triangular patch of silk at the juncture of my thighs. When I went to remove my panties, he said, “Not yet, chérie. Without them, I will lose any control I have left, and I need to taste and feel every inch of you.”
When he lowered himself back down beside me, he laid a leg over mine, weighing me down. His chest hair taunted me, causing my nipples to ache painfully, wanting his caress. I undulated when he finally took as much of my breast into his mouth as he could. I arched upwards, wanting him to take every fiber of my being into him.
Gentle kisses turned into a tangle of writhing limbs and questing hands. Soon, we burrowed into the bedding. When he lifted himself off me, I protested, wanting more of him. Still, he abandoned my tender lips and arching body in order to straighten the pillows. “You were getting lost,” he said.
Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) Page 30