by Harper Bliss
“You know how daddy is together with Angelique now?” Dominique spoke to them in a chirpy voice. “Well, the same goes for mommy.” A short pause. “I’m together with Stéphanie now. She makes me very happy, just like Angelique makes daddy happy.”
“But…” Didier started.
Here it comes, Steph thought. The muscles in Philippe’s forearms tensed.
“Where will she live?” he continued. “Here with us?”
Steph couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Will she pick me up from hockey like Angelique does?” Lisa asked immediately after.
“If you want her to, honey,” Dominique addressed Lisa, then turned to Didier. “As for living with us, well, she’ll certainly be around a lot.” Dominique glanced sideways at Steph. “Do you have any other questions?”
The conversation continued along the same lines for a while, amusing and at the same time surprising Steph. Kids these days, even children of MLR party members, were raised with a much broader spectrum of relationships.
Steph tuned back in fully once Dominique broached the subject of the public exposure of their affair.
“Because I will be running in the elections, people are going to ask me questions about my relationship with Stéphanie,” she started. “You may hear things about me. Kids at school may say things to you about it.”
“Like a few weeks ago?” Lisa asked.
“Yes.” Dominique nodded. “But back then, Stéphanie and I weren’t ready to make it public yet. We hadn’t even told you. Sometimes it takes a little while before people are sure of something.”
Steph cleared her throat. “Can I say something?”
“Of course.” Dominique sent her an encouraging smile.
“I’m very fond of your mother.” Under the table Dominique’s hand found Steph’s knee. “And you are the best kids, okay? No matter what anyone says, as long as we’re all happy, and honest with each other, everything will be cool.” Steph gave them a lopsided grin. “No one can touch us.” She closed with a wink.
“Do you want to play hockey with us on the Xbox?” Lisa asked.
“Do I?” Steph retorted. “Try to beat me, more like!”
“I can beat you,” Didier shrieked. “I beat Lisa all the time, and she plays hockey in real life.”
“Best get your game face on, little man. Get ready for some serious competition.” Steph had no idea what she was talking about. She spent her free evenings in bars, not playing video games.
“Go on,” Philippe said. “I need to speak with your mom for a minute.”
Lisa and Didier hopped into the lounge room without further ado.
“Maybe you should stay, Stéphanie,” he said when Steph got up to join them. She sat back down promptly.
“I think it’s very brave what you’re doing, Domi.” Steph hadn’t expected that, but people could surprise you. That was one thing she’d learned over the past few weeks. “If you need any help—anything at all—I’ll be there.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Dominique said in a very subdued un-Laroche like manner. She was clearly touched.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re facing an uphill battle.” He smiled sheepishly. “Have you told Xavier?” His eyebrows quirked up.
“Nope.” She turned to Steph. “What do you think? Are you up for an impromptu dinner at a stately manor in Neuilly? Let’s shake the place up a bit. God knows that old-fashioned, uptight district could use it.”
Nerves tightened Steph’s muscles. She’d only met Xavier Laroche once and, apart from causing a major fight between her and Dominique, he’d also come across as a man you would prefer to agree with. “Now?”
“Yes.” Dominique nodded determinedly. “No time like the present. We’ll take the kids.”
“I’d need to go home and change first.” Steph didn’t know what else to say.
“You don’t have to change your appearance for my father, Stéphanie. You’re perfectly fine the way you are now.” Dominique scooted closer. “In fact, you—”
“Ahum.” Philippe cleared his throat.
“Sorry.” Dominique shot him a smile that didn’t convey apologies at all.
“It will be fine,” Philippe said, trying hard to look unfazed by Steph and Dominique’s overt closeness. “I’d best get on.” He pushed his chair back. “I’ll pick them up on Thursday evening.”
“Philippe.” Dominique stood and faced him. “Merci.”
* * *
Steph didn’t really have much opportunity to give in to the crushing ball of nerves sitting in her stomach, in between answering Lisa’s incessant questions and keeping an eye on Didier. She’d spent time with the children in the south of France, and they’d been full on, bursting with energy, but everything had been contained within the boundaries of Xavier Laroche’s summer house. Carting them off in a car to Neuilly and keeping them occupied now seemed like an entirely different matter.
Still, they stood in front of Dominique’s parents’ house way too quickly for Steph’s comfort. Despite approaching her mid-thirties, she’d never been formally introduced to the family of a girlfriend before. As first times went, this one was quite overwhelming.
The front door opened and the kids stormed into the house, in search of Jack the labrador. Dominique’s mother spread her arms and embraced Dominique as though she hadn’t seen her in weeks. Perhaps she hadn’t. Steph didn’t know.
She was a regal woman, standing a few inches taller than her daughter, with dark brown hair sprayed into a perfectly sculpted coiffure, lips painted a subtle red, and dressed as though she were ready to go to a fancy restaurant. Or the opera. Or a much-anticipated MLR event.
“And who have we here?” Eléonore asked. “Ah, I think I recognise that pretty face.”
“Maman,” Dominique started, but her mother didn’t give her a chance to finish.
“Stéphanie, your PR advisor and partner,” she said, and dragged Steph into a tight embrace. As she stood in Eléonore Laroche’s arms, Steph was alarmed by the public display of affection. This was Neuilly. The strong-hold of the MLR. You never knew who was cruising the streets for juicy tidbits of news. For all she knew, Le Matin staked out the mighty Xavier Laroche’s house so as to not miss anything of the comings and goings at his place.
“How did you…” Dominique started again.
“I’m your mother. You can deny things all you want. The truth doesn’t escape me.” Eléonore let go of Steph and regarded her. “You’re a pretty young thing, aren’t you?”
Steph stood there flabbergasted, no longer concerning herself with possible PR disasters. Of all the ways she had envisioned meeting Dominique’s mother would go, the manner in which things were actually unfolding had never crossed her mind.
“Not so bad yourself,” Steph found herself stammering, then immediately regretted it. Not that it wasn’t true, just extremely inappropriate. That flirty reflex of hers would never really go away.
To her relief, Eléonore burst out laughing, while Dominique’s face contorted into a what-the-hell? expression.
“Let’s go inside, for crying out loud,” Eléonore said. “Your father will be delighted to see you.”
A fan of dark humour as well, Steph thought, still a little mortified, as they filed into the long hallway together.
Xavier Laroche sat with Lisa on one knee and Didier on the other, regaling them with a story about how Jack had caught a fox the other day.
“Don’t tell them that, Papa,” Dominique said. “They’re far too young for tales of animals killing each other.”
“It’s nature,” Xavier Laroche balked in his booming voice. “They can’t learn about it soon enough.” He patted the children on the back, indicating they should slide off his lap.
“Chérie.” He took Dominique’s right hand in his two hands. “What brings you here on an ordinary Tuesday evening? Not that I’m not pleased to see you.” He focused all his attention on Dominique, seemingly avoiding eye contact w
ith Steph.
“Salut, Papa.” Dominique kissed her father quickly on both cheeks. If she was nervous at all, she didn’t show it. But she was good at that. It was a basic skill in her profession. “I believe you’ve met Stéphanie before.”
CLAIRE
Claire could hardly hang out at Saint-Vincent in the hopes of running into Doctor Marie Dievart. What she could do, though, was refuse to feel guilty about this unrelenting desire to get to know the neurosurgeon better. Had she not proven how loyal a friend she was over and over again? Could she, just this once, simply think about herself? Because another thing she couldn’t do was stay home alone and face the emptiness. The remnants of Margot in her flat. That drawer full of toys. The memory of her leather jacket draped carefully over the back of a chair. The way she could eye Claire—before Inez had come back—and Claire would know exactly, in the split second of their glances crossing, what that determined stare meant. That glare had never had the same effect on Claire after their reunion. How could it have? If all Claire could think of was how Margot had quite possibly looked at Inez in the exact same way?
It was truly over between them and, strangely, that was the only thought Claire could find real comfort in. Because at least now she knew. The decision had been made. No more crushing doubt and endless guilt trips because she wanted to be with Margot but then, when push came to shove, she realised that, no, she didn’t. She couldn’t.
So who was going to deny her a short bout of fun? Because Claire had seen it in Dievart’s eyes. All she’d needed was a brief moment to know how things stood, how she operated. And Nadia had only confirmed Claire’s suspicions about Saint-Vincent’s brand new Chief of Neuro’s proclivities in the bedroom.
Steph was being introduced to Dominique’s children as her partner tonight, and this very morning, Nadia and Juliette had applied for a marriage license at city hall. Who were they to judge her, with all their happy endings and opinions coloured by, ultimately, getting what they wanted?
So, Claire opened her laptop and surfed to Saint-Vincent’s website. On the front page a news alert blinked the arrival of Doctor Marie Dievart into attention. Claire clicked the link and looked straight into Dievart’s pale eyes. She was skinny, the hollow of her neck deep and inviting, her cheekbones sharp. Claire wanted her. It really was as simple as that. She wanted the surgeon to do the things to her that haughty look in her eyes promised.
She clicked through to the webpage with the doctor’s contact details. To her relief, an e-mail address was displayed. Most likely it wouldn’t put her in direct contact with Dievart, but if she inserted a personal message in her e-mail, perhaps it would be brought to her attention. Because Claire was no fool. That woman was a hunter, and Claire had clearly felt herself being preyed upon when Nadia had introduced them. The hand, as well as the gaze, had lingered. It all came down to crafting a cryptic message that was enticing enough. Luckily, Claire had written enough PR copy in her time to sell the person she knew best. Herself.
Doctor Dievart,
This is not an emergency of medical nature, but I do feel the urgent need to see you soon. Please find my contact details below.
Claire (N.’s friend)
She didn’t type Nadia’s name in full, hoping just the first letter would be enough of a clue to inform Dievart of who was contacting her. Game play was written all over Dievart’s face, anyway. If she ever got to see this e-mail, which Claire sent from a personal account especially created—years ago—for the purpose of internet dating and, now, contacting Doctor Dievart, she would get the message.
Sending this e-mail reminded Claire of that time she’d let Steph convince her to go on a date with a woman she’d encountered via a dating app. Sarah. What a disaster that had been. Things were different now, though. She was by no means over Margot, but she knew, deep down in her bones, that they’d made the correct decision. Right now, in the aftermath of what had happened with Inez, she and Margot could not be together. Tried, tested, and failed.
And perhaps Claire was not enlightened enough, but so what if she wasn’t? She believed in other things, such as, on this very evening, extreme distraction. TV wasn’t going to do the trick. She wasn’t expecting a reply to her e-mail any time before the next day’s office hours. So she found herself actually thinking of contacting Captain Jennifer, the sexy pilot, but the odds of her being in Paris were very slim. Additionally, her encounters with Jennifer were always planned days in advance, so the foreplay could already begin in their head, accompanied by steamy text messages sent back and forth, so their eventual meeting was always a frenzy of releasing pent-up lust, of groping at one another until their energy ran out.
What a contrast with the controlled manner in which she and Margot had made love. It had been passionate, no doubt, but Claire was fairly certain Margot hardly ever acted on a whim and orchestrated their sex sessions before they took place. Perhaps not into minute detail, but the things she did were thought through, because that was how someone like Margot went about things. Which made her transgression with Inez all the much harder to stomach.
The personality traits that had caused Claire to fall so head over heels in love with Margot in the first place—her strong morals, her unspoken but clearly unwavering stance on loyalty, her straightforwardness, and purity—had been the death knell for them in the end. Any other person, Claire could perhaps have absolved, but she couldn’t forgive Margot for straying so far from herself for another woman.
But Claire didn’t text Jennifer. Before she even finished her thought, an e-mail notification appeared on her laptop screen. She couldn’t help it. It was probably nothing, or spam, or another undesired message that secret e-mail addresses seemed to attract, but her heart beat faster nonetheless.
‘Dr. Marie Dievart’ the ‘From’ field read. Claire could have sworn she felt something twitch in her nether regions just by glancing at that name. Frantically, she clicked the e-mail open.
Feeling lonely tonight, Claire?
Oh shit. Almost immediately, Claire felt as though she was in over her head. As though she had overplayed some invisible hand of cards. Thoughts raced through her brain, making it impossible for her to think clearly. Because, of course, the mere thought of engaging in any activity at all with Marie Dievart had distracted her, but now the prospect of it becoming real frightened her.
Then, her phone started ringing. An unknown number. As she picked up, it dawned on her that she’d given the doctor all her contact information, including her mobile number.
“Allo,” she said, an audible tremor in her voice.
“Claire.” Dievart’s voice sounded confident, indicating no trembling at all on the other end of the line. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, but have you and Doctor de Hay split up?”
“We have.” Sadness and excitement warred inside Claire’s heart, resulting in more tremors in her voice.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” A display of sympathy Claire had not anticipated. “But this works in my advantage, of course.” A short-lived one, Claire thought. But she knew what this would be like, which was one of the main reasons she’d craved this sort of no-nonsense transaction.
“Of course,” Claire stammered.
“I’m not one for a lot of banter over the phone, Claire.” Dievart paused. Hearing her say her name like that made Claire feel glad she was sitting down. Already Dievart made her weak at the knees. “Yours or mine?”
“Yours,” Claire quickly said. She didn’t want to be around Margot’s lingering presence. Didn’t want Dievart going through that drawer looking for something to use on Claire that Margot had bought.
“I’m still in a hotel. Along the Canal Saint-Martin. Le Figaro. Do you know it?”
“I’ll find it.” Claire’s heart hammered in her throat.
“Room 306. I’ll be expecting you. You have my number if anything comes up.” With that, Marie Dievart hung up, leaving Claire shaking in her chair. The sheer confidence of the woman was enough to make her bl
ood beat thickly in her veins. How could she be so supremely sure of herself? The thought of being in bed with someone like that spurred Claire on to get over her trepidation and quickly head to the bathroom to take a shower.
Ideally, at this point, she would have called Steph or Juliette, but that was out of the question now. Fifteen minutes later, she was out the door, wearing her nicest underwear and smelling so seductive, the taxi driver kept glancing back at her in his rearview mirror.
MARGOT
Margot, a woman of logic and science, who knew exactly what finishing this bottle of wine would do to her body, found herself not caring one bit. She’d flirted with alcohol abuse—because in Margot’s book drinking an entire bottle of wine on her own constituted abuse—before, briefly, after Inez had left to save the world, but she had quickly come back to her senses. Which was why she hardly ever drank, except in the past few months, during which her intake had gradually increased. Now, in the face of having screwed up so royally, moderation was a faraway notion, a word invented by physicians like herself to protect people’s livers from too much damage. But Margot didn’t care about her liver. She only cared about forgetting about that last moment with Claire, underneath the Eiffel Tower, and how, perhaps, she could have said something to make a difference, although she knew all too well it would have been inadequate.
Margot was not a woman of big words anyway. She made her most important statements through actions. Claire knew that just as well as she did. Breaking up with Claire to protect her from further heartbreak was one thing, but Margot hadn’t anticipated that going to Inez’s apartment would have such repercussions. She’d been so transfixed by Inez’s return, so confused by emotions she couldn’t deal with, that she hadn’t considered that giving in to that increasing desire for Inez would backfire so spectacularly. While, clearly, she should have known. Because it went against all her own beliefs of letting the past be the past, and not betraying someone she loved, even in a moment of weakness.