Season Five: French Kissing, Book 5

by Harper Bliss

  “I’m not the one you have to talk to about this.” Steph unearthed two containers from the bag and thrust one in Margot’s direction.

  “How does it make you feel?” Margot asked.

  “Like my life is now reduced to Dominique’s dilemma, and it will be until a decision has been made.”

  Margot nodded. “The things we put our significant others through.”

  “I actually came here to see how you’re doing,” Steph said.

  “How thoughtful of you.” Margot checked the ingredients of the salad. “Really.” She meant it. “I’m doing fine.”

  “Well, that’s the end of that conversation then.” Steph smirked.

  Margot leaned back in her chair. “Have you been asked to come here?”

  “I don’t need to be asked,” Steph said.

  “I know you’re a very busy woman.” Margot sighed. “You know I’m not a talker. But it means a lot that you’re here.”

  “I wasn’t going to recommend you go see my shrink, you know.” Steph ran a hand through her hair. For some reason, it made Margot think of the very first time they’d met and Steph had hit on her in the elevator of Nadia and Juliette’s building. Margot had been quick to dismiss Steph at the time. She’d had no way of knowing Steph would become one of her dearest friends—and Margot was the kind of person who could count her good friends on the fingers of one hand.

  “Are you still seeing the shrink?” Margot asked.

  “Not often. Dominique and I have found a sort of balance. We’ve found our way more in our new roles.”

  “Regardless of what everyone else wants, what would you prefer Dominique decide?” Margot gazed into Steph’s clear, blue eyes.

  Steph pursed her lips. “It’s a tough one. I didn’t even know it was an option. Not for one single second have I ever thought that Dominique wouldn’t run again. Instead of blood, she has politics running through her veins, if you know what I mean. She’s a politician through and through and she can’t go any higher after the presidency. This is it. That she would even consider not running again has really thrown me.”

  “Is she afraid of the competition?” Margot asked. Most of the people in her own life had much more left-wing inclinations than her—and were riveted that someone as capable and charismatic as Anne Rivière was stepping up for the moderate left.

  “No way. That would never be the reason.”

  “So, it’s personal.”

  Steph nodded. “Every day, I witness first-hand what being president does to a person. The amount of sacrifice it requires. I just hope I’m not the reason she’s reconsidering. I couldn’t live with that. Not after everything we went through to get her to where she is.”

  “The world changes all the time. Our brains have a hard time keeping up. This is true for someone even with the least demanding job. Imagine having to deal with all of that and run the country.”

  “I think it’s mainly about the children. Sometimes, I can just see on her face how the guilt of not spending enough time with them is ripping her to pieces. She’s their mother, yet she has to prioritise different matters and people every single day.”

  “I don’t have children, but I do understand.” This made Margot think of the sacrifice her birth mother had made. Was she still alive? Did she think about the children she’d given birth to and had given away? Had it happened under duress? There were so many questions Margot wanted answers to.

  Margot’s cell phone started ringing.

  “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  “Of course,” Steph said.

  On the phone, Margot was told her presence was urgently needed in the emergency room. As was usual for most days, she hadn’t even touched her lunch.

  “Duty calls.” She rose. “Thanks so much for stopping by. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” She walked from behind her desk and whereas prior to the death of her parents Margot would have said her goodbyes with a quick peck on the cheek, she now drew her friend in for a hug.

  Aurore

  “How’s Zoya?” Aurore asked Camille. “I think pretty soon we won’t be allowed to socialise any more, if she’s working on the Laroche campaign at Barbier & Cyr.”

  “Zoya’s just fine. How are you?” Camille asked.

  Aurore had invited her for one of their beloved walks in the Bois de Boulogne—and to break the news that she and Solange had called it quits.

  “I guess it wasn’t meant to be from the beginning. We were just two fools in love.”

  “I disagree. Look at me and Zoya. If ever there was a romance that was not meant to be, it was ours. And look at us now. I think my granddaughter may prefer her company over mine.” Camille turned her head and gave Aurore a wide smile.

  “My turn to disagree. You and Zoya were meant to be, which is why you’re still together. And why Zoya left her life in Australia behind and started over, here in Paris, for you. I don’t see Solange making that kind of sacrifice for me any time soon.”

  “How about you? Would you make a sacrifice for her?”

  This gave Aurore pause. She could always count on Camille to ask her this kind of question. “Maybe I should suggest we move to Australia and start over, free of political convictions and alliances.”

  “That hardly answers my question.” Camille gently squeezed Aurore’s arm.

  “I could never sacrifice what I believe in for a woman.”

  “But you could…” Camille started, then paused. “It would be easier for you to not be part of Rivière’s campaign than for Solange to not be part of Dominique’s. The woman is so defined by her job. It’s different for you. You have a whole other career on the radio.”

  “Maybe.” Aurore didn’t give herself time to continue that particular train of thought. “But we’ve been waiting for a star candidate like Anne Rivière for such a long time.”

  “Maybe you’re just using politics as an excuse.” Camille’s voice had dropped an octave.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m a member of the MLR and we get along,” Camille said.

  “But I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

  “I don’t see what difference that makes.” Camille stopped in her tracks. “I think stating political differences is not telling the entire story.”

  “Of course it’s much more complex than that. Solange, she’s… the opposite of me on so many levels.”

  “But that’s what drew you to her in the first place.”

  “I think that might have run its course now.”

  “Are you saying you’ve fallen out of love with her?” Camille started walking again.

  “No, I—” Aurore took a deep breath. “I still love her and I will always have a soft spot for her, but we tried, and we failed, time and time again. I think that’s a message that can’t be ignored.” She bumped her shoulder into her friend’s. “How about some sympathy for your friend with the broken heart instead of all this admonishing.”

  “I do have sympathy for you, but I’m giving you such a hard time because I don’t think you and Solange have reached the end of your story yet. I’ve known you a long time. She was different from the women you usually date—and you chose her for a reason.”

  “I wanted to settle down but it turns out Solange Garceau is the worst person to do that with. She’s married to her job. And there’s another campaign coming up.”

  “So it’s really about playing second fiddle?”

  “Amongst other things, yes. And about still not having been introduced to any of her family or friends—although she may not have any friends except for the members of the MLR party leadership.”

  “But you still love her.”

  Aurore sighed. “Of course I still love her, even though at times, she strikes me as the most unlovable person ever.”

  “Aha.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the so-called expert on relationships,” Camille said.

  “It’s simply not meant to be as diff
icult as it was between Solange and me. And it was bloody difficult, I’ll tell you that. Not even the best sex in the world can make up for that. I truly believe we’re both better off with it being over.”

  “Maybe. But I saw Solange change as well, you know. She blossomed in your company. Sometimes, I could even detect a smidgen of warmth in her glance.” Camille chuckled.

  Aurore didn’t reply. Her brain was engulfed in memories of Solange. All the contradictory images she conjured up. Naked in bed with a rare, relaxed smile on her face. Perched on the edge of the sofa, her glasses sliding down her nose, hyper-focused on a sheet of paper. Solange arriving with a big bouquet of roses, a smile plastered across her face, claiming that buying Aurore a bunch of red roses was the ultimate sacrifice. Solange pacing in the hallway, her phone pressed tightly to her ear, her voice clipped as she gave orders.

  She could go from ice queen to exquisite warm body in Aurore’s bed in a matter of minutes. They might not have spent the biggest part of their time together, but Aurore did miss her presence.

  “Hey,” Camille said. “Solange might be an MLR hardliner, but she works for the best president we’ve ever had.”

  Aurore had to admit that Dominique Laroche wasn’t too bad. Through Solange, she had gotten to know Dominique better, and she couldn’t really say anything bad about her. You could just tell by looking at her that everything she did was in the best interest of the country—she wasn’t power hungry, nor was she in the pocket of big business. And Dominique had a clear track record of voting against her party’s line when it came to matters that were very close to Aurore’s heart.

  “That is a redeeming factor,” Aurore admitted, allowing a small grin to form on her face. “Earlier, when you asked if I was willing to make a sacrifice, did you mean support Dominique Laroche?” If Goffin, the previous socialist president, had had the nerve to make a comeback, Aurore would have stayed far away from his campaign. She might even have backed Laroche’s re-election in public. But Anne Rivière had changed everything—and she was a friend.

  “That’s probably a bridge too far. But you could distance yourself from Rivière. The way I see it, that’s the only way.”

  “The only way to what?” Aurore asked.

  “To you and Solange getting back together,” Camille said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s just the thing,” Aurore said. “This time, Solange and I aren’t getting back together. It’s over. For good.” Sadness bloomed in Aurore’s chest. She didn’t have to waste any more of her energy fighting with Solange, but she could no longer look forward to sliding into bed with her after her radio show, to which she knew Solange would have listened. Would she still be listening now?

  Solange

  Solange looked at the garment as though she could will it to disappear just by gazing at it fixedly. Aurore’s bra remained slung over the back of the chair. It felt like it had been there forever.

  Aurore had rarely come to Solange’s apartment and when she had, she hadn’t left a lot behind. How this bra had ended up here, Solange couldn’t explain. Did Aurore leave not wearing one? That might very well have been the case. She was the type to go braless whenever the opportunity arose. This deviated Solange’s train of thought to Aurore’s breasts. Her beautiful, soft, ample bosom. Solange pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry at the memory of Aurore’s breasts, for heaven’s sake.

  But Aurore’s bosom hadn’t just aroused Solange beyond belief. It had provided warmth and comfort after difficult days at the Elysée—and in Solange’s life, most days were difficult, every single one a battle against something. Nothing ever ran smoothly even though it was part of her job to ensure smoothness in the president’s life.

  Every morning, she knew she would lose most battles, but she kept going regardless. Because that was what she did. And now she no longer had the comfort of Aurore’s warm body and soothing words. Now that she needed it most. Now that there was a chance that Dominique might not run again.

  Solange shot up off the edge of the bed, grabbed the bra—it was red, of course—from the back of the chair and got ready to toss it in the bin. But she couldn’t do it. A fleeting thought shot through her mind. If Dominique really decided to do the unthinkable, maybe she and Aurore stood another chance. One last go at their train wreck of a relationship.

  No. Solange shook off the thought. Dominique running again was far more important than the current state of her heart, which was, she had to admit, feeling a little broken. Or at least frayed at the edges.

  Solange needed this fight. She wanted to thrash Rivière in the upcoming elections. She wanted to knock her out in the first round. Although, five years on from the previous election, she wasn’t so sure Dominique could beat the far right, whose populist discourse kept gaining popularity.

  As she stood there with Aurore’s bra in her hands, her fingers rubbing along its silky texture, she concluded it would be a really tough race. The race of a lifetime. Unlike perhaps anyone else on the planet, the toughness of the race didn’t faze her. It spurred her on.

  Solange would work harder and smarter than anyone else to beat the Socialists and the far right. She believed in the values of the MLR too much, and in the work she and Dominique had been doing. She could convince the citizens of France that Dominique deserved another term. She knew, in her bones, that she could do it. Aurore might have always claimed that Solange wasn’t that in touch with her intuition, but she knew this much. She felt it in her gut. Dominique would run again. And Solange would help her get elected—again.

  Solange draped Aurore’s bra over the chair. She couldn’t let go of it yet. Maybe she was too much of a sucker for punishment, but she believed seeing it when she woke up in the morning would spur her on to be better at everything she had to do that day.

  The first thing on her to-do list today was to convince Dominique to run. But Solange knew Dominique well enough to know she couldn’t be heavy-handed about it. She needed a plan and she needed allies. Her most important ally would be Stéphanie.

  She could only hope Steph was equally as surprised by Dominique’s hesitation. If Solange had to go up against both of them, she wasn’t sure she could win. Not without getting Xavier Laroche on board—and he wasn’t getting any younger. He didn’t have the same grip on the party as he used to. Dominique didn’t take his advice unequivocally any more. She was a confident president, who no longer needed her father’s guidance. The next generation of politicians had truly taken over. Something for which Solange was glad, but she could do with the formerly powerful Xavier Laroche in her camp right now.

  She checked the clock. It was four-thirty. Too early to go to the office. She hopped into the shower and, in her head, composed an email for Steph, asking her to come and see her at her earliest convenience.

  “I take it you don’t want to cry on my shoulder over your breakup with Aurore?” Steph asked as soon as she walked into Solange’s office.

  “Good morning to you too, Stéphanie.” She and Steph would never be the best of friends, but they had found a balance, a common ground where they could operate in each other’s best interests. That common ground was Dominique, of course. For both of them, the centre of their life. If anything, Solange had enjoyed having Aurore in her life because she offered a certain amount of distance from her all-consuming job. Now it was all Dominique and the MLR all the time again.

  Steph rubbed her eyes. “Sorry to be so blunt. Dominique was tossing and turning all night long and I didn’t get much sleep.”

  Solange waved off her comment.

  Steph sat across from her.

  “What’s your position?” Solange didn’t have time to beat about the bush.

  Steph heaved a sigh. “I don’t know.”

  “What are her arguments in private?” That was probably the hardest part of having to share Dominique with Steph—if she could even put it that way. Solange used to be Dominique’s confidante, until Dominique had fallen head over hee
ls for Steph.

  “The children,” Steph admitted.

  Solange could raise counter-arguments about everything except about Dominique’s children.

  “So this doesn’t come from you?” She had to ask.

  “Of course not.” Steph tilted her head. “That you even have to ask.”

  “I just had to be sure.”

  “She’s not sure she can go another five years barely seeing them. They’ll almost be grown-ups by the time the next term ends.”

  Solange sagged in her chair. She’d secretly hoped the core reason was something else. But of course, it wasn’t.

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Steph said. “Except give her the time she needs to come to the one and only right decision for her.”

  “Have you talked to Lisa and Didier about this?”

  Steph shook her head.

  “Wouldn’t they want their mother to win another term?”

  Steph scoffed. “They hardly see their mother. I think they just want to spend more time with her.”

  “Oh Christ, this is impossible. But Dominique knew this five years ago, when she ran for the first time. You never run for office without wanting that second term.”

  “Maybe her experience has been different than she imagined.” Steph leaned forward. “We’re not mothers, Solange. We can never really know what it’s like. I spoke to my mother last night, and she told me she fully understood.”

  “You’ve been telling people about this?” Solange’s muscles tensed. “If this gets out, it could seriously damage us before the campaign even starts.”

  “My mother’s not going to tell anyone.” Steph’s tone was clipped.

  “Lisa and Didier are off limits so we can’t use them in our plan to convince Dominique. We’ll need to use all the other arguments we can think of.” Like Dominique’s children coming of age under a socialist or, even worse, a far-right president.

  “I’m not planning on using any arguments.” Steph pulled on the sleeve of her blazer. “I know it’s very hard for you to relinquish control like this, but we have to trust that Dominique will make the right decision. The right decision for her—which might not have the outcome you’re looking for.”