Season Five: French Kissing, Book 5

by Harper Bliss

  “You’re friends with Inez now.” Juliette scoffed.

  “She’s not too bad.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m glad you came, Jules. It means a lot to me.”

  “I came for Margot,” Juliette said.

  “Of course.” Despite the harshness of her words, Claire could tell something about Juliette was thawing.

  “What you did can never just be water under the bridge. That’s impossible.”

  “I don’t expect that. I’ve learned to live with my mistakes, as we all have to at some point.”

  “Steph and I were discussing your leave of absence the other day. What we would do about it after the election.”

  “How is Steph?”

  “You’ll find out in any newspaper tomorrow morning,” Juliette said enigmatically.

  “What does that mean?” Claire hated being out of the loop—even though she and Steph hadn’t had a conversation in months.

  “I honestly can’t tell you that, Claire. I can’t just turn up here and start trusting you again. For all I know, you’re in cahoots with the Rivière campaign and you have her campaign manager Sybille on speed dial.”

  Claire burst out laughing. “You think I’m a spy for Rivière?”

  Juliette started laughing with her. “No, actually I don’t. Margot would have divorced you months ago if you were.” She paused. “But I still can’t tell you. I really wish I could, but we’re not there yet.”

  “I understand.” Claire rose from the bed. “Shall we join the party?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Juliette stood as well.

  “Is it too soon to ask you for a hug?” Claire took a step closer.

  Juliette nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  Margot

  “In my opinion,” Inez said, “everything hinges on Sunday’s debate. It’ll just be the two of them and Dominique’s going to have to pull something out of the bag.”

  It had proven impossible to eschew the topic of politics at the dinner table.

  “We’ll see,” Juliette said.

  “You sound like you know exactly what she’s going to do,” Inez said.

  Maybe it had been a mistake to ask the combination of Inez, Nadia and Juliette to her birthday dinner, Margot thought.

  “I work on her campaign,” Juliette said. “I wouldn’t be much of a PR advisor if I didn’t know what she was going to do.”

  Inez slapped the table. “I knew it. I knew Dominique would come back swinging.”

  “I’m just happy to be amongst Laroche supporters,” Juliette replied. She obviously wasn’t keen to discuss the campaign any further.

  “Supporters?” Inez wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. “Fangirls, you mean!” She really was one to dominate any dinner table. “When I heard she was batting for our team now, I wanted to come back from Africa straight away and take my chances!”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure you’re her type.”

  “I’d love an introduction some time,” Inez said, ignoring Claire. “After she has crushed Rivière and won, of course.”

  A phone chimed.

  “That’s probably me.” Juliette shot out of her chair.

  Margot thought it best to seize the opportunity and change the topic of conversation, even though she was hardly a master at channelling the direction any chat took.

  “Thank you all for coming to my birthday dinner. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course, Go-Go.” Inez was the first to raise her glass. She’d had a few too many, that much was clear.

  “Happy birthday,” Nadia said and shot Margot a wink.

  “Time for birthday cake.” Claire pushed her chair back and headed into the kitchen. “It was impossible to fit all the candles on top, I hope you can understand that, babe.”

  “That went rather well, didn’t it?” Margot asked after she’d called Inez a taxi, accompanied her downstairs, and made sure she was safely tucked into the back seat.

  “If only Inez hadn’t drunk a couple of bottles of wine on her own.” Claire waited for her with her arms outstretched.

  “She doesn’t get out much these days.”

  “It shows.” Claire pulled her into her arms. “Maybe we need to help her find a woman, so she can stop dreaming of seducing Dominique.”

  “How are you, babe?” Margot asked.

  “It was good to see Jules again.” Claire’s hand nestled against the back of Margot’s neck. “She was a bit frosty, but once the tension of the election has dissipated, I think we can talk again.”

  “Good.”

  “I might not be your housewife for much longer.”

  “Even better,” Margot repeated with a chuckle.

  “You won’t be able to punish me when I burn the sauce anymore.” Her voice sounded almost like a purr.

  “I’ll always find things to punish you for, babe.” Margot held onto Claire’s hand a little tighter, squeezing her fingers between hers.

  “Do you mean I’ve remained a failing housewife for this long for no good reason at all?” Claire batted her lashes.

  “You did a wonderful job tonight.” Margot looked her wife deep in the eyes. “Yet…”

  Claire arched up her eyebrows. It had taken Margot months to allow herself even a bout of coy banter between them. The wounds inside her had remained raw for so long. But time had started healing them. The emptiness inside her had given way to acceptance and, slowly, she had started feeling like herself again. Like the person she had become with Claire—which was an even truer version of herself than before they’d fallen in love.

  “Yes?” Claire had that look in her eyes that said, what on earth are you going to come up with now?

  “You were unable to fit all the candles on my birthday cake,” Margot said. “Do you have any idea what that does to a person’s confidence?”

  Claire nodded. “I know very well. It’s been a while since all the candles have fit on my own birthday cake.”

  “I feel like you could have tried a little harder. Perhaps gotten a larger cake. Or… made one yourself.”

  Claire burst into a chuckle. “You’re going too far, babe. I can’t take this seriously. Can you imagine what would happen if I tried to make a cake myself?” She shook her head. “The oven might combust. The kitchen might never recover. It would be a huge, culinary disaster.”

  “Come on.” Margot pushed herself off the sofa. She had to change strategy—although, she guessed, not a lot of strategy was needed. “We’re going to bed.”

  Claire took Margot’s outstretched hand and they headed into the bedroom.

  As soon as they were inside, Margot shoved Claire against the closed door.

  No more words would be spoken now. For too long, she had allowed too much chatter in her life—in their lives. Instead of making love, Margot had felt she needed to talk about her loss. Not that she’d had a choice. Talking about it, albeit in her own stuttering way, was all she could do. But now she had the choice again. And tonight, she chose not to say any more words at all.

  She loved looking at Claire pinned against the wall like this. Behind the bedroom door, Claire was everything she wasn’t on the other side of it. Margot knew Claire needed this to balance herself. If she didn’t have Margot to set her straight in the confines of their bedroom, she did silly things outside of it—like betray her best friend.

  For long months, Margot hadn’t been able to give that to Claire, although she could hardly blame herself for that. If she was going to blame anything or anyone, it would have to be death itself. But Margot was a doctor and well aware of the fragility of life. Blaming death would be even more pointless than blaming herself. So she didn’t. She just cracked on and bided her time—and talked instead of pinning Claire against the wall like this. But the time for therapeutic chats had well and truly passed.

  Here Claire stood. Fully under Margot’s command. Exactly how they both wanted it.

  Margot stared into Claire’s eyes. Looking at
her in these circumstances never failed to push Margot to a space even beyond arousal. It was pure love coursing through her. And Claire was by no means an easy person to love, yet Margot had chosen her—had perhaps had no choice but to choose her.

  What would happen next wasn’t about action. It wasn’t about whatever Margot chose to do next. It was about this moment, when they looked into each other’s eyes, and they knew. They saw what they meant to each other. Their love almost tangible in the air.

  Margot was fully in charge of the moment, but only because Claire let her. Because this was what Margot had seen in her when they’d first met—and they’d still been an unlikely couple. Margot had noticed this very need in Claire. She had recognised it and acted on it. And they had fallen into sync. Even though being in sync had proved to be a delicate balance at times. But that was what marriage was, in the end. Good times and bad.

  Margot took hold of Claire’s hand and brought it to the button of her jeans.

  Claire eagerly flipped it open.

  Margot nodded at her. There used to be a time when she still had to say it—“on your knees”—but that time had long passed. Claire knew how this worked. She’d committed it to memory a long time ago—Margot knew it was the source of her greatest pleasure.

  Claire kneeled and tugged Margot’s jeans and underwear down. Margot put her hands against the wall and stepped out of her clothes. Of all the things she had missed while she was grieving, she might have missed Claire’s tongue on her, lapping her from this very angle, the most.

  Margot looked down at Claire’s blonde hair. At the gentle incline of her neck, and how her head bobbed slowly as she prepared for her tongue to lavish all its attention on her wife’s clit.

  This was always the second best moment for Margot. The instant just before Claire touched her there. Before she set her on the way to orgasm. Because after Margot had looked Claire in the eye like that, a climax was inevitable.

  Dominique

  As soon as Dominique woke, she reached for her phone.

  “Morning,” Steph said.

  “You’re awake already.”

  Steph was sitting upright, scrolling through her own phone. “It’s not every day my wedding date is announced to the nation.”

  “So it’s out. Solange’s phone must be ringing out of control.” Dominique put her phone to the side.

  “Which means it’s only a matter of time before yours starts doing the same.”

  “I have some serious debate prep to get through today.”

  “We’ll get to that soon enough.” Steph slipped back under the covers. “First tell me how it feels to have set a date and announced it publicly.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t announce it. In fact, I think my fiancée might have leaked it.”

  “How very dare she,” Steph joked. “Are you sure you want to marry someone who would do that?”

  “Very, very sure.” Dominique slipped underneath the covers with Steph. “I’m over the moon that we have a date now, no matter how it came about.”

  “So am I.” Steph grinned at her. “And who’s to say I didn’t plot all this so I’d finally get you to agree to a date?”

  “Who’s to say, indeed.” Dominique pressed her naked body against Steph. “Regardless, in exactly two months, we’ll be married.”

  It was Steph’s phone that started ringing first. She sighed. “Is my life going to change again now that we’re actually getting married?”

  “It shouldn’t change too much. We’re not the British royal family, are we? I’m just the president and you’re just my concubine.”

  Steph’s phone continued to ring. She pulled herself away from Dominique and grabbed it from the nightstand.

  “It’s my mother.”

  Dominique nodded. They hadn’t been able to inform anyone in advance, otherwise the leak wouldn’t have been believable—the press would find out in a heartbeat that the date had only recently been set.

  Apart from debate prep, and going into the last eight exhausting days of the campaign, Dominique had to talk to her loved ones as well. Her parents would understand—they knew the price of being in politics better than anyone. Lisa and Didier, on the other hand, would need to be schooled in how sometimes newspapers got hold of information they shouldn’t yet have.

  While Steph chatted to her mother—and explained that she had intended to tell her as soon as possible—Dominique closed her eyes.

  The leak was all well and good, but she still had a debate and an election to win.

  “Congratulations are in order, Madam President,” Solange said, posing as Anne Rivière. “How very progressive of you to announce you’re getting married to another woman a week before the final round.”

  “She would never say that.” Dominique sighed. “You know who we need in this room with us today?”

  Solange shook her head. “Aurore is impartial.”

  “How’s that even possible?”

  “I don’t know how she does it, but that’s how it is.” Solange sounded adamant.

  “It must be.” Dominique painted on a smile. “You seem to be more on than off these days.”

  “With all due respect, we don’t have time to discuss my love life,” Solange said sternly. “Not until we figure out how you will react to anyone alluding to yours.”

  “Okay.” Dominique cleared her throat. “Here’s my response: Stéphanie and I have been engaged for more than two years. We agreed a long time ago that we would marry soon after my first term. I don’t know how the news got out, but I do know the press gets very creative around election time.”

  “Why didn’t you announce the date earlier if it has been agreed upon for such a long time?”

  “Because my fiancée is a very private person.”

  “That might be so, but you’re the president, and does the nation not have a right to know?”

  “Frankly, no.”

  “You can’t say that.” Solange tapped her pen against the stack of papers she was holding. “Especially not a week before the final vote.”

  “I won’t get asked this question at the debate.” Dominique started pacing. “It’s about policy, not my wedding date.”

  “It’s best to be prepared either way. You’re going to get asked the question sooner rather than later.”

  Dominique glanced at the iPad she was holding, which had a prepared set of answers for her. All she had to do, really, was make them sound as natural and convincing as possible.

  “We didn’t announce our wedding date to anyone. Not even to our own family and friends. I live a very public life and that’s the one thing my fiancée and I wanted to keep between us. I hope the nation can understand that.”

  “Ever since you announced your engagement, you’ve been repeatedly asked about a wedding date—”

  “Stop,” Dominique held up her hand. “I simply won’t be cross-examined about something as private as this. Ask me any other question about my policy for the next five years, and I will answer in great detail, but my wedding is off limits.”

  “That’s not in the script, but it’s good. It’s who you are. Straightforward and authoritative when necessary. This is exactly why we’re doing this.” A small smile broke on Solange’s face. She typed what Dominique had just said into a document on her laptop—no assistants were allowed in the room while they were discussing this.

  “Shall we get to the actual debate prep now?”

  “Yes.” As she nodded, Solange’s phone started buzzing. She switched it to silent mode and put it away.

  “We are still running the country,” Dominique said.

  “Not for the next two hours. We’re making sure we’ll be running the country for five more years.”

  Solange

  When Solange switched her phone back on, she had five missed calls from the same unfamiliar number. It wasn’t unusual for her to be called by someone whose number she didn’t have in her phone, but five times in the span of two hours piqued her interest. Whoeve
r it was, they hadn’t left a message. She briefly considered calling back, but then dismissed it as another reporter who must have gotten hold of her number, wanting a comment on the wedding date leak. Solange wasn’t commenting on that, so she didn’t return the call. If it was truly important, they’d call back. They always did.

  As she sagged in her office chair, she wondered if there would come a time when chiefs of staff would be continuously connected to their mobile phone by means of some futuristic implant in the brain.

  A knock came on her door. In walked David, a member of the campaign team. No one was taking Saturday off this weekend.

  “I got a weird call from someone at Barbier & Cyr,” he said. “They need to speak with you in person very urgently.”

  “Barbier & Cyr?” Solange arched up her eyebrows. “What’s the number they left?”

  David gave her a piece of paper and Solange compared the number to the missed calls on her phone. It was the same.

  “Did they give a name?”

  David nodded. “Leah Michaud.”

  “What’s it about?” Solange was trying to understand why someone she’d never had dealings with at Barbier & Cyr, and not Steph, would be calling her directly with an urgent message.

  “She didn’t say. Just that it was very important that she get in touch with you as soon as possible. She sounded very agitated.”

  “I’ll call her back straightaway.” Before she had a chance to dial the number, Solange’s landline started ringing. At least she recognised that number. It was the security booth at the entrance.

  “Yes.”

  “Madame Garceau, I have a Leah Michaud at the front gate for you. She’s with Barbier & Cyr and says she needs to speak with you urgently.”

  As soon as Leah was shown into Solange’s office, she dug her phone out of her purse.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame Garceau, although I wish we could have done so under different circumstances,” Leah said.