They take one look at the somber room.
“Who died?” Tanya asks, scanning our faces.
“Ember and Ransom had a thing five years ago,” Margot says breezily.
Tanya arches an eyebrow. “And how did you manage to screw that up, Ransom?”
That gets my back up, even if she is right. “Why do you assume I’m the one who screwed it up?”
“Because my niece is perfect,” she replies, without missing a beat.
“You said she needed LASIK,” I shoot back.
Bob strolls up to me, his expression darkening. “You hurt her, and I guarantee no one will ever find your body.”
“He already did,” Freja chimes in sweetly from across the room. “That bruise on his cheek? Aksel gave him that.”
“Proud of you, son.” With a grin, Bob claps Aksel on the shoulder.
Tanya sinks onto a chair beside her sister, and takes a sip of Margot’s wine. “Poor girl. No wonder she kept looking away whenever that awful woman was around.”
“Did any of you even like Calypso?” I ask, suddenly curious.
A chorus of “No” erupts in perfect unison.
Right. Perfect. That makes me the biggest idiot of all. Everyone else saw her for what she was. But Mr.Brilliant Neurosurgeon needed to be hit with a sledgehammer of crazy before he finally noticed.
I look at Ember’s family, the people who love her.
“I’m going to win her back. I’m going to do it with or without your blessing. And then I’m going to marry her.”
There. Done.
I see movement on Aksel’s side. “Don’t even think about it,” I warn.
Aksel scowls. “I’ll tell Latika what you did—she’ll kick you in the shins, and since you can’t hit her…”
“No violence,” Margot calls out, hands raised in mock alarm. “Look, Ransom, nothing would make me happier than you and Ember finding your way back to each other. You’ve always been perfect for one another—at least that’s what your mother and I thought. But you are so much older, and frankly, you have terrible taste in women, so we both agreed that maybe it’s better if Ember finds someone…better.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, then shut up. She isn’t wrong. I do have terrible taste in women. The only exception—the one thing that redeems me on that front—is Ember.
“So, you’re not asking us for permission to court our Ember?” Bob tilts his head, his tone thoughtful.
“No. Just…informing you.”
“My money isnoton you,” Freja declares.
“Neither is mine,” Aksel mutters.
“I’ve got until New Year’s.” I clench my jaw. “I will make this right with her.”
Jean mutters, “Alors, a deadline. I don’t think a woman finds that sort of thing particularly romantic.”
“I love her,” I insist. “I have to show it to her, prove it. I’ve got—what?—six days?”
“Six days,” Margot echoes, a glint in her eye. “I suggest you get creative,mon cher. Rousseau women don’t make it easy.”
Freja narrows her eyes. “You’ll have to earn every inch.”
