What if I began to act as if I had never found a gorgeous man with broken legs behind that damned door? Would I be able to forget him? Can I unremember our conversations, his gallows humor, his body, his eyes, the feel of his skin under my fingertips?
He’s no doubt lying about being a knight. He’s probably an outlaw. But… does it make him less fascinating? And does it make my parents’ treatment of him less reprehensible?
The answer to those questions scares the shit out of me. I’m not ready. I want all this to just go away. I could find a way to blot it out of my memory. It’s best for my fragile mental health if I could forget seeing my parents on video drugging and hypnotizing Darrel to perform a bizarre ceremony with my future parents-in-law.
To distract myself, I return my attention to the meal.
I take another bite, relishing the contrast of the crunchy bread and creamy cheese. “I could eat this every day!”
Dad chuckles. “You’ll have to marry a Swiss man, then. They live on fondue.”
“Pish!” Mom swats his hand. “Have you forgotten that Stella is already engaged to Philippe?”
Dad begins to assure her he was joking, when a well-dressed forty-something comes up to our table. “Jean-Claude! Ladies! I spotted you from the other side of the room and wanted to say hello.”
“I am so glad you did!” Dad springs to his feet. “Yvonne, Stella, meet Monsieur Luc Delors, who’s about to move his flourishing start-up to Vosier-en-Haut!”
We shake hands and exchange civilities. Dad grabs his coat and follows Luc Delors, aka the goose that will soon lay the golden egg, outside to talk shop.
I gulp down the rest of the wine in my glass and train my eyes on Mom. “About Philippe…”
“What about him, sweetie?”
“We’ve been engaged and dating since October, but…” I look down at my plate. “We haven’t even kissed properly.”
“You mean, with tongues?”
I look up into her laughing eyes. “Yes, that’s what I mean, Mom. We haven’t done any of the things that a couple planning to get married would normally do.”
“He’s old-fashioned, you know that.” She shrugs. “He wants to save all the fun for the marital bed.”
“That’s very sporting of him, but…”How do I say this?
She winks. “Are you impatient?”
“No, I’m worried. What if I don’t enjoy thefun? Or, what if I don’t enjoy it with Philippe?”
“Nonsense! You were made for each other. It’ll be perfect.”
I tilt my head to one side. “And how would I know it’s perfect if I have nothing to compare with?”
“You just will. Trust me!”
“But what if…” I pick up another piece of bread to give myself time to carefully word the question. “What if later I become curious about other men?”
She narrows her eyes.
I soldier on. “Isn’t it healthier to have some experiences before marriage so that you don’t wonder afterward?”
“Who put those ideas into your head? It was Gaby, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“You should stay away from her,” Mom admonishes me. “You’re easy to sway, and Gaby is a bad influence.”
I’m easy to sway, huh?I guess I am.
“Gaby has never said anything against Philippe. Not once.”
