Avril ushers us in, and I'm not surprised to see that the inside of the home is as stunning as the outside.Maybe we can stay here more than a weekend, I think to myself. Wouldn't that be nice. I made a home in Corsica, but I like having some distance.
Focus,focus.
I turn toward approaching footsteps. "Nicolette, this is my brother Thayer.”
"Good thing you told me, since you two look nothing alike," I joke. There doesn’t seem to be a recessive gene in this family. His brother looks just like him, only a little more clean-cut. Whereas Fabien, with his hair a little too long and unruly and a five o’clock shadow across his jaw, is a veritable caveman in a business suit, his brother looks clean-cut and polished. Not a hair out of place, his clothes pressed and fitting him perfectly, and I suspect when I draw closer, he's going to smell really, really good.
But when he shakes my hand, it's warm but rough as if he's only gotten dressed up for the occasion but works with his handsquite frequently. He looks over at Fabien. "We need to talk, brother."
"We will. We had some trouble getting here, so we need some downtime before we discuss anything. Unless it's pressing?"
I love that he refers to an engine failure, an emergency landing, and an impromptu flight to Paris as “some trouble.”
Their mother looks from one to the other, her lips pressed in a tight, thin line. She opens her mouth as if to ask something, then snaps it shut and shakes her head. “If you knew something, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Fabien only nods.
Thayer shakes his head. "You know we would. And no, Fabien, nothing that can't wait for a few hours.” He seems the responsible type, so I can pretty much conclude that Fabien is the bottom line. Why does that not surprise me?
“Come,” his mother says, gesturing to the stairway. “I’ll show you to your room. Fabien, you have two hours before everyone will arrive for the rehearsal.”
“She’ll be staying with me, Maman,” Fabien says. He leans in and kisses her cheek. “She won’t need the guest room.” When she gives him a pained look, he shakes his head. “Just don’ttellGrandmére, and it will be fine, okay?”
“It’s not that easy,” she says, shaking her head. “You know how she is.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fabien, what happened on the way here?” Thayer asks. He hangs behind his mother, hands in his pockets.
Fabien quickly fills him in as we walk.
Thayer frowns. Behind him, uniformed staff scurry from room to room, their arms laden with flower arrangements. Outside the window, not one but two gardeners tend the lawn while another crew tends to the flowers. They have staff foreverything.
Thayer speaks in a low voice but not so quietly I can’t hear him. “Do you think it was a deliberate sabotage?”
Avril looks sharply at Thayer. Here, underneath the overhead lighting where she isn’t in shadow, I can better see the signs of aging. Hair graying at the temples, and a subtle weariness around her eyes, though the wrinkles tell me she likes to smile. “That’s a conversation you should have later, when you catch up.” In other words, not in front of me.
We reach a closed door. “We will definitely catch you up later. We’ll see you at the rehearsal.” Fabien’s just dismissed both of them but neither protest. I wonder if the family dynamics are as formal as the house. With his father gone, is he the head of his house? Though parts of Paris are progressive, I’m not sure the Gerard family has quite adapted.
“Thayer, let’s check on your cousin. For all we know, he’ll show up at the rehearsal incasual clothes.”Avril winces before she turns and gives me a parting smile. “See you soon.”
Her heels click on the hardwood floor as they walk away.
Fabien presses his thumb against a small panel to the left of the door. There’s an audibleclickbefore he opens the door.
Wait, what? Why would he have a security measure like this within his family home? I can’t shake the feeling there’ssomething about this family I should fear, but they all seem so pleasant.
He guides me in and shuts the door behind us.
We’re alone.
Before I can open my mouth to speak, his hands are in my hair and his mouth closes over mine. I melt against him and anchor myself by winding my arms over the broad expanse of his shoulders.
Oh,God, does this man know how to kiss.
What was I worrying about a second ago? Right now, my entire world is alight with color and heat and an insistent throbbing between my legs that makes me moan into his mouth.
His tongue strokes against mine. I lean into him, kissing him back. I love the rough feel of his hands in my hair, on my shoulders, down the length of my body. He hikes me up with his hands under my ass. My legs wrap around his body. He walks backward toward the bed that flanks the very center of the room. Unlike his room in Corsica, this is a smaller bedroom with little more than a huge bed and a small sitting room behind it.
