Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

And they were done.

He stood and looked down at his mother who’d tipped her head back to look up at him, a dying woman with defiant eyes.

Her hair was perfect, as was her makeup, as was her outfit. She needed to put on about twenty pounds.

But she was beautiful.

She was eighty years old and dying, but still stunning.

For fifty-six years, she’d had an adoring husband, who was an inveterate philanderer.

But she’d traveled the world. She’d lived in the lap of luxury. She wore silks and furs as a matter of course. She had diamonds and she had pearls, and she had everything in between.

If she wanted it, it was given to her.

She also had a healthy son.

Wyn had always had exceptional, and expensive taste in clothes, even before it became her business.

Remy loved his wife and was interested in all she did, so he was aware that his mother was right then wearing approximately four thousand dollars in clothing, not including the makeup and jewelry. The latter probably tipped that scale at least another twenty K, perhaps just from her diamond watch.

She was wearing more than some people made in a year.

Colette’s husband had cheated on her, but from the moment he came into her life, she hadn’t had another care in the world that mattered.

She didn’t worry about paying a mortgage or health insurance or feeding herself or her son. She’d never held a job. And she knew about her husband’s serial infidelity, but it was her choice to stay with him.

She made that choice because of all of this.

There’d been bumps along the way that she’d handled very poorly, but that didn’t change the facts.

She was a beautiful woman who’d lived a beautiful life.

“I’m going to remember you like this,” he said quietly. “Not the empty part. Not the vicious part. Not the selfish part. Not the insensitive and heartless part. But how beautiful you are. How perfect you look sitting in this garden. That’s what I’m going to remember, Mom.”

He saw her lips quiver and then he saw her chin lift.

But she didn’t say a word.

Because she was Colette Louise Cormier Gastineau.

And she would never change.

Remy bent and kissed her cheek.

Then he turned, and not looking back, he walked away.

He saw his father in the window of the conservatory, watching them, so instead of going in the back door he headed that way.

The door of the conservatory had closed behind him before Guillaume asked, “How is she?”

As he’d attempted to do at breakfast that morning, Remy tried not to let the deep discoloration at his father’s jaw make his gut burn.

And as happened at breakfast that morning, he failed.

Which might have been why he answered, “Stubborn, dramatic and bitchy. In other words, the same as always.”

Guillaume assumed a disappointed father’s face as he admonished, “Remy.”

He knew she couldn’t hear them, so he knew it was safe to ask his next question, and this was because he was the man they raised in all the good and bad parts of how that happened.

“Have you spoken with Estelle?”

His father took a big breath and said, “Yes. And although she very much wishes to meet you, Wyn and the children, she respectfully declines to do so during this visit. She feels it should be about your mother.”

And that spoke volumes about the woman Estelle was.

“It’s her choice,” Remy conceded. “But please consider bringing her out to visit as soon as you can. Wyn and the kids want to meet her, and your grandchildren deserve to see their grandfather happy for once.”

A muscle ticked in his father’s cheek.

But he let it go and shared, “Beau and Katy phoned. They’d like us to come over for a crawfish boil and football. Wyn and the children wish to go.”

Remy nodded, relieved they all had something to look forward to. He reached and squeezed his father’s arm before he let go and made to walk away.

“Remy,” Guillaume called.

He stopped and looked at his dad.

“I won’t be going to the boil, and it’s likely your mother will also send her regrets.”

Right.

It wouldn’t do for anyone to see that huge bruise on his face or have the woman who gave it to him hanging around, making faces as people scarfed down crawfish, shrimp and potatoes, and gnawed on corn over a newspaper-strewn picnic table before they shoved Katy’s famous bread pudding down their throats.

Remy wondered how many times his mother and father sent regrets for the same reason. He then decided not to think about it. If his ploy with his mother worked, that particular part of their lives was done.

“We won’t stay long,” Remy assured.

Guillaume nodded, and Remy was again about to leave in order to look for Wyn when his dad spoke again.

“If you could spare a few minutes, it’d mean a great deal to me if you would share what’s been troubling you since yesterday, the part that isn’t about your mother.”

And…

Damn.

Two things had been cemented during this visit:

His mother had always been his mother…

And his father had always been his dad.

“There’s a problem at home,” Remy told him. “It’s getting sorted, and I’ll finish handling it when we get back.”