Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

I sensed this because Yves was the favorite, not Manon, and those earrings were worth quite a bit of money.

But they were priceless in terms of sentimental value.

And Colette wouldn’t think the pearls she gave me, a necklace she wanted Manon to have, were slave pearls. She’d think of them only as Cormier pearls.

“I can’t take these, Grandmama,” Manon said softly.

The line of Colette’s shoulders lightened, she smiled beneficently at Manon and replied, “I want you to.”

Manon twisted her neck in order to look up to her dad, so I did too.

He nodded.

Manon turned again to Colette, holding the box in both hands to her chest. “Thank you. They…were given in love and…worn with love. I’ll always remember that.”

Colette’s face warmed, and I was proud of my girl for pulling that off.

“Yves.” Colette held out another box.

Yves got up to take it, sat back down, opened it, and then pulled out a gold pocket watch, allowing it to swing from its chain.

“That is a Breguet,” Colette announced grandly. “It came over from France when your ancestors came here. Abraham-Louis Breguet is one of the finest watchmakers of all time. In fact, the watch he failed to finish for the queen, Marie Antoinette, before she was executed, is the most expensive watch in existence. That’s”—she lifted a hand to point a finger at the gold dangling from the chain around Yves’s finger—“not as grand, but considering how it appraised the last time we updated our insurance, it’s nothing to sneeze at either.”

I caught Guillaume and Sabre exchanging a glance that I read as Guillaume silently assuring my son, who had not been gifted a watch made by a royal watchmaker two hundred some years ago, that he would be taken care of by his grandfather.

Sabre didn’t care. He’d never been a “things” kid. If he had the right cleats and an abundance of food, he was good.

Oh, and stylish clothes.

“Thank you, Grandmama. It’s beautiful. It’s also cool,” Yves said.

My last born. Perfect.

I felt my lips tip up.

“And Remy,” Colette began.

My lips flattened and my neck tightened.

“This is for you.”

She held out a box to him.

Remy again left me to get it but came right back.

I craned my neck to see what it was, curling my fingers around his thigh for moral support as he opened it.

He set the box aside after he pulled out an eight by ten black and white photo that was framed in an exquisite silver frame.

It was a picture of a much younger Colette and Guillaume, both of them smiling happily, hugely, Colette in another frothy peignoir set, sitting in a hospital bed in the curve of Guillaume’s loving arm.

She was cuddling baby Remy close to her bosom.

Tears stung my eyes.

“What is it?” Sabre demanded menacingly, ready to do battle, and because of his tone, my gaze darted up to Remy.

His eyes were shining too.

“So you will never forget you were loved,” Colette declared.

My throat closed.

Remy looked to his mother and his voice was gruff when he said, “Thanks, Mom.”

“You were,” she said firmly. “And you are.”

No one said a word or made a noise.

Until Remy broke the silence by repeating, “Thanks, Mom.”

“Time for bed,” Guillaume announced.

Thank God.

Remy started it, and we all followed suit.

He got up and moved to his mother. Cupping her jaw, he leaned in and kissed her other cheek.

When he pulled away, he looked in her eyes and requested, “Please get up with us to say goodbye.”

“We’ll see,” she murmured, her gaze sliding from his.

We all followed suit with a cheek kiss for Colette, even Sabre and me, and then we collected our gifts and made our way out of the room and up the stairs, trooping right back into Remy’s and my bedroom.

The kids resumed their positions on the bed.

Remy sat in the couch and pulled me into his lap.

“I’m not keeping that—” Sabre started.

Remy interrupted him.

“We’ll have it appraised then put feelers out to history museums. Mom is right. That sword has significance. So does our family’s history. Not good significance, but if we do not keep wide eyes and open ears to the lessons of our history, we won’t learn from it. That sword doesn’t signify righteous rebellion, it’s an artifact of deserved defeat. As such, its existence is important, and we’ll find somewhere it can exist and teach valuable lessons. Once we find that, we’ll gift that sword, and your mom and I will give you the money it’s worth for you to use as you wish as your inheritance from your grandmother.”

“I don’t need the money, Dad,” Sabre said.

“We’re still giving it to you,” I replied.

“When you do, I’ll be donating it,” Sabre returned.

“And since it’ll be yours, that will be your choice,” Remy retorted.

Sabre didn’t say anything further.

“You okay, Dad?” Manon asked.

“I’m fine, honey,” Remy lied.

Since we all knew he did, we piled onto him (well, I was already on him, so our kids joined me), holding him close, showing him our love, and in so doing, giving it to each other.