Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“She said it would speak for itself,” Melly told me.

Then she left.

I lifted the top of the box.

A thick cream envelope fell out, drifting to the floor.

But I was struck by what was inside, on a bed of stark black silk, an exquisite diamond necklace made of round, pear and marquise diamonds in a timeless design.

I’d seen that necklace before in a photo.

I bent to retrieve the envelope, set the box aside, and opened it, sliding the card from within.

The handwriting was cramped and wavy.

Pained.

And it said:

Wyn,

I wore this at my wedding.

I wish to invite you to wear it to yours.

Thank you for loving him in a way I did not.

Yours, Colette





I didn’t want to share it with Remy.

But I needed to share it with Remy.

So once we had our own privacy, I did.

He stared at the note a long time.

And then finally, held safe in my arms, my husband shed tears for his dead mother.





I placed the frame among the others on the piano.

There were many.

Since all the kids played as well, Remy had bought his own grand for his house and left this one here for them to use, which meant now we had two.

I didn’t play, they both looked the same to me, so I’d let him pick which one he used when we combined houses.

The other one, we could put in storage and give to whichever kid settled in a place they could take it if they wanted.

“Okay?” I asked, looking at my husband.

Remy was watching me.

When I asked my question, he came forward and moved the frame holding the photo of his parents, delighted with their newborn son, from where I’d buried it among candid rugby shots, Christmas buffoonery and fun on my parents’ farm.

He put it pride of place, on the outside.

The first one you’d see.

“Just for a while, baby,” he murmured. “When it hurts less, we’ll move it.”

“It can be there forever, if that’s what you want,” I told him.

He was staring down at the picture.

“I wish that happiness could have followed them for the next fifty-four years,” he said, his voice faraway.

And he meant it for them, not what that would mean for him, but that was what he would have wanted for his parents.

“Well, it didn’t,” I replied gently. “But that little boy felt their love and happiness enough in that moment, he recreated it, gave it to another family, and so far, they’ve had it for decades, and they treasure it. So all was not lost.”

He looked down at me, his expression not faraway.

He was lost in unhappy memories.

But that didn’t mean I missed the love shining there for me.

This time, I knew exactly what my Remy needed.

“Play,” I whispered.

He bent and touched his mouth to mine.

Then he sat at the piano bench.

I went to the kitchen and poured us each a glass of red. I grabbed my book.

I returned to him, set his glass on the piano, curled into the couch, opened my book, but I didn’t read.

Remy played “Nuvole Bianche.”

I sat with him, and silently, for all he’d never had, for all Guillaume and Colette let slip through their fingers, I wept.





Guillaume was as I’d never seen him before.

Nervous.

It was cute.

However, she was an absolute mess.

That was, she was until Manon cried, “Oh my God! I love your top.” Then rushed her, grabbed both her hands, leaned in and kissed her cheek, popping back to say, “Hey, I’m Manon, and I’m so glad to meet you.”

Then Sabre drawled, “Seriously, the men in this family have good taste in women. This bodes well for me.”

To which Manon added, “And the women have good taste in men, so you’re covered too, Yves.”

She’d then latched on to Benji, who I quite liked, but Remy detested.

Sabre performed his greetings. Yves did too. Theo and Benji were introduced.

The nerves came back but quickly melted away when Remy went in and gave out hugs.

I played cleanup, smiled into their eyes, then looked around and asked, “Right, who wants sundaes?”

At my words, Estelle dropped her head to hide her very pretty face at the same time she dug into her purse for a hankie.

“Come on, Miss Estelle, you have to come to my room,” Manon demanded. “That’s where Mom’s hiding her wedding gown. You have to see it. It’s divine. Dad and the boys can make the sundaes while we oo and ah over it.”

And with that, Estelle was claimed, dragged to Manon’s room, and I trailed behind, leaving the men to make the sundaes.





The first time, we danced to “Something” by the Beatles.

Remy had insisted.

This time, we danced to “Come Rain or Come Shine” by Ray Charles.

Because again, Remy insisted.

The drifting white feathers that adorned my skirt flirted with the black of his tuxedo trousers.

The diamonds at my throat twinkled in the light.

I couldn’t say I was a great dancer, but Remy was an excellent lead.

His mother taught him that.

In his arms, on that dance floor, with everyone we loved looking on, especially our children, if you’d asked me three years ago if it would have been worth what we went through to get to that moment, I would have said, hell no.