Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

Remy had one reply to that.

He dipped his head, and he kissed me, deep and wet and lovely.

When he broke it, his lips whispering against mine, “Let’s unpack.”

“Okay, honey.”

I touched my mouth to his, pressed close and then moved out of my husband’s arms in order to unpack.

Because once that was done, we could get on to the next thing.

And once that was done, to the next.

And eventually, I’d have him away from here.

And we’d be safe.

We’d be home.





CHAPTER 18





Three and a Half





Wyn





After Remy and I unpacked, washed up and changed into clothes that didn’t smell like an airplane, we headed downstairs.

And hearing our descent, with military precision, our children filed out of the front parlor, and with Sabre handing Remy a very full glass of what looked like scotch on the rocks, they fell into formation around us before we headed toward the mural room.

Considering how they did this, I decided it best not to ask them to stand down.

Remy didn’t say a word.

Guillaume had heard our approach too, came out of the room we were walking to, and watched quizzically as the Gastineau family approached as if on attack.

Another giggle fizzed up that I had to swallow down, this one hysterical, as I braced to face the woman who had harmed my husband.

I was his wife.

I was a mother, and thus knew the nurturing he should have had, but didn’t.

And her abuse nearly cost me my marriage.

So I was obviously on edge.

But it wouldn’t do for me to tackle a dying woman and punch her in the face, so I had to get it together.

We all stopped outside the room where Guillaume was out in the hallway barring even a view through the door.

“It makes me very happy you’re all keen to see Colette,” he murmured kindly. “But I’m not certain she’s up for a visit from everyone. She, too, cannot wait to see you. But she’d prefer to do it in the morning when she always feels much better. So, if you will, only Remy and Wyn for now, mes petits-enfants.”

I opened my mouth to tell the kids we were okay.

But Sabre spoke before me.

“We’re going in with Dad.”

“Mon chéri, this—”

“We’re going…in…with Dad,” Sabre repeated.

At a confrontation with another alpha, an invisible rod slammed down Guillaume’s back, his gaze narrowed, and then I watched with grim fascination as he came to realize that his grandchildren had grown old enough to be told what had happened to their father in this house.

And I really did not want to feel it, but I was human, and the severity of the pain that washed over his features and swept through the hall couldn’t be avoided.

I felt it sluice over Remy and I moved closer to him.

His fingers sought mine, and when they found them, they gripped painfully.

I didn’t make a peep.

“Then you will be with your father,” Guillaume whispered.

I looked up at Remy to see his face was carved from stone.

He was hiding his reaction to his father’s pain, his guilt.

And…

Fabulous.

This was already going to be hard enough. We didn’t need a repentant Guillaume on our hands.

“Allow me to let her know you’re all coming. One moment,” Guillaume went on, and then he moved into the room.

Remy turned to the kids. “I think—”

“No,” Sabre cut him off.

And yes, my husband’s face had been carved from stone.

But my son’s was hewn in granite.

Manon leaned into her big brother and took his hand.

“I love you very much, Sabre,” I said softly, then took my other two in. “All of you.”

Yves’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

Without using a hand, Manon blew a kiss at me.

Okay.

Safe to say we were all on edge.

I turned back when I felt Guillaume rejoin us.

“She’s ready.”

We started to troop in, but we were stopped when Guillaume handed me a chilled glass of rosé wine.

“Something light and refreshing for now,” he said. “I’ve opened a bottle of red to breathe that you can enjoy during dinner.”

My sentiments were, Guillaume was more at fault for what happened to Remy than Colette because he was more than negligent by not putting a stop to it—he’d been complicit.

I had not prepared to be around the Guillaume that had played a large part in making the man I loved into a man I would love.

“Thank you,” I replied.

He inclined his head and we all resumed trooping in.

And I wished I had my phone so I could take a picture for Noel, because she might be a monster, but it could not be denied, even at her age and in her condition, she was still fabulous.

This was demonstrated by the vision before us.

Colette spread across a settee in a pair of satin lounge pants the color of burnt sienna.

Up top was covered in a cream cashmere duster with a thin cable knit, and I didn’t know what was under it, because she had a Dior gold silk scarf frothing at her neck.

Her feet were ensconced in slippers made of green suede with pointed toes, a matching pom on the top, but the sole was covered in soft beige fur that tufted out the sides.