Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

More aptly, at distance from Colette.

But when Guillaume knew it would be only him and Remy, he sat opposite.

Not the man of the house.

In a position where they could look right at each other when they spoke, and no one was lording over the other.

“Sleep well?” Guillaume asked, setting the paper aside.

Remy answered, thinking instead of what he did after he woke, “Very.”

“Good,” his father said quietly. Then he cleared his throat and began, “About Yves—”

Remy swallowed the sip of coffee he’d taken and cut him off. “This is not an issue and I’ll not have it made an issue.”

He had more to say, but Guillaume spoke, surprising him with his words.

“Of course it’s not an issue.”

“You don’t—”

“Remy, stop being so American,” Guillaume drawled, and Remy felt his neck tighten. “When I was at school, half the boys did things with other boys. Most of that was what your mother said, experimentation. But some of it was because they simply liked boys. It’s exceedingly puritanical to think some mortal man interpreted the words of God to state this is wrong, when some men have loved being with men, and some women have loved being with women, and some love to be with whomever they please, since time began. I would think, considering this has always been the case, more than likely since history was even recorded, it’s quite naturally the case. And since God made us this way, that’s really all to be said, don’t you think?”

He did think.

However…

“Mom was—”

He was interrupted again, and although he had no qualms with what Guillaume was saying, it was annoying not being able to finish what he was saying.

“I had words with your mother. She was taken off guard, though you know how she is with these things. Very traditional. It was just that we both were annoyed at being blindsided, as I can assume you’d well imagine. Which was why I brought it up. Yves is who he is, and he’ll be our grandson and we’ll be proud of him regardless. But perhaps a little consideration can be borne in mind in the future?”

“Mom will be proud of him?” Remy asked dubiously.

“She’s exceedingly proud of all of you, fiston. Yes, including Wyn.”

Remy sat back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee, allowing that to share he didn’t believe what his father just said about Wyn.

Guillaume’s tone was sharper when he asked, “Considering the fact we both lost you for three years after she said what she said, and I’d done what I’d done, do you not think your mother and I had long conversations?”

Remy made no reply.

“I’ve been besotted with Wyn since I met her,” Guillaume continued. “If she didn’t speak, and I just watched her and her mannerisms, I’d think she was French.”

Remy sighed.

“And you know your mother. She gets competitive even if it isn’t rational.”

Remy made a noise in his throat that stated plainly, I wonder why that is?

Guillaume looked beyond Remy, to the palest, pale blue-green of the wall where a portrait hung of his great-grandmother lounging on a hip on a chaise longue, resting on her arms at the arm of the chair. She’d had her portrait done wearing long ivory gloves and a butter-yellow evening gown adorned with stitched-in ivory lace.

Her hair was parted in the middle and pinned at her nape, and his mother still owned the strand of a multitude of pearls draped at her neck.

His wife would one day have those pearls.

And she’d give them to their daughter.

Guillaume looked back to him and started, “I’ve made mistakes—”

Remy sat up in his chair. “Let’s not do this.”

“You are the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Those words coming unexpected, Remy froze.

“I look at you, your children, your wife, the family you created. Do you not think it pains me to see my son has all that I did not?” his father demanded. “The pain coming from the fact that I was…it was me who—”

“Dad, like I said, let’s not do this,” Remy bit off.

“Why did you leave Wyn?”

“Okay, I’m not doing this.”

“She’s an extraordinary woman.”

“I know that.”

“She loves you more than she loves even herself.”

“I know that too.”

His father’s face got hard. “I’m trying to be a father to you, Remy.”

“Too late,” Remy replied mildly and took another sip of his coffee, ignoring the fact that his father looked like he’d been struck.

Then Guillaume asked, “What would you do if Wyn was like your mother?”

“No way in hell I would marry a woman like Mom.”

“I’m speaking in hypotheticals.”

“Even so, it’s impossible to answer because even hypothetically that would never happen.”

“What would you do if you loved a woman more than anything,” his dad pushed, “and she was…not right?”

“I wouldn’t fuck around on her making her even more…not right,” Remy retorted.

His father’s shoulders visibly tightened. “It’s the French way.”