Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

It was arguable, but Melisande’s beignets might be better than CDM’s.

Remy didn’t argue it.

It was not arguable, but the first morning at the family home in New Orleans, they’d all want the House. It was the second morning they went to CDM for beignets.

He didn’t mention that either.

He said firmly, “Please be careful.”

“Mais bien sûr,” Guillaume replied before striding from the room.

Remy looked down to his food, but he didn’t eat it.

He then heard a noise in the kitchen, and even though his mind was fucked right the hell up with all that he’d just learned, he wasn’t going to ask Melly to make the effort of cooking his breakfast and not eat it.

Therefore, he set about doing that.

She came back with a fresh pot of coffee, and about five minutes later, both his sons, faces and bodies slick with sweat, fresh glasses of juice they likely got from Melisande in hand, came in from the kitchen and parked themselves at the dining room table.

“There’s no one here, so your personal assault in the form of sweat on the turn-of-the-century dining chairs is unoffensive,” Remy noted.

Yves slugged back juice.

Sabre said, “Whatever. Who has chairs at a dining room table you practically have to wear a tux to sit in?”

Remy skirted that and asked, “Run good?”

“Hear me now, hold me to it later, I will never live anywhere with humidity in my life,” Yves declared.

“Word, bro,” Sah agreed.

“Maybe drink your juice and go take a shower?” Remy suggested.

“You okay?” Sah asked, watching him closely.

“I’m fine,” Remy lied.

“You down here by yourself?” Yves asked, his gaze sliding over the folded paper on the table.

“Your mom and sister are still sleeping.” He turned his head to Yves. “I’m surprised you’re not.”

“Sabre dragged me out, telling me I should run it off rather than get up in Grandma’s shit again.”

“Though, that was fucking epic,” Sah remarked, reaching to the coffee.

“Hear me now, don’t hold me to it later, your brother is wise,” Remy joked to Yves.

Both quirked grins at him.

Then Sabre’s eyes returned to the paper.

They came back to his dad. “Was Pépé here?”

“He left to get you guys beignets.”

“He give you shit about Yves?”

“No,” Remy said and looked again at Yves. “He says homosexuality has been around since before recorded time, so it’s entirely natural.”

Yves didn’t hide his surprise including enunciating it. “Whoa.”

“He and I still would like you to lay off your grandmother,” Remy went on.

“The marital affairs crack was not on,” Yves clipped.

“She’s a dying woman hiding behind her lipstick. You’re a vital young man with your whole life ahead of you, and your mother was standing there looking like she was about to be called to film her next scene with Brad Pitt. Maybe cut her some slack?” Remy requested.

“You’re totally hotter than Brad Pitt, Dad,” Yves told him.

“I’ll take that as an informed opinion,” Remy quipped.

Yves busted out laughing.

“What else did you and Pépé talk about?” Sabre butted in.

Remy leveled his eyes on his oldest boy who he saw was unamused.

He regarded him a beat before he asked back, “When’d you get so fucking smart?”

“He knows we have the House the first day. Why’s he getting beignets?” Sabre pressed on.

Yeah.

Fucking smart.

“He told me something I didn’t know. That we’d left Mom four times in his efforts to get her to stop doing what she was doing. I remember being in France with him, and Mom wasn’t with us. I was just too young to know why we were there. All my life, we went there often, so it wasn’t entirely out of the norm. Though, I do remember going to school there for a couple of months when I was in first grade, which was not normal. The final time was a couple of years later. The last straw and he made that clear. She promised she’d stop. Then I told him something he didn’t know, she didn’t stop. He was understandably pissed and he’s taking a drive to cool off.”

“He…took you away?” Yves asked.

Remy reached toward the coffee pot to give himself a refill. “Apparently.”

“Well, damn,” Yves muttered.

“Do you believe him?” Sabre queried.

Having filled his cup, Remy put the pot back. “I remember explicitly being in France. And with this brought to mind, I remember my grandparents being there and being pretty damned attentive. Uncle Luc and Aunt Francesca coming to visit frequently. I also know I have an affinity with Uncle Luc, and in some senses Aunt Francesca, because we’re family and they’re great, but also because Uncle Luc had little patience with my mother. Aunt Francesca just avoided her, though she made a point not to avoid me. When Mom was around, they’d take me on a lot of excursions, pointedly leaving her behind. But Uncle Luc…”

He shook his head, caught the fact both his sons were watching closely and listening to every word, allowed himself a private moment to let it settle what great fucking kids they both were, then he carried on.