Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“Bon sang! You’ve been married to a Frenchman for fifty-four years!”

“He said,” Remy translated quietly, “I wasn’t here, you just quit?”

“Quit what?” I asked a question he couldn’t know the answer to.

More from Guillaume.

“Finalement, fait-moi l’honneur d’apprendre ma langue!”

“Finally, do me the honor of learning my language,” Remy murmured.

“Speak English!” Colette shouted.

Guillaume acquiesced.

“You were supposed to stop! You were supposed to continue to attend sessions! And for both, you did not!”

“Things were fine!”

The next was bellowed so loud, it was a wonder the walls didn’t shake.

“THEY WERE NOT!”

After that, a door slammed, heavy footfalls could be heard in the hall then on the stairs, and Remy and I were left staring at each other.

I broke our silence with a silly quip.

“I’m thinking his drive didn’t help.”

Remy smiled.

Then he fell forward and buried his face in my stomach.

I smoothed his hair back.

I gave him a second, then I guessed, “Sessions? Do you think he meant counseling?”

He took his face out of my stomach and looked up at me. “Probably.”

“That was the deal,” I deduced. “It wasn’t just the housekeepers keeping an eye on things. He’d gone with her, but when he wasn’t around, she was supposed to keep going, and she didn’t.”

Remy picked it up. “And as far as he knew, nothing else happened, so he thought she was better. Then after a few years, I put a stop to it myself.”

I turned my head and looked at the wall, beyond which, at the end of the hall, was the master suite.

“She’d act up when he was with his women.”

Remy saying that made me look down at him again.

“I won’t defend cheating, but that’s his issue, honey. It’s no excuse for what she did,” I noted gently.

“I need to find him, make sure he’s okay,” he said. “Definitely not getting back in his car.”

I nodded.

He stood and I didn’t move because he was pressed against me.

I tipped my head back, and quickly, because I knew he’d be keen to get away, I rolled up on my toes.

I meant to kiss him, but he kissed me.

Then he left the room to see to his dad.





“Plot twist,” Noel said in my ear.

I was out on the front veranda sitting on a thick black-and-white striped cushion that didn’t do much to make comfortable the gorgeous but practically unusable wrought iron chair.

If this was my house, I’d have wicker out front. It would be pretty, fitting and comfortable (I’d also have ferns, they were softer and more welcoming).

But the wrought iron was definitely more aesthetic.

Which was apropos with Colette Gastineau.

It looked beautiful, proper.

But it was unyielding, and in various locations, it dug into your skin.

“Yes,” I agreed to Noel.

Obviously, I’d told him everything.

“What’s happening now?” he asked.

“Now, Remy spoke with his dad. The boys and him are off somewhere with Guillaume. I’ve no idea what they’re doing, but they’re doing it keeping him from her and waiting for my call. Manon is getting ready. When she is, they’re swinging by to pick us up and we’re all going into town to do some shopping and get some lunch.”

“And Colette?”

“We’re under strict instructions from Guillaume that Colette needs to ‘rest’ today. Apparently, they’ve planned some sort of special dinner tonight, which was why Guillaume requested we pack something non-casual to wear.”

Noel chuckled, saying through it, “Like you’d ever go anywhere without at least one non-casual outfit to wear.”

He was so right about that.

He lost his humor and went on, “Be careful, Wyn. The wicked witch of the south is on her back foot, and it’s dangerous to corner a witch.”

“This is why Remy is also not here. It was my idea they go somewhere. I’m here, covering Manon on the home front.”

“God, I hate it for Remy that this trip to visit his dying mother is akin to going to war.”

It didn’t need to be said I hated it too.

Since I did, I took us out of that discussion and into a much better one about wedding flowers (due to the season the event was occurring, but also because they were my favorites, I’d decided all white roses with some evergreens) when I heard a noise at the front door.

I looked that way, expecting it to be Manon.

But it was Colette.

“I need to go,” I broke into what Noel was saying about the addition of eucalyptus.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I just managed to say, “Colette,” before she was out the door.

“Right, keep me briefed. Love your face, love your family, you’ll get through this. Bye.”

And then Noel was gone.

Colette approached.

She was in red slacks. A black turtleneck. A silk scarf in reds, creams and yellows, which if I was not mistaken, was Prada knotted at the base of her throat and draped her shoulders. Black and cream Chanel ballerina flats. The sheath of her hair shimmered with health. And today, full makeup.