Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“And if Grandma gets mean, Yves is going to start talking about how big and buff Theo is,” Sabre added.

“I can talk about that, for, like, three hours,” Yves shared. “She’s got some chops, but I think I can outlast her.”

They were being so funny, and so fabulous, they took all my attention.

So it came as a surprise when Remy ordered roughly, “All of you, in here.”

As I’d mentioned, the bathroom was heavenly.

However, it was not large.

But that wasn’t the only reason we all huddled together when the kids wedged in with us.

Remy’s long arms almost wrapped around us all, but considering Sabre’s and Yves’s were just as long, we were covered when Remy said, “Everything I live for is in my arms.”

All kidding was now aside, Manon made a peep, and I held her eyes as I kept hold on my own emotions.

“I messed up, and you rode that wave with me,” Remy carried on. “And I cannot express how much that means to me.”

All right.

No.

He had to get beyond that.

I looked right at him.

“Honey—” I began.

“But right now,” Remy spoke over me, “I have to remind you, your grandfather is losing the woman he loves, so I have to ask you to see to him. She might make it hard, but we’ve all learned things today, where what you just gave me is what we all have to give him. Soon, we’re all he’ll have left.”

Manon had been briefed about the morning’s revelations (though she, like us all, did not miss her grandparents fighting).

And I’d shared with Remy the conversation I had with his mother on the veranda.

“In other words, no fake epileptic seizures. You with me?” he asked.

“With you, Dad,” Sabre said immediately.

“Totally,” Manon chimed in.

“Always, Dad,” Yves said.

“Right,” Remy muttered on a squeeze of his arms that made us all squeeze ours. “So we don’t look like we’re prepared to storm the Bastille in Tom Ford and Stella McCartney—”

“This isn’t Stella, Dad, it’s…”

Manon didn’t finish when Yves bumped her with a hip, which meant we all got a corresponding hip bump.

“How about we stagger our arrivals?” Remy’s gaze swung between his sons, “But one of you escort Manon.”

“I’m totally making a solo appearance. My outfit is rad, and I don’t want Manon to steal my big entrance,” Sabre declared.

“You sure you’re not gay?” Yves razzed.

“I could be, with how hot I look,” Sabre returned.

“Settled. Yves will go with Manon,” Remy broke in. Then he moved in a way we all broke apart, but only to stop holding each other. We still stood close together in the bathroom because there was no room to move. “Now, your mom isn’t ready so head out.”

“You go first,” Sabre said to Manon and Yves.

“You go first,” Manon replied.

“I don’t know if anyone is down there yet,” Sah retorted. “You can’t make an entrance when no one’s there to see you enter.”

“Oh my God, you’re straight but you’re still somehow gayer than me,” Yves remarked.

“Dude, get an eyeful, I am all that,” Sabre shot back.

“Men, shut the hell up and roll out,” Remy ordered.

“Come on, Manon, the booze is down there,” Yves muttered, grabbing his sister’s hand and pulling her from the room, which worked for me—breathing space.

But Sabre clearly hadn’t thought ahead to where the alcohol was and how he’d get some. I could see he was realizing his mistake as they walked away.

Our two youngest headed down, and Sabre went into our room and threw himself on our bed.

I turned back to the mirror to assess the stain and add gloss.

I did this with a side eye to Remy and teased, “You will note what’s happened after you shared your gateway beer with our youngest.”

“Is Manon of age yet?” he asked.

I shot him smug smile. “In Louisiana she is.”

He grunted.

I got serious. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Trying to figure out how and when, but more how I say to my dad, ‘You know, you fucking around on Mom wasn’t the reason I blew up my marriage. At least, not the way you think it was. You inadvertently leaving me to take care of her was,’” he replied.

I finished with the gloss and turned to him. “How about I talk to him?”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know, I’ll figure it out when I talk to him.”

“I’ve thought about it today, and with what Dad said, I want this visit to be about healing. At least for him and me.”

I nodded. “That occurred to me with what you just asked of our kids.”

“What I mean is, whatever is said should come from me.”

He was right, and I gave him a small smile to share not only that, but that I’d stand down.

“He’s been a mess all day,” he noted.

Guillaume had.

To anyone else, he would seem no less dashing and confident.

But none of us (especially Remy) had missed he’d been quiet, withdrawn, and it hurt to look at him because his eyes often rested on Remy, and they were haunted.