Perfect Together Read Online Kristen Ashley

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary Tags Authors: Kristen Ashley Advertisement1

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“I’m glad her pain is gone.”

I waited, but that was all he said.

I closed my eyes tight, agonized that was all he felt at his mother’s death.

I opened them and asked, “What did she say when you were in there?”

“She told me I was handsome.”

I waited again, but that apparently was it.

“That’s it?” I prompted.

“And she asked Dad and me to hold her hands. We held her hands. She looked at me. She looked at Dad. She closed her eyes. And after a while, the nurse said she was gone.”

Oh God.

“I felt it, though,” he said softly. “When it happened. Before the nurse told us, I knew. You can feel it, baby. When life ends.”

I pushed closer.

Remy stroked my back.

“Sleep, Wynnie.”

“Okay, my love.”

I agreed, but I didn’t sleep.

Neither did he.

Though eventually I did.

But he did not.

It happened after the funeral.

Incidentally, at said funeral, Manon and I both wore big hats.

And red lipstick.

We were back at the house, the mass of people (Colette would have been gratified) who’d come after the internment were slowly fading away. Remy was playing the piano and had been for some time. A stroke of genius, because he could nod to people, they could murmur their condolences, but for the most part, he was left alone to lose his thoughts in the notes.

Melly found me and asked for a moment of privacy.

I gave it to her.

When I did, she gave me a wide, flat, black velvet box. No adornment. No wrapping.

“She said it would speak for itself,” Melly told me.

Then she left.

I lifted the top of the box.

A thick cream envelope fell out, drifting to the floor.

But I was struck by what was inside, on a bed of stark black silk, an exquisite diamond necklace made of round, pear and marquise diamonds in a timeless design.

I’d seen that necklace before in a photo.

I bent to retrieve the envelope, set the box aside, and opened it, sliding the card from within.

The handwriting was cramped and wavy.

Pained.

And it said:

Wyn,

I wore this at my wedding.

I wish to invite you to wear it to yours.

Thank you for loving him in a way I did not.

Yours, Colette

I didn’t want to share it with Remy.

But I needed to share it with Remy.

So once we had our own privacy, I did.

He stared at the note a long time.

And then finally, held safe in my arms, my husband shed tears for his dead mother.

I placed the frame among the others on the piano.

There were many.

Since all the kids played as well, Remy had bought his own grand for his house and left this one here for them to use, which meant now we had two.

I didn’t play, they both looked the same to me, so I’d let him pick which one he used when we combined houses.

The other one, we could put in storage and give to whichever kid settled in a place they could take it if they wanted.

“Okay?” I asked, looking at my husband.

Remy was watching me.

When I asked my question, he came forward and moved the frame holding the photo of his parents, delighted with their newborn son, from where I’d buried it among candid rugby shots, Christmas buffoonery and fun on my parents’ farm.

He put it pride of place, on the outside.

The first one you’d see.

“Just for a while, baby,” he murmured. “When it hurts less, we’ll move it.”

“It can be there forever, if that’s what you want,” I told him.

He was staring down at the picture.

“I wish that happiness could have followed them for the next fifty-four years,” he said, his voice faraway.

And he meant it for them, not what that would mean for him, but that was what he would have wanted for his parents.

“Well, it didn’t,” I replied gently. “But that little boy felt their love and happiness enough in that moment, he recreated it, gave it to another family, and so far, they’ve had it for decades, and they treasure it. So all was not lost.”

He looked down at me, his expression not faraway.

He was lost in unhappy memories.

But that didn’t mean I missed the love shining there for me.

This time, I knew exactly what my Remy needed.

“Play,” I whispered.

He bent and touched his mouth to mine.

Then he sat at the piano bench.

I went to the kitchen and poured us each a glass of red. I grabbed my book.

I returned to him, set his glass on the piano, curled into the couch, opened my book, but I didn’t read.

Remy played “Nuvole Bianche.”

I sat with him, and silently, for all he’d never had, for all Guillaume and Colette let slip through their fingers, I wept.

Guillaume was as I’d never seen him before.

Nervous.

It was cute.

However, she was an absolute mess.

That was, she was until Manon cried, “Oh my God! I love your top.” Then rushed her, grabbed both her hands, leaned in and kissed her cheek, popping back to say, “Hey, I’m Manon, and I’m so glad to meet you.”


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