Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I opened my mouth to tell the kids we were okay.
But Sabre spoke before me.
“We’re going in with Dad.”
“Mon chéri, this—”
“We’re going…in…with Dad,” Sabre repeated.
At a confrontation with another alpha, an invisible rod slammed down Guillaume’s back, his gaze narrowed, and then I watched with grim fascination as he came to realize that his grandchildren had grown old enough to be told what had happened to their father in this house.
And I really did not want to feel it, but I was human, and the severity of the pain that washed over his features and swept through the hall couldn’t be avoided.
I felt it sluice over Remy and I moved closer to him.
His fingers sought mine, and when they found them, they gripped painfully.
I didn’t make a peep.
“Then you will be with your father,” Guillaume whispered.
I looked up at Remy to see his face was carved from stone.
He was hiding his reaction to his father’s pain, his guilt.
And…
Fabulous.
This was already going to be hard enough. We didn’t need a repentant Guillaume on our hands.
“Allow me to let her know you’re all coming. One moment,” Guillaume went on, and then he moved into the room.
Remy turned to the kids. “I think—”
“No,” Sabre cut him off.
And yes, my husband’s face had been carved from stone.
But my son’s was hewn in granite.
Manon leaned into her big brother and took his hand.
“I love you very much, Sabre,” I said softly, then took my other two in. “All of you.”
Yves’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
Without using a hand, Manon blew a kiss at me.
Okay.
Safe to say we were all on edge.
I turned back when I felt Guillaume rejoin us.
“She’s ready.”
We started to troop in, but we were stopped when Guillaume handed me a chilled glass of rosé wine.
“Something light and refreshing for now,” he said. “I’ve opened a bottle of red to breathe that you can enjoy during dinner.”
My sentiments were, Guillaume was more at fault for what happened to Remy than Colette because he was more than negligent by not putting a stop to it—he’d been complicit.
I had not prepared to be around the Guillaume that had played a large part in making the man I loved into a man I would love.
“Thank you,” I replied.
He inclined his head and we all resumed trooping in.
And I wished I had my phone so I could take a picture for Noel, because she might be a monster, but it could not be denied, even at her age and in her condition, she was still fabulous.
This was demonstrated by the vision before us.
Colette spread across a settee in a pair of satin lounge pants the color of burnt sienna.
Up top was covered in a cream cashmere duster with a thin cable knit, and I didn’t know what was under it, because she had a Dior gold silk scarf frothing at her neck.
Her feet were ensconced in slippers made of green suede with pointed toes, a matching pom on the top, but the sole was covered in soft beige fur that tufted out the sides.
Her hair was a sleek bob that curled under her jaw and was the same dark color with caramel hues that she’d had when I’d first met her.
Her face was minimally lined, these only around the sides of her mouth, and it was lightly made up. Foundation to even the tone, powder to take away shine, neutral base from lid to brow to give the eyes a lift, and a thin stream of liquid black liner with a just a hint of a cat’s eye. Mascara. A touch of peachy-neutral rouge.
And on her lips, perfectly lined and filled, was her signature flamenco red.
She was thin to the point of emaciated, but this wasn’t a concern. It was my understanding that she’d worked meticulously to remain underweight all her life, and I’d never known her to be anything but what she was right then. Though, truth be told, she did look like she’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose.
The room wasn’t cool, but a throw of an intricate design in shades of pink, red, ivory and burnt umber that had an impossibly long fringe at the edges, had been thrown back on the moss- green velvet settee like a production assistant had set the scene.
But it was clear it had been over her before we arrived, however, if it remained covering her, we couldn’t see her outfit.
A dainty teacup and saucer in a bold millefleur design sat on a slender wine table in front of her.
And although I could understand a visit from your family after years of not seeing them would make you go that extra mile even if you were significantly unwell, she didn’t appear fatigued or off in any way.
She looked like Colette.
Perhaps she wasn’t going to go out and drum up a game of horse, but she’d never do that anyway.