by Roxy Harte
“Have I done something to you, Mother? Displeased you in some way?”
She shakes her head and comes nearer. “I don’t want to see you hurt by this man again. Wasn’t once enough?”
I rub at the tension in my forehead. “I left him, he didn’t leave me.”
“Of course you would say that now, but I was the one who had to watch your destruction. I had to see the light dim in your eyes until there was hardly anything left of you in their depths. Then finally, when you had the girls I had reason to hope you would heal and you rallied, but you were never the same…and now? We come here and I find your eyes are lit up with the excitement you once had…and yes, I’m angry that no one else could give you that much happiness. Not your father or I, not your beautiful daughters, not your husband.”
My mouth opens and closes before I finally say, “It was nothing to do with any of you. I just never stopped loving him. It was hard being apart from him.”
“And what happens when this ends? What happens when your vacation is over and you go back to Chicago? Are you going to make your children watch the light in your eyes die as I once did? Why would you do this to them?”
I gasp. “I’m not doing anything to them. The light in my eyes isn’t going anywhere.”
My mother clutches my hand, imploring, “Don’t stay here. I beg you. Come with me and the girls.”
“Madame?” Pierre-Louis calls from the open door.
“Yes, Pierre-Louis?”
“Could I beg your assistance in the kitchen one moment, please?”
“Of course.” I walk away, leaving my mother on the terrace, telling myself that this doesn’t have anything to do with the girls, but as I near the house I decide it has everything to do with my daughters…and I’m only trying to convince myself otherwise. I keep hearing my mother’s final words as I left the terrace. This isn’t finished. We’re going to talk about this. You’re going to face the truth of a few things.
I feel like a child again. A naughty, naughty child. And then I am face-to-face with my other lover.
In the sanctuary of the kitchen I bury my face in my hands and allow myself to be pulled into Pierre-Louis’ chest by his strong arms. “God, thank you for the rescue.”
“Is she always so intense?”
“Yes and no,” I say. “It depends on what she’s fighting for.”
“What cause is she championing today?”
I shake my head. “I’m really not certain. I think me.”
“Perish the thought a mother might champion her daughter.”
“She wants to rescue me from François.”
Clanging pans make me jump and I realize suddenly that we are not alone in the kitchen. I step guiltily away from the embrace. I have gotten so used to the house having invisible staff and the three of us having the run of the place that I’d forgotten that Frankie actually does have employees. Pierre-Louis pulls me back into his arms. “You have nothing to hide from anyone here and I like holding you.”
I look into his gaze and believe him…at least about the part where he likes holding me.
I am still not comfortable with strangers seeing me in Pierre-Louis’ arms. I feel too old for him. Being with him makes me feel others will be as judgmental about this relationship as I once was with John and the younger women he snuck around with.
I feel like what we are sharing should be secret.
Oh god in merciful heaven, what am I doing trying to keep secrets from my mother, knowing she is like a hound on a scent trail? She will not let it go if she catches the scent of this…of us.
I want him to kiss me.
I want him to hold me in his insanely beautifully muscled arms and tell me I am beautiful and sexy, even though he told me those exact words only a few hours ago. I know my suddenly deflated confidence is because the green-eyed monster of jealousy was seriously freaked out my daughters were looking at him as if they could gobble him up. It wasn’t worries they might discover our secret, I was feeling possessive. Pierre-Louis is mine.
Oh hell.
I take his hand and drag him into the walk-in pantry, closing the door behind us. His eyebrow hikes with concern. “Do you want to tell me to stay away from the dining room tonight?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I want you there. I want you on my left and Frankie on my right as we sit every night. I want your undivided attention. I want you to laugh at my jokes and I want you to entertain me with your stories. I don’t want to feel like I am competing with anyone else.”
“There is no other for me. I am François’ and I am yours.”
“My daughters—”
“Are little girls who do not interest me. Is that what you fear? That I will compare you to their youth?”
I nod.
“If anything, I will compare them, but I will be thinking what beautiful women they are to become as they grow up, more and more resembling you.”
“How is it a Frenchman always knows exactly what to say?”
He smiles, bending his head to kiss me soundly. “Relax. Everything will be fine.”
As we leave the pantry, I hope dinner goes as well as he promises, but as the night progresses I know there isn’t a chance in hell it will.
My daughters are very vivacious, persuasive young women, well skilled in the art of dinner conversation, barely letting anyone else say anything at all, except each other, and both ladling compliment upon praise directed at Pierre-Louis. He laughs at their jokes, he panders to their vanity. He is a typical man surrounded by beautiful women and soaking in their adoration.
I kick him beneath the table, hoping it bruises.
By the time dinner is over and everyone has retired to their bedrooms, my nerves are shot and I want nothing but to be left alone.
The greenhouse seems the perfect place to escape to. The damp heat of the day collected and condensed in the greenhouse is a small comfort. The scent of earth and exotic flora permeates my senses, soothing my soul…until Pierre-Louis walks in.
“You flirted with my daughters,” I accuse, knowing he did no such thing and if anything was the perfect gentleman, deflecting the compliments back to them…which to a teen girl I knew would seem like flirting…
He defends, “I didn’t.”
“I know you tried not to, but they are both still hot for you.”
“That I did not encourage.” He bristles, bellowing like a true Frenchman can.
“I know,” I shout back, shouting only because he is…and because I am so frustrated. I bury my face in my hands. “They are infatuated with you.”
“Oui,” he admits to noticing.
I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This. Us.” I gesture frantically between us. “Keep having sex with you.”
“Sex?” he huffs.
“Yes, sex, knowing both of my daughters want to have sex with you too. It makes me feel—perverted.”
He turns away hurt, pouting.
I frown, not meaning to make him feel bad but unable to change the way I feel. I beg, “Do not pull the pouting Frenchman act on me.”
“This is not an act. For you, maybe, because for you, it was just sex, but for me? We are beginning a relationship. I thought what we were sharing meant something to you as well.” He storms from the orangerie and Frankie walks in through the door before it slams closed, announcing, “That went well.”
“Don’t start on me. I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No?”
“No,” I say, pacing. The fronds of a palm tickle my cheek as I pass and I brush it away angrily. I insist, “I was happy. My life was fine before you showed back up.”
“Was it, really?” he asks sarcastically, keeping his distance. Smart man. I want to punch something, a wall perhaps, but the walls here are all glass and the thought of stitches doesn’t appeal. Hitting him, on the other hand, might make me feel much better.
I admit, “No. It wasn’t a
nd you know it wasn’t. You talked with Paulette, I’m sure she told you everything, how miserable I was, how lonely.”
“She only told me you had grown old. Resigned to the life you were living. She believed your spirit was dying.”
I march up to him and poke him in his chest, “And you thought you would arrive like a knight in shining armor and rescue me? Doesn’t that make me sound pathetic? Yes, my life was different, I was trying to survive a bout of empty-nest depression, but I would have figured it out.”
“Oui, you would have, I never said that you were not a strong woman. You didn’t need me but I wanted you, and that makes me selfish. Perhaps I should have left you alone.”
I watch as Frankie turns and starts to walk away from me. I let out a sob I wasn’t aware I was holding. “No, you shouldn’t have. I’ve missed you and I’ve loved being back…this just won’t work. There is no way to make this work.”
“Honesty would make it work.”
“You want me to tell my daughters the truth about our relationship?”
“Perhaps not all of the details, but the important ones, how you feel about me, how you feel about Pierre-Louis.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” He shrugs nonchalantly as only Frenchmen can do when they are demanding the impossible. “Are you afraid you will offend their fine moral upbringing?”
“Do not make fun of my life.”
“On the contrary, I commend you. Your children are amazing, intelligent women. On the other hand, do you believe them fools that they cannot see that you are in love with both of us?”
“Love?” I snort, thinking how ridiculous this moment is. “I cannot tell my daughters I am in love with two men.”
From behind me, Pierre-Louis whispers, “Is it true you do?”
I jump and turn toward him. I hadn’t realized he’d come back into the greenhouse. He stalks toward me, grabbing my face between his palms before pulling me toward him, our lips colliding. Frankie is there immediately, behind me, molded to my back as Pierre-Louis is molded to my front. He kisses the back of my neck, alternating painful nibbles with teasingly soft kisses. This isn’t fair. Really it isn’t. Especially when they trade, pivoting me between them so that Frankie is suddenly kissing my mouth and Pierre-Louis is dropping kisses over the back of my neck.
Lightning goes up and down my spine, need speeds through my veins. It doesn’t matter how often they hold me between them like this. I do not think I will ever get used to the increased sensation of both of them at the same time.
Frankie pulls away, leaving me gasping, dizzy around the edges. “You didn’t answer the question,” he whispers, catching and holding my gaze, demanding honesty. I don’t look away.
“Yes, I am falling back in love with you. I was insane to believe I had fallen out of love with you. And I am falling in love with Pierre-Louis, but you already knew that.”
“He did not know.” He nods toward Pierre-Louis and I realize I haven’t come close to saying anything remotely like that to him.
I turn to face Pierre-Louis when I feel the pressure of his hands on my waist to do so. Our gazes lock and I can see the emotion filling his eyes. His voice is thick when he demands, “Tell me.”
I smile and release the breath I’ve been holding. “I love you, Pierre-Louis. Je t’aime.”
Frankie turns me to face him. Tears glisten in his eyes. “I could have asked for nothing more. Nothing less.”
I caress his cheek. “I love you, François Rene de Hart.”
He kisses my hand. “I know.”
We end up in a sandwich hug, me between two men and I couldn’t be happier, but our quiet moment is ripped apart by Bree and Ellie shrieking at each other. The last time I saw them they were both going into their bedrooms, so I can’t imagine what happened between then and now. With them, I can only imagine. I hurry outside to silence the commotion if not resolve their differences.
Finding them poolside, I demand, “What is going on? You aren’t at home. You are guests here. You don’t act this way.” I realize they are dressed to go out, both of them wearing beaded, spaghetti-strap dresses. I point at chairs. “Sit down.”
They are silent and sulky but at least they obey.
I sit too, shaking, hating that I just sounded like a mother of toddlers instead of grown women. Looking at them both, I demand, “Now just what is going on? And where in the hell do you think you are going this time of night?”
“We came out here to find Pierre-Louis because we want to go clubbing but then we got in a fight about which one of us has dibs.” They look at each other accusingly, then their expressions twist. It is like watching a mirror as their faces go soft around the edges. I think I know what this is about but don’t really want to acknowledge the possibility. I turn my head to look behind me, seeing Pierre-Louis. He is wearing his swimming trunks and, muscles stretching, he dives. Great. A moonlit swim. Now?
“Dibs?” I gasp, then laugh almost hysterically. “Are you serious?”
“I wanted him first.”
“I’m oldest.”
“You already had a fling with the writer.”
I stand, irritated. “Enough. Neither one of you can have him.”
“Mom,” Bree whines, “he isn’t too old.”
“No,” I agree, pacing beside the pool. My eyes are drawn to Pierre-Louis’ powerful strokes. I see Frankie has joined us poolside and is sitting with his pants rolled up and feet dangling in the pool. When did my life become a sideshow? I pace back to face my girls, admitting, “And he isn’t too young.”
I pull a chair closer and sit between them. “There’s something you need to know.”
They look at me with wide eyes, waiting. It takes me a moment to build up my courage, even though I had all night to worry about it and run possible scenarios and conversations through my head. I decide they are adults now, and I might as well treat them like they are, but it seemed so much easier when it was just an idea in my head. A brave plan. I finally admit, “We’re lovers. Since you are both obviously old enough to be fighting over which one of you gets to have sex with him, you are old enough to know I have already claimed him as my own.”
Their jaws drop and then they look from me to him.
Ellie responds first. “Shit.”
Bree stays silent and I can’t tell if she is merely sullen, too shocked for words, or angry. She recovers enough to say, “Grandma said you were lovers with François. That you dated a long time ago.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Well, your grandmother had no business saying anything at all, but since she did, yes, we were.”
I do not want to go any further with this conversation. I cannot believe I just admitted what I did. Something about seeing them both look at Pierre-Louis with such obvious lust. “This really wasn’t supposed to come up in conversation. You’re only here another day.”
If I thought to shift their focus I was wrong.
“Isn’t François mad? I mean, isn’t he still interested?” Ellie demands.
I look away, embarrassed, and watch Pierre-Louis swim. His muscles bulge, glistening with water. God, he’s beautiful. Can I blame my daughters? He swims over to the pool edge and hangs from the side, talking softly with Frankie. Catching them both looking at me, I blush and look down at my hands in my lap.
“He still loves you,” Bree accuses. “Don’t you even care that you are going to break his heart if he finds out about Pierre-Louis? Didn’t having Daddy cheat on you teach you how horribly affairs end?”
They both sit looking at me, one curious, one horrified.
“You are too young for this conversation. Damn it, girls. I’m too young for this conversation.”
“He knows?” Ellie guesses.
I nod. “We have an arrangement—the three of us.”
“Oh my god, you’re talking about a ménage,” Bree gasps. “I may puke.”
“That is so French,” Ellie says. “Wait until I tell my friends.”
/> “What? No.” I gasp. “What happens in this family—”
“Mom, really. You are the coolest mom on the planet,” Ellie declares, standing and kissing me on top of the head. She turns to Bree. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
Bree stands. I can’t read her expression and that bothers me. She shrugs at Ellie and asks, “Still want to go clubbing?”
“No, wait,” I say, catching Bree’s hand. “I don’t want you to be mad at me, or hate me.”
She screws up her face. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re disgusted enough by what I told you that you want to puke.”
She rolls her eyes. “Thinking about you having sex with either of them would make me want to puke. I mean…really…you’re my mother. I don’t want to think about that. I just didn’t want Ellie to be right.”
“Right?” I ask, still confused.
“About Pierre-Louis. She said you had to be sleeping with him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you all night and you were positively drooling through dinner, but I didn’t want to see that.”
I hug her close, tears falling over my cheeks. “So we’re okay?”
She hugs me back. “Yes. I love you, Mom.”
They walk away, huddled close, whispering and giggling. I think I can officially have a nervous breakdown now. Pierre-Louis lifts himself out of the pool in a smooth move and pads over to me. He drips as he kneels. “Everything okay?”
“No. I don’t think everything will ever be okay again. I just admitted to my daughters that I’m in a ménage with two men.”
“Oui, a ménage is three. It makes sense there are two men.”
I smack his wet shoulder. “I’m humiliated. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking honesty is the best policy. It keeps things from getting messy. Not that I would have, but they were obviously interested.” He shrugs and the mannerism is so male, so French, the nonchalance. “Relax. The cat is out of the bag now. You can loosen up now. You can be yourself again.”
Frankie joins us, sitting in the chair Ellie vacated. “So, all is well again?”
