Season Four: French Kissing, Book 4

by Harper Bliss

  In the spirit of recognising this, Steph decided to give Aurore the most honest answer she could muster. “Most of the time, it’s not hard, because I get to be with the woman I love. Which has been a journey in itself. Meeting Dominique. Realising I had real feelings for her. Deciding to give it a go and the fall-out of that. The presidency. It has been far from easy, but definitely worth it. And no, I’m not a sucker for punishment or anything like that, but I do believe the journey is its own reward.” Steph paused. “Dominique changed me. Fundamentally so. For better or for worse, I don’t know. I don’t judge myself like that. But being with her is worth the step back I’ve had to take in my own career, even my own life. Because, to me, it doesn’t feel like a step back, as long as I feel like I’m walking in step with her. Does that make sense?”

  “It does. She’s lucky to have you.” The expression on Aurore’s face was so open and compassionate, Steph liked her even more. “I look forward to having dinner with her and you. Not so much Solange, though. Or no, actually, I look forward to that as well. After all, I’ve cracked tougher nuts.”

  “Great.” A warm rush engulfed Steph’s chest. She recognised it as the comforting glow of a budding friendship.

  Camille

  “Aurore’s been invited to the Elysée,” Camille said. “Dinner with the president.” She kept an eye on her granddaughter who was pestering her cat Iris.

  “That should take her mind off Vivianne.”

  “Vivianne,” Emma repeated.

  Both Camille and Zoya broke out into a chuckle. They really had to mind what they said when Emma was around. The girl picked up on everything and loved to repeat the most unexpected words. Camille watched Iris escape Emma’s clutches. She got up and opened the window so Iris could find some peace and quiet outside.

  “I should think so.”

  Emma looked a little forlorn now she no longer had Iris to annoy. She padded over to her grandmother. Camille opened her arms and picked her up. A jolt of pure love enveloped her. Emma settled into her lap and played with Camille’s necklace.

  “I can’t believe how well-behaved this child is.”

  “Did you not just see her pull Iris’s tail? I think my poor old cat will end up traumatised by the time Emma loses interest in her.”

  “It’s only normal for her to be interested in a small furry animal. But yes, I agree it must be hard for Iris, especially after already having to share her territory with me, that other intruder.” Zoya reached out a hand to Emma and stroked her cheek.

  When Emma arrived at their house, all other activity stopped, and all attention was directed at her, even though Florence kept telling Camille that Emma was not a child in constant need of attention because they refused to raise her that way.

  “I’m her grandmother and she is, so far, my only grandchild. I can’t look away when she does something cute. It’s my job to marvel at her.”

  “Mon dieu,” Flo had said while glancing at Zoya, “and now there’s two of you.”

  Emma had only been one month old when she’d first met Zoya. In her memory, Zoya would always have been there as part of her family’s life. It was a heart-warming thought. The girl had taken to Zoya as well, who spoke to her in English.

  “Kangaroo, Kangaroo,” Zoya sang to Emma. “When you come to Australia I will take you to the zoo.”

  Camille smiled. Before she’d left on that two-month trip to Australia, ending with a few days in Sydney, where she had fallen head-over-heels for Zoya, she’d been so down in the dumps. And look at her now. On a Sunday afternoon like this, it was easy to forget about her worries at work. About any worry she’d ever had in her life—and she’d had many.

  Emma stretched out her arms, indicating she wanted Zoya to hold her. Camille gave the child a quick peck on the cheek and handed her over.

  “Don’t teach her English with an Australian accent. Emma is a sophisticated French girl. She will not sound… what’s the word again… bogan?”

  Zoya held Emma so she could stand with her tiny feet on her knees. “Your grandmother is such a snob. Did you know that, Emma?” She said it with the thickest accent she could muster. “You might be French, but you won’t become such a snob, will you? I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Bogan,” Emma repeated.

  Both Camille and Zoya burst out laughing. The joy such a tiny creature could bring. All she literally had to do was say a single word and she had two grown women in stitches.

  After Florence and Mathieu had picked up Emma, Camille and Zoya were lounging in the living room with a glass of wine. Camille had almost finished hers, while Zoya’s was still near full.

  “If you’re not going to drink that, I’ll have it,” Camille said.

  Zoya fixed her dark gaze on Camille. “I’m savouring it, as in drinking it slowly. Unlike some.”

  “I’m just a faster savourer of wine than you. It’s because I’m French. I started drinking wine when I was barely this high.” She held up her hand just above the seat of the sofa.

  “So you’ve had plenty in your life. No need to gulp it down so fast anymore.”

  Camille examined Zoya’s face. “Are you scolding me for drinking too much?”

  Zoya shook her head. “No, although I have noticed an increase in intake.” She paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Camille sighed. “It’s the Sunday evening dread.” She looked away from Zoya. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.” She shook her head. “It’s so frustrating, because I’ve always enjoyed my job. I still do. But it makes me feel like a lesser woman to let a man get the better of me.”

  “He’s not getting the better of you, darling.”

  “He is.” Camille looked into her wine glass. “The very fact that I’m talking about him on a Sunday evening means that he is. All that bullshit is taking away from my job satisfaction. I’m letting him do that to me. Just like so many women all over the world let men do things like this to them.” She scoffed. “In a way, it’s Jean-Claude all over again. I sacrificed so much for him. What did he ever do for me?”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself.” Zoya scooted closer to Camille and put a hand on her arm. “What you’re feeling is completely normal, but you should make an effort to not feel responsible for any of this. Because you’re not. It’s not you. It’s him.”

  “Easier said than done.” She glanced at Zoya’s hand on her arm, then at her face. It helped.

  “You need to get him fired. Just like you cut ties with your ex-husband and you found happiness again, you need to do the same with this Duflot guy.”

  “He’s a good scientist.”

  “It doesn’t matter how good he is. Being good at something doesn’t excuse being an asshole. And being an asshole should be grounds enough for getting the sack. You need to keep a file of everything he says to you. The tiniest thing. Every look he gives you that makes you feel uncomfortable. Every time you notice he goes behind your back. Prepare for war.”

  Camille arched up her eyebrows. “You definitely sound battle ready.”

  “I don’t like it when somebody messes with my woman. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

  “I will fight him, but he’s smart.”

  “He might be smart, but you’re smarter. You’re his boss, after all. A job you didn’t get because you’re a woman, but because you’re better at what you do than he is.”

  “Keep going.” A smile was starting to break through Camille’s gloom. “I need some more.”

  “You’re not only very intelligent, of course.” Zoya shuffled a little closer still. “Granted, there are a lot of smoking hot women in Paris, but you’re the hottest of them all.” She planted a kiss on the curve of Camille’s neck. “One look from you, and I melt all over.” Another kiss, right underneath Camille’s earlobe. “I moved to the other side of the world for you. No ordinary woman could ever make me do that.”

  “I love you.” Camille cupped Zoya’s cheeks in her hand. “You are so good for
me. The best thing ever.”

  “Let’s keep talking in clichés a little while longer.” Zoya’s voice had lowered in pitch.

  “I mean every word, Zoya.” Camille looked her in the eyes. Those dark, almost black eyes, which she could lose herself in so easily. As she did, she wondered if this was the true meaning of love. This kind of support. Someone who had your back in difficult times. Throughout her marriage to Jean-Claude, more often than not, Camille had felt like it was her against the world. She didn’t feel like that any longer, now that she had Zoya by her side.

  “So do I.” Zoya drew her lips into a mischievous grin, then tilted her head and found Camille’s ear. “And you make me come like nobody’s business.”

  Zoya

  Zoya glanced at the text message Steph had sent her. It contained the number of Marion Lavalle, her therapist. Steph had sent it a few days ago, but Zoya had ignored it. She needed to talk to Camille first, but she had enough on her plate at work with that caveman trying to steal her job. Besides, she would like to ask some more questions first. Not that she didn’t know how counselling worked, but did this woman even speak sufficient English?

  She glanced at the clock. It was around 9 p.m. in Sydney. What she needed was a friendly face. Not just any friendly face—someone who had known her for years. Someone who connected her with her past, but also someone who knew what it was like to leave your home country. She’d never previously believed Australia meant so much to her, yet, she was caught in a rush of melancholic nostalgia every time she heard a tourist speak in an Australian accent on the street, or when she was reminded that it was now winter in Sydney, while for her it was summer.

  With a few mouse clicks, Zoya called her friend Caitlin James on FaceTime. Because just hearing her voice wasn’t enough; she had to see her face.

  Caitlin picked up after a few rings. “Hello, stranger.”

  For a split second, Zoya was overcome with joy at the sight of her friend, but she quickly regrouped. Caitlin was the kind of person who would pick up on this in a heartbeat and turn it into a joke, and Zoya wasn’t sure she could joke about how she felt. Not yet.

  “It’s so good to see your face,” Zoya said. FaceTiming with someone in Australia reminded her of all the times the internet was all she and Camille had to communicate when they were living apart. Surely, living with Camille and calling her friends—instead of the other way around—was an improvement.

  “You’re not mad at me anymore for taking over The Zoya Das Show?”

  “You will never have my elegance and class, but no, I’m all right with it now. The Caitlin James Show is its own thing now.”

  “Tell me all about your wonderful life in Pahree,” Caitlin said. “I would so love to come and visit but it’s not easy when you have a weekly TV show and a partner who always has somewhere to be. Jo’s not home, but I’m sure she would send her love if she was, by the way.”

  That was the other thing about moving to a glamorous city like Paris. Everyone automatically assumed it was amazing, while they didn’t know about the tiny grievances like having to drive on the other side of the road or no one understanding what a flat white was.

  “How’s Jo?” Zoya ignored the question about Paris. She needed some time to ponder whether she could confide in Caitlin about this.

  “She’s doing great. We’re living in happy domestic bliss.” A smile appeared on Caitlin’s face.

  “Caitlin James has settled down. Who knew the day would ever come?”

  “Ah well, you know, I love her to pieces, so… Tell me about your gorgeous French woman, then. Everything hunky-dory?”

  “Camille is great. She does have a few issues with a colleague at work after coming out. Some good old homophobia, but she’ll get through it.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “Let me know if you need me to come over and talk some sense into this person. While I’m there, maybe I can swing an interview with Dominique Laroche.”

  Zoya grinned. She’d been curious how long it would take Caitlin to bring up the president. Caitlin James didn’t idolise many, but she had a huge soft spot for Dominique. “There’s no way you’re getting there first. I’ll be the first Australian journalist to interview her.”

  “But you’re doing pieces on butter now, Zoya. You’re a couple of rungs too low on the correspondent ladder for such a high-profile interview.”

  “You’re forgetting about my connections. Stéphanie Mathis and I are thick as thieves these days.” A slight exaggeration was allowed on long-distance internet calls.

  “While all I have is my reputation,” Caitlin joked. “Which should get me a foot in the door.” She paused. “How are you, Zoya? Is the job working out? You don’t miss me too much?”

  “I miss you incredibly, of course.” Zoya made it sound like a joke, but she meant it from the bottom of her heart. “What’s my life without Caitlin James in it?”

  “That’s what I thought.” There was a sudden kindness in Caitlin’s eyes. Maybe she missed Zoya as well.

  “The job is fine. It’s quite relaxed compared to what I used to do, but it’s good to get the lay of the land before I switch to a higher gear.”

  “I was wondering what happened to your ambition.”

  “Sometimes other things are more important than ambition.”

  “Ah yes, the love of a good woman. Don’t tell anyone, but I agree.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” Zoya knew Caitlin’s softer side, even though she didn’t show it very often.

  “I didn’t… quite… catch that.” Caitlin’s voice came through crackled and the image of her face was distorted. Another nuisance when trying to communicate with people thousands of miles away. Just when you were getting into a conversation, the internet started acting up. It was an all too familiar occurrence for Zoya.

  A minute-long silence followed. Zoya clicked on the telephone icon a few times and Caitlin flickered onto the screen, but then she was gone.

  Zoya inhaled, held her breath for a second, then exhaled deeply. It had been good to see Caitlin’s face, even if only for such a short period of time. They hadn’t exchanged a lot of information, but that wasn’t always a requirement when chatting to a friend. Just knowing they were there, albeit ten thousand miles and a crappy internet connection away, was enough. For now.

  Aurore

  Aurore smoothed a wrinkle in her blouse, then brushed a strand of stray hair from her face. A tingle rose in her stomach as the taxi drove up to the front gate of the Elysée. She had been here before, but this was different. This was… private. Could dinner with the president ever be private? Speaking of, she’d never met the president before, a thought that amplified that tingle in her tummy. She also figured she wasn’t Dominique Laroche’s favourite person at the moment—nor Solange Garceau’s.

  A quiet man in an immaculate suit guided her through the corridors to the private quarters, their footfalls the only sound. Aurore took advantage of the solemn atmosphere to think about what she’d found when she’d googled Solange. Nothing.

  The woman was a complete mystery. Apart from the obvious: a similar background to Dominique, born and bred in the bosom of the MLR. Not a word about her private life anywhere. Either she was a master at hiding it or she didn’t have one.

  The man rapped his knuckles against a pair of double doors and waited stiffly until someone said, “Entrez.”

  Aurore was admitted to a quite normal albeit rather bourgeois lounge. She could picture Dominique living here. Stéphanie not so much.

  Steph walked into the room, followed by a fat ginger cat. She opened her arms wide and greeted Aurore heartily—as though she’d been waiting to exhale until she’d arrived.

  “Dominique and Solange will be here soon.” She rolled her eyes. “A free evening is never really a free evening around here.” As announced, Steph was dressed in a pair of jeans and a grey blazer. “Drink?”

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  They sat down and S
teph poured wine from a bottle in an ice bucket on the coffee table. Once filled, they held up their glasses.

  “We might end up having dinner just the two of us, but hey,” she leaned forward and whispered, “I’ve had worse company.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Aurore clinked her glass against Steph’s. She enjoyed Steph’s company, but she would be disappointed if she failed to meet Dominique.

  “How are you?” Steph asked. “Heartbreak-wise, I mean.”

  “Oh, Vivianne… What Vivianne?” Aurore took a swig of wine. “You know.” She shrugged. “It takes a bit of time, but I have since come to realise she was hardly the love of my life. If she was, she wouldn’t have left me.”

  “Wise words.”

  “Come to think of it… if she hadn’t left me when she did, and I hadn’t called Camille to comfort me, I might not have met you and I might not be sitting here right now.”

  “A wonderful coincidence,” Steph said.

  A bustle in the hallway made Aurore sit up in her seat. The double doors flew open and Dominique and Solange walked in.

  “Madame Seauve,” Dominique said, hand out-stretched. “Enchantée.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Madam President.”

  “Please, no formalities tonight. Call me Dominique.” She gestured at Solange. “You’ve met my chief of staff.”

  “I have.” Aurore painted a wide smile on her face and held out her hand. “Good to see you again, Solange.”

  “And you, Madame Seauve.” The same damp grip wrapped itself around Aurore’s fingers.

  “What are we drinking?” Dominique rubbed her hands together and pecked Steph on the cheek.

  “Your favourite Chablis,” Steph said and poured them both a glass.

  “Not for me,” Solange said. “I have work to do tonight.”