“If it means that I get to have you, then I’ll tough it out.” I meant every single word at that moment. I think you can say I was naïve about it or that I just didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. Boy, was I wrong.
The next day, our faces were plastered on the front of every magazine, but it just wasn’t us; it was Jacqueline too. The headlines were vicious, so fucking vicious, and although I knew they were all lies, I couldn’t help but cringe.
Briseuse de ménage
Homewrecker
Abandonne sa fiancée enceinte pour une prostituée trash
Leaving his pregnant fiancée for a trashy whore
Petite amie ou escorte payée
Girlfriend or paid escort
I’m sitting in the middle of the bed, and I’m going through the papers when IVC Designs, one of my biggest clients, calls me.
“Hey Jen, how are you?” I ask, answering the phone.
“I’m good,” she says curtly, and I know right away something is wrong. “Listen, Meghan, we had a change of heart with the design firm, and I’m sorry, but we are going to have to stop the three projects you’re working on.”
“Oh no,” I say softly. “Is there a specific reason?” I ask her as she is usually bubbly.
“I’m sorry, Meghan, but we don’t really want the negative press you are bringing with you,” she says, and I’m caught off guard.
“Negative press?” I repeat the words. “You mean because of who I’m dating?”
“Well, yes,” she says, “it’s a family-run company, and your …”
I stop her right there. “I’m very sad that it’s come to this, and I wish you nothing but the best,” I say and then disconnect the call. The rest of the day, three more clients drop me. I start going over my waitlist, and when I call people back, only two agree to work with me. It’s nothing like what I lost, but at least, it’s something.
I don’t bother bringing it up to him. I can see he’s already at his wit’s end with the press, and when I finally get on the plane to go home, it’s bittersweet. I hate leaving him, but I don’t know how much more I can take.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” I slam the phone down. “It’s been ten fucking days, and the press is still all over me.”
“It’ll pass, mon fils.” My boy, my father says to me from the doorway. “They just need something else to focus on.”
“There was a picture of Jacqueline and me kissing on the cover of the paper today and the headline was Meghan qui?” Meghan who. “It was taken when we first started dating, and it was also her mother who took the picture.”
Giselle, my mother, and my grandmother come into the room with their arms full of bags. “Who knew shopping could be so tiresome?” she says, collapsing on the bed.
“The good news is I think we have a dress,” Giselle says. “I’m just waiting for them to finalize all the details I want, and then it’s done.” She sits now and looks over at me. “What’s got you in a foul mood?”
“Fucking press won’t leave me alone,” I hiss. “I can’t fucking handle this shit.”
“You have it easy,” Giselle says, and I look over at her confused. “At least you aren’t losing your job.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I look at her, and she looks at my grandmother and then at me. “What is it?”
“Well, you can’t quit now,” my grandmother points out.
“Someone better start talking.” I sit down now.
“Meghan has lost about fifteen clients since this has started,” Giselle says.
“What?” It comes out in a whisper.
“The day after the press finally got her name and her picture was everywhere, she had three clients pull out of projects she was doing. When she got home, slowly but surely, they started taking their business elsewhere.” Giselle looks at me, and I look at my family
“I’m making a statement, a strong one, and I need the family’s approval,” I tell them, and they all look at me.
“Do you love her?” my mother asks, and I nod. “Because you know this can backfire on you.”
“I do, but I’m hoping to fuck it doesn’t,” I tell them and pick up the phone ready to make the statement that is ten days coming. Sure, we made the statement that we were together, but it just put more fuel on the already growing fire.
“What are you going to do about Meghan?” my father asks when I finally get off the phone.
“I’m taking off in two hours to go spend the weekend with her,” I tell them, “then I’m hoping she comes back home with me for a bit.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Giselle says. I get up and kiss my mother and grandmother goodbye and go home to pack a bag. I’m almost down when a message comes in.
It’s done.
I smile at the phone, pressing the link to the story.
Une déclaration officielle de M. Alexandre Deville,
J'ai toujours su que mon nom de famille et mon héritage étaient de grandes responsabilités. Un nom que je porte avec fierté et avec honneur. J’ai aussi conscience que ma notoriété ne me donne pas le droit d’avoir une vie privée. Cependant , quand c’est trop, c’est trop.
Au cours des dix derniers jours, ma compagne et moi-même avons fait la une de tous les journaux
Meghan Prust a eu son nom trainé dans la boue .
Votre but est de vendre des journaux, mon but est de protéger la femme que j'aime. C'est la seule déclaration que vous obtiendrez de moi. Si ces histoires et ces mensonges se poursuivent La famille Deville n’accordera plus d’entrevue.
Nous voulons vivre heureux et nous vous remercions de respecter notre requète.
Alexandre Deville
A statement from Mr. Alexandre Deville,
I've always known that with my family name and legacy come big responsibilities. A name that I wear proudly and with honor. I’ve known also that regardless of how much of a private life that I want, it’s just not feasible, and I've come to terms with it.
Over the course of the past ten days, I've been plastered all over the front of newspaper, and if this was just me, I would have nothing to say, but it’s not just me.
Meghan Prust has been the subject of some harsh untruths. She has been judged and painted as the bag guy, and I'm here to tell you that it is very far from the truth.
Your goal is to sell newspapers, and my goal is to protect the woman I love. This is the only statement you will get from me. Should your paper choses to publish this false allegation and lies, myself and all Deville family members will not be granting any future interviews.
I hope that in the end you will chose to do the right thing because, at the end of the day, we are just a couple of people who fell in love.
Alexandre Deville.
I put the phone in my back pocket of my jeans, and I make my way over to the airport. When I call her, she seems tired, and her voice sounds defeated. I let her go so she can prepare dinner. When I finally land, a car is waiting for me and quickly takes me to her. Reaching over, I grab my bag and walk up the stairs to her house, ringing the doorbell. I hear her footsteps behind the door and then she swings it open. She stands there in front of me in cut-off jean shorts and a white long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into the front of the jeans. The look on her face goes from shock to happy. “You’re here?” she says, throwing herself into my arms. I wrap one arm around her waist as I carry her inside. I kick the door closed with my foot and drop my bag. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she says, looking at me.
Carrying her to the couch, I sit down with her on me. “We have some things to discuss, Chérie,” I inform her. “But first, I’m going to kiss you.” She smiles and leans in kisses me on the lips. I lick out, and her tongue invades my mouth. When I finally let her go, she remains on my lap.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, and I see finally that she has little circles under her eyes.
/> “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask her, not beating around the bush. She looks down and then up again.
“There was no need to,” she tells me. “There was nothing you could do to help, so I didn’t see the reason to.”
“But it was my fault.” Her fingers cover my mouth, stopping me from talking.
“Nothing that happened was your fault.” She takes her hands away. “Nothing.”
“But it was my fault. It was all my fault.” I shake my head.
“Were you the one who called the press and made them run those stories?” I shake my head. “Then it isn’t your fault.”
“Tell me everything,” I ask her.
She shrugs her shoulders and tries to stay strong when she talks. “No one wants to be associated with bad press, even if it’s all lies.”
“I put out a statement yesterday,” I tell her. “The Deville family will no longer deal with newspapers who print anything about you.”
“You guys don’t have to do that. It’ll blow over,” she tells me. “It’ll be old news one day.”
“It’s been ten fucking days,” I say, raising my voice. “It’s enough.”
She cups my face with both her hands. “It’ll blow over,” she says softly. “Eventually, it will all blow over, and this will be a funny story.”
“Nothing about your pain and hurt is funny, amour.” My hands rub up and down on her legs. “This whole thing has been crucial to us, to your business.”
“This has not touched us.” Coming in, she kisses me. “This has, if anything, brought us closer.”
“But all your hard work …” I take a deep breath.
“All my hard work will pay off eventually,” she tells me. “This is just a little hiccup.” She looks down and then up. “I mean, if anything, I might have a bit more free time. You know”—she shrugs—“to maybe take a little vacation.”
“You’re coming home with me,” I tell her, not even asking. “I also want to talk about this two week thing.” Looking into her eyes, I watch her, touching her. “It’s too long.”
“Are you telling me or asking me?” She laughs. “Because it sounded like a question, but then it was you telling me that I’m going home with you.”
“How do I need to answer to make sure you come home with me?” I kiss her. “We leave Sunday morning at nine.”
“Fine,” she says breathlessly, leaning over and kissing me. I get up and take her upstairs, and we spend the rest of the night in bed, both of us trying to make up for lost time.
“The girls are going to be here at six,” Meghan shouts from the closet as she gets dressed the day after I got back to her house. I’m standing at the sink brushing my teeth, and I couldn’t feel any more content in my life. This morning when we were sitting down having breakfast, I got an email showing me the front pages of the tabloids, and we weren’t on any of them.
“I think I’m going to go and get some groceries,” Meghan says, coming into the bathroom dressed in another pair of cut-off shorts, a long-sleeved baggy white sweater with black stripes that has a big neck line and shows the lace of her bra under.
“You better get dressed then,” I tell her as I rinse my mouth, and she crosses her arms over her chest.
“I am dressed.” Her glare isn’t so harsh.
“Well, then make a list, and I’ll go and get the stuff because you have too much skin showing.” I walk to her with a smirk, leaning and kissing her bare shoulder. I walk into the closet that has a couple of my things hanging in there. I grab the jeans and go to the shelf that holds my shirts.
“I’m not changing.” I turn to look at her. “There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”
“Then why are the pockets of your shorts sticking out at the bottom?” I question her.
“It’s the style.” Her hands fly up. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m okay with that.” Smiling, I get my running shoes on.
“I don’t get it,” she says, putting her own flip-flops on. “I can’t go out dressed like this alone, but it’s okay if you’re there?”
“Yup.” I smirk, walking to the chair where my baseball hat is. “If I’m there, then no one is going to look twice at you because you’re with your man.” She rolls her eyes at me, and we go to the grocery store. I walk by her the whole time, my arm draped over her shoulder.
I don’t give her a chance to put away anything once we get inside the house. Instead, I take her against the wall at the front door. I kiss her neck, then carry her upstairs and into the shower right after we calm our breathing. Today is just the two of us lounging on the couch, with her head in my lap, her Kindle in her hand as she reads, and my feet outstretched while I watch a movie.
“We should make a rule,” Meghan says while she peels the potatoes for dinner. “That we cook with each other at least twice a week.”
“I like that rule,” I tell her from my stool where I’m trying to peel carrots. At this point, I will agree to whatever she wants as long as she’s there when I wake up and when I go to bed. Fuck, I’ll take whatever she wants to give me.
The doorbell rings once, and then the door opens. “Put all naughty parts away; you have company,” I hear Diana shout with Kate laughing behind her.
“I really hope they haven’t had sex in the kitchen where my food is being prepared,” she says to Diana. “We should have insisted on ordering pizza.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m sure Meg Lysols after,” Diana says. “I mean, who can have coffee with ass prints on the counter? NO ONE.” I laugh to myself as they have the conversation walking into the kitchen.
“Did you guys have sex on that island?” Kate asks, and I look over at her. She’s looking at Meghan.
“Nope,” she says with a smile, taking her glass of wine and bringing it to her lips. “Not today anyway,” she adds, laughing while she drinks.
“Thank fuck,” Diana says, going to the stool next to me and sitting down.
“But I wouldn’t sit on that stool,” Meghan teases her with a wink, and she flies off of it, looking back at it.
“Kate, do you see any ass prints?” she asks Kate, who is going to the cupboard and grabbing a wine glass. “I think I see ball prints,” she says and gags.
Kate pours herself a glass of white and then picks up the bottle. “This is very good, Mr. Deville.”
“Seriously,” Diana shouts. “Did you guys bang on the stool?” We all laugh at her, and she glares while she fills up her own wine glass. “It’s a good thing you have a vineyard, or I would have my doubts about letting Meghan move in with you.”
“I’m not moving in with him,” Meghan says. “I come back, don’t I?”
“Okay, so I have a little bit of a dilemma,” Kate says. “My landlord is evicting me.”
“What?” Diana and Meghan both say at the same time.
“His son is getting married, and the asshole is giving him my condo as a fucking wedding present,” she says.
“That’s horrible,” Diana says. “You can always crash with me.”
“That’s silly; I have three bedrooms. Why don’t you just come here?” Meghan says to her. “You can look after the house when I leave.”
“Are you sure?” Kate says. “I promise to wear ear plugs when Alex visits.”
I shake my head as the two of them hash out the plans for Kate to move in. Dinner goes off without a hitch, and the girls drink too much wine and laugh at everything. I kiss Meghan’s neck and walk up to bed while she hangs out with her girls. The next day when we walk on the plane, I notice that her bag is a bit bigger than last time. I smile to myself, thinking of the ways I kept throwing things on the pile of clothes she set up to bring. I have her for two weeks, and hopefully, I can have her for longer.
The two weeks fly by with us both working during the day and then meeting up for dinner. Three nights a week, we have our side-by-side cooking meals. We send each other different recipes we would love to try. Mostly, they are edible, but some, on t
he other hand, are not so much. The only thing that matters is that at night, she slides into bed with me. The press has caught us out a couple of times, and the pictures have often ended up on the front page, but the headlines are tame.
For the next two months, we spend maybe a week apart at most. She has started staying over here longer and longer; my things slowly but surely becoming our things. Pictures of us are placed around the house now, at the door, in the kitchen, in the living room, by our bed. In my parents’ house. It’s like she was always here. Except when she leaves, I hate it; the knot in my stomach always forms in the morning when I know she won’t be in bed with me that night.
“I’ll be back on Wednesday night,” she tells me when she kisses me right before she gets back on the plane. “It’ll go quickly. It’s five days.”
“I know.” I pout like a child. “But I hate this.”
“Alex,” she says, and I shake my head.
“Move in with me.” I blurt out what I’ve been trying to ask her for two weeks yet always stopped short. “Move in with me and start a life here.”
“Alex,” she says, “we’ve only known each other a couple of months.”
“And?” I counter. “Is there some written protocol of living with your boyfriend?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Answer this question. If I lived in Toronto, would I be going home every night?” I look at her. “We would be in each other’s bed no matter where we were, so what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that I’m not just moving in with you. I’m leaving my family and friends behind. I’m picking up and moving to another country.”
“You could go back anytime you want,” I tell her, “and they could come here and visit whenever they want. Kate and Diana have already been here four times in the past two months.”
“When you come back this time, I want it to be permanent,” I tell her. “I want your address to be mine.”
She shakes her head at me. “Your sister is getting married next week. Can we talk about this after the fact?” I nod and kiss her lips, and she walks onto the plane. That night, I toss and turn, and the next day, I’m no happier. The cranky just comes over me. By the second day, I’m at my wit’s end. I finally fall asleep, and when I feel the covers move, I look over to see Meghan sliding in with me. “I’m home,” she says and comes to me, and we don’t talk at all while I make love to her or when we fall asleep in each other’s arms. Home, she’s home.
Faux Pas Page 17
