French Kissing: Season One

by Harper Bliss

  Her muscles shook when she came down and Margot quickly untied her, massaging her wrists and pouring her body over hers. Unable to speak, she lunged for Margot’s head and pulled her in for a long kiss. Now that her hands were free, she let them roam over Margot’s body, pushing her up so she could run them over her breasts.

  “Straddle me,” Claire said.

  A soft willingness glimmered in Margot’s eyes as she threw her thigh over Claire’s belly. Before inching close enough for contact, she looked down.

  “Please, don’t break my heart,” she said, before Claire’s tongue connected with her pussy.

  STEPH

  Steph woke to the loud jangling of a ringtone that wasn’t hers.

  “Fuck,” Dominique said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes in the bed beside her. She scrambled for her phone. “Oui,” she said, her voice still deep with sleep. “What?” She shot up, the sheets falling off her naked torso. “Now?” She looked over at Steph in a panic. “Okay.” She rang off and threw the phone onto the bed. “My kids are here.”

  “What?” Steph, only half-awake, didn’t understand, although the message was loud and clear.

  “I’m taking them to Disneyland today.” Dominique got up and started looking around the room. “They can’t see you. You’ll have to hide in the en-suite.”

  “What?” Steph felt like a toy monkey that could only say one word.

  “I’m sorry. They’re at the door. I overslept. Just, please, do this for me.” She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and headed for the door, shaking her head. “Mother of the bloody year,” she muttered as she exited Steph’s field of vision, closing the door behind her.

  Stunned, Steph located her clothes and shut herself in the bathroom. Muffled voices came from the adjacent living room. Footsteps, approaching but then ebbing away again. Children’s cheers. When, at last, it all registered, Steph felt like hiding her face in her hands and breaking out into a good sob. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Not only was Dominique out of bounds because of their working relationship and her job as a career politician belonging to a party that shared none of Steph’s beliefs, but she had two children in the age bracket that—judging from the sounds coming from the living room—still very much enjoyed going to theme parks.

  On top of that, she was hiding in someone’s bathroom, being invisible. Pretending not to exist.

  As glorious as last night had been, round after round of groping at each other, never getting enough—resulting in grossly oversleeping—it surely couldn’t be worth this. This humiliation. This flagrantly being asked to erase herself.

  But it wasn’t as if she hadn’t known in advance, or she had anyone else to blame. It wasn’t even an error of judgement anymore and, perhaps, that was the worst of all. She hadn’t come here just for sex. If she’d wanted that, she could have easily gotten it at Les Pêches. She’d come for Dominique Laroche. Pretty, photogenic, unavailable Dominique Laroche.

  Before Steph had the chance to start feeling even more sorry for herself, Dominique barged back into the bedroom, locking the door behind her. “I could die of shame,” she said.

  Although Steph could recognise this situation was probably a lot harder on her, she was the one ensconced in the bathroom, hiding from view. She also fully realised that the only reason she failed to see the humour in this, was because she’d, somehow, gotten way too close.

  “I can quietly tip-toe through the hallway while you shower. The noise will distract them.” Steph heard blaring cartoon voices coming from the living room. “And if they’re anything like my nephews, nothing will tear their gaze away from that television.”

  “No.” Dominique stood in front of her, bathrobe half-open, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s too risky. I’m really sorry. The quicker you let me shower, the quicker we can leave.” She sighed and brought her hands to Steph’s upper arms for a comforting squeeze.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of me joining you in there?” Steph eyed the shower cabin.

  Dominique just shook her head, disrobed and opened the glass door.

  “This has got to end, you know,” Steph murmured, but the water falling down onto the tiles drowned out her voice.

  She had no choice but to wait, trying to not make too much noise as she studied Dominique’s lotions and creams. She sprayed some of Dominique’s perfume on her wrist, as if a pleasant scent could undo the bitterness that clung to this morning’s events.

  “That was fast.” Steph handed Dominique a towel.

  “Once you have children, you automatically spend less time on yourself.” Dominique covered her body with the towel—a blue one, of course.

  For the first time, Steph sensed the pressure Dominique was under. She wanted to hold her, but the moment couldn’t have been more wrong for a sentimental gesture. Fast as lightning, Dominique brushed her teeth, and slipped into jeans and a navy shirt—a good look on her. She pulled a comb through her hair and arranged it in a loose bun on the back of her head, looking nothing like, but at the same time being every inch, the politician she was.

  “I can’t apologise enough.” She turned to Steph one last time. “I won’t forget this.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Feel free to shower and stay as long as you like. Just let the door fall into the lock when you leave.” With that, she was gone.

  Steph waited until the rustling in the living room died down and a loud bang of the door announced their departure. As if glued to the floor, she remained in the bathroom a little longer, stunned by what had happened—and the unmistakable message it sent.

  NADIA

  Nadia watched Juliette as she effortlessly engaged in small talk with her father, possessing the gift of being able to talk to anybody about any subject—even football.

  “Give me a hand?” her mother asked, collecting the plates from the table.

  Nadia stood up, gestured at Juliette to stay seated, and followed her mother into the kitchen, carrying a bowl of left-over couscous.

  “What’s going on?” her mother whispered as soon as they were alone.

  “What are you talking about?” Nadia turned her back, digging into a drawer for cling film.

  “You’re my only daughter, sweetie, I know when something’s not right.” If it was that obvious to her mother, why didn’t Juliette notice?

  Nadia steadied herself with her hands against the sink. “It’s nothing, just a bit of a rough patch. We’ll be fine. We’re going to Barcelona for the Quatorze.”

  “You can always talk to me. You know that, right?” Her mother put a hand on her shoulder, a gesture so sweet and comforting, it touched her to the core.

  “Mamy, je t’aime,” she spun around to face her mother, “but some things are better left unsaid.”

  “That bad, huh?” Her mother drew her near for a hug. At forty-one, it still reduced Nadia to a girl who could only ever find comfort in her mother’s arms. She could feel the secrets well up inside of her, trying to find a way out. Not just the sword of Damocles hanging above her and Juliette’s head, but also Steph’s indiscretion and the news she’d soon have to deliver to Margot. It was too much. So much so, that she’d had no choice but to reject Juliette earlier that day. The hope in her eyes had been too devastating.

  Nadia pushed back the tears. This was not the time, nor place. But the inevitable was looming—the moment of truth she’d been dreading. A small teardrop fell from the corner of her eye onto her mother’s scarf. Nadia bit back the rest of the tears gathering behind her eyes and pulled herself together.

  Breaking free from her mother’s hug, she said, “It’s a bit of a mess, but I’ll sort it.” How, though? She rubbed her eyes. “Let’s go back in.”

  “Hey.” Her mother grabbed her by the wrist. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me.”

  “I know.” Nadia could barely still look her mother in the eye. How could she possibly tell her about what she’d done?

  They walked back in together. Juliette, lit up from behind
by the light coming through the window, looked like an angel, a vision that would soon blur away.

  “Your phone’s vibrating,” Juliette said, her voice flat. They both knew what that could mean on a Sunday afternoon.

  “Oh.” Nadia was so tired of coming to her own defence. She picked up her phone from where she had left it on the table, surprised to find a message from Steph.

  Can you talk?

  “The hospital?” Juliette asked sharply, probably trying to make a point to her parents.

  “It’s nothing. It’s just Steph.” Nadia started typing a dismissive reply.

  “Steph? What does she want?” Genuine surprise clung to Juliette’s voice.

  “Just apologising for disappearing last night.” Another day, another lie. Nadia didn’t have to think very hard to figure out where Steph had ended up after she had left the club.

  “Okay.” Visibly relieved that Nadia wasn’t being called away on an emergency, Juliette resumed her conversation with Nadia’s dad. Nadia thanked the heavens that they were at her parents’ house and Juliette didn’t inquire any further.

  When she looked up, she caught her mother’s worried glance. Anguish lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. After this, after they went home, she’d have to tell Juliette.

  “Do you have more wine, Mamy?” Nadia asked.

  * * *

  “Getting wasted at your parents now?” Juliette asked as their taxi reached the périphérique.

  Nadia gazed out of the window, at the glaring city lights in the distance. “I’m not wasted,” she whispered.

  “It would help if you looked at me when you spoke.” A cattiness had crept in Juliette’s voice. For once, Nadia couldn’t blame her.

  Nadia turned her head to face her partner. “We need to talk.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Tonight, as soon as we get home.” Despite the glass of wine too many she’d had, mainly to calm her nerves, Nadia’s heart hammered beneath her ribs.

  As the taxi pulled up to the curb of their building, Juliette received a text message. She paid the driver and got out first before checking her phone. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming an ‘o’ but no words coming out.

  “What’s wrong?” Nadia asked.

  “Oh, Steph.” Juliette shook her head. “I should have known she couldn’t be trusted.”

  A whole new set of nerves settled in Nadia’s stomach as Juliette lifted her phone towards her to show her the screen. On it, a blurry picture of Steph was displayed, looking disheveled, in a street Nadia didn’t immediately recognise.

  “And?” Nadia asked. As far as she could tell, it was just an innocent image of Steph.

  “Read the message,” Juliette instructed. She scrolled down and showed Nadia.

  Guess whose flat she’s fleeing? S.

  “Who’s S?” Nadia asked, panic gripping her.

  “That’s your question?” Juliette arched her eyebrows up high. “Jesus Christ.” She shook her head, scanned the street for a taxi, holding up her arm. “I have to go, because, apparently Steph is shagging the députée.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “I know Steph, that’s how I bloody know.” Juliette started dialling a number. The person on the other end of the line picked up immediately. “Meet me at the office as soon as possible,” she barked into the receiver. “I’m sorry. Our talk will have to wait.” Juliette got into the taxi, leaving Nadia flabbergasted on the sidewalk.

  As soon as she found her bearings, Nadia texted Steph.

  I don’t know how, but Juliette knows about you and DL. Someone just sent her a picture.

  JULIETTE

  “I live in the building where Dominique Laroche has her pied-à-terre. She’s been staying there on and off since she separated from her husband,” Sybille said, her voice steady, her demeanour not showing any signs of stress or excitement. What a pro. “I was crossing the road when I spotted someone coming out of the building. I saw it was Stéphanie. She didn’t notice me. Instinctively, I took a picture, because I know Dominique lives in the building and, well, it was nine-thirty on a Sunday morning and she was hardly dressed for a business meeting.”

  “Jesus Christ.” This was all Juliette needed after the day she had just had. “I’m calling in Claire. Please, delete that picture.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t send it to you as soon as I took it.” Sybille leaned against Juliette’s desk as if she owned it. “I didn’t want to get her into trouble, but there’s no way this can ever be a good thing for Barbier & Cyr if it comes out.”

  “It’s fine,” Juliette said while waiting for Claire to pick up the phone. There could only be one reason why she didn’t after the first ring. She dialled again, letting it ring and ring, until, at last, Claire answered. Juliette beat her to an exasperated greeting.

  “Come into the office now. Big emergency. It can’t wait.”

  “What is it?” Claire asked. “It’s kind of a bad time—”

  “Not over the phone.” Juliette hung up before Claire had a chance to protest. She eyed Sybille. “You live on the Avenue Foch? That’s fancy for a twenty-something.”

  A hint of redness bloomed on Sybille’s cheeks. “My partner lives there. I moved in about a month ago.”

  Juliette whistled through her teeth. “Some partner. What does she do?”

  The blush beneath Sybille’s cheekbones intensified. “I—I never said it was a woman.”

  “No need to. I always presumed that was one of the reasons you wanted to work here, because we’re so open about these things, which today, I’ve actually come to regret for the first time in all these years.” Juliette sighed. “I’m beginning to think there’s so much more to Laroche hiring Barbier & Cyr. That woman is one sly fox. I almost feel sorry for Steph.” The reality of the situation hit her again. “Almost, but not quite.” She found Sybille’s eyes. “So?”

  “What?” Sybille seemed distracted, caught off guard.

  “What does your partner do?” Juliette crashed down into her office chair, not the seat she’d expected to be in that late on a Sunday evening—then again, maybe, in a way, it was better than another gruelling conversation with Nadia.

  “Nothing much. She just has a lot of money. Trust fund, you know.”

  Juliette didn’t know, but nodded anyway. “Listen, Sybille. I know it probably goes without saying, but once Claire arrives, this information does not leave this room. Ever.”

  “Of course.”

  “We need to know we can trust you.” Juliette fixed her eyes on Sybille.

  “Unlike other people in this firm, you mean?”

  Juliette pursed her lips together and nodded slightly, her chin moving of its own accord.

  “What’s going to happen to her?” Sybille asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ll need to get her side of the story.” Shrugging, Juliette leaned back in her chair. “This may get complicated.”

  * * *

  After Claire had uttered enough expletives to put an Australian to shame, she asked, “What now?”

  Juliette looked at her watch. “Do we call her in now? If we wait until tomorrow morning, when everyone is here, it may get ugly.”

  “Hold on.” Claire turned to Sybille. “We greatly appreciate you bringing this to us, but we’ll need to discuss this in private. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course.” Sybille straightened her posture. “See you bright and early.”

  “Thanks,” Juliette walked towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. “You may have saved us a lot of trouble and we won’t forget this.”

  They waited until Sybille exited her office. Juliette sat down in her chair, facing Claire.

  “Why doesn’t this surprise me as much as it should?” Claire bit her bottom lip. “You know, I was having the best weekend I’ve had in,” she shook her head, “as long as I can bloody well remember, and then this happens.”

  “We can’t discuss this behind her back. I’m calling her.” Julie
tte reached for her phone, the damaging picture still displayed on the screen.

  STEPH

  By the time Juliette called her, Steph’s brain had gone into full-on damage control mode. At least she had the advantage of knowing they knew before Juliette and Claire confronted her. She considered calling Dominique, but after the awkwardness of this morning, she decided not to.

  When push came to shove, though, there wasn’t much she could do—and she was dying to find out who had sent the ominous picture Nadia had spoken of in her text. It definitely wasn’t Dominique. They’d been careful—Steph had been hiding in the bathroom for the better part of an hour this morning just to make sure.

  When she arrived at the Barbier & Cyr office and pushed the heavy front door open, she wondered if this would be her last visit to the building.

  She walked past the empty offices, dimly lit by the fading light outside, until she reached Juliette’s door. Before knocking, she took a deep breath—ready for execution.

  Over the phone, Juliette hadn’t told her this emergency was Dominique-related. Steph tried to keep a clear head, her face neutral, when she walked in.

  “Hey,” she said, a hint of a smile on her face. “What’s up?”

  “You slept with Laroche.” Claire was the first to speak. “The one person, Steph, the only one in this city of millions you had to stay away from.”

  Despite expecting the statement, and not being able to deny its accuracy, a rush of shame made its way from Steph’s gut to her face, leaving her cheeks flushed. She felt like a teenager being called into the principal’s office—for something far worse than smoking outside the gates.