French Kissing: Season One

by Harper Bliss

  After the sixth try, Juliette finally picked up. “Oui,” was all she said.

  “Jules? What’s going on? Are you sick?”

  Silence at the other end of the line.

  “You’re freaking me out.” Claire didn’t know what to think. “Jules?”

  “Can you come over?” Maybe it was a bad connection, but Claire could swear Juliette was sobbing at the other end of it.

  “Of course,” Claire said, because, in the end, meetings could be rescheduled while friendship could not. “I’ll be there soon.”

  After asking Fred to rearrange her schedule and coordinate with Sybille, when she finally arrived, to postpone Juliette’s appointments, Claire walked from the Barbier & Cyr office to Juliette and Nadia’s apartment building. It was only a good ten minutes downhill. The weather was sunny and traffic would only be dying down to its summer slump in two weeks, and taking a taxi would have been foolish.

  Her mind wandered to two weeks from now. Like every year, she’d be going to her family’s summer house in Gordes for a week—about the only time she spent more than two days in a row with her parents and her brother’s family. After the key debacle, she’d thought it too soon to ask Margot to join—even if only for a weekend—but now that she was destined to meet Margot’s parents in the near future, she might reconsider. Still, she wasn’t entirely certain the early stages of their affair could bear the dysfunctions of the Cyr family.

  She would wait to see how meeting Margot’s parents went before inviting her to meet Gaston and Léonie Cyr, worried that introducing level-headed, logical Margot to her borderline crazy family would put her girlfriend off.

  * * *

  Juliette looked as if she’d drunk a barrel of wine over the long weekend. She opened the door dressed in a robe and slippers, ushering Claire in.

  “Jesus, Jules.” Claire walked into the darkened living room, the curtains drawn. “Who died?”

  “My decency, for one.” Juliette crashed down into the sofa, her robe falling open at the chest. She wore nothing underneath. It didn’t show anything Claire hadn’t seen before, but it still made her feel uncomfortable.

  “Tell me.” Claire sat down opposite Juliette and scanned her face. Her skin was blotched and her eyes red-rimmed.

  “I don’t even know where to start.” Clearly, Juliette couldn’t look Claire in the eyes. “You know how I often give you a hard time about sleeping with Steph that one time years ago?” She briefly glanced up at Claire, before looking away again.

  Claire nodded. “Well-deserved on my part.”

  “I slept with Sybille.” It came out as a sigh. “Nadia came home early from Barcelona and as good as caught us in the act.”

  Claire’s mouth fell open. She tried to process the information, but it wouldn’t compute in her brain.

  “I’m so sorry,” Juliette continued. “I’ve not been myself lately. It’s all just been too much. I was drunk and she was here and I wasn’t thinking straight.” She shook her head. “And Nadia… the look on her face.” Juliette swallowed hard. “I’ll never forget that look on her face.” Unexpectedly, she snickered. “And before you ask, the sex was definitely not worth it. I can’t even begin to tell you.” She huffed out some air. “All I could think of throughout was Nadia and then, out of the blue, she shows up. How fucking ironic is that?”

  Claire still didn’t know what to say. She just looked at Juliette in utter surprise. Maybe she should become a doctor’s wife and retire from all the drama.

  JULIETTE

  Juliette had never seen Claire this speechless. “I can control Sybille,” she heard herself say. “She has a girlfriend anyway and I certainly won’t be going back for more.” It was as if she was watching herself act in a play, delivering words that had been prepared for her. “But I fear, after the hard time I was giving Nadia about what she did, I’ve lost her forever.” Juliette thought about the look of perplexed contempt on Nadia’s face.

  “Jesus Christ.” Claire seemed to have found the power of speech again. “I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, but I wanted to tell you as soon as possible, I—” Then the shame returned, engulfing Juliette in ice cold waves. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not me you should apologise to, Jules.” Claire’s voice was soft, almost too gentle for Juliette to bear—definitely much gentler than she deserved. “How you handle Sybille is up to you, as long as it doesn’t have any effect on business, but, well, I can hardly judge you on that.” She shuffled to the edge of her seat. “But Nadia… was it revenge?”

  Juliette couldn’t feel more mortified, sitting in her obscured flat with her best friend, debating whether the sex she’d had with her assistant the night before was revenge for what Nadia had done or not. On a Tuesday morning, no less, when they both should have been at work instead.

  “It was a big, giant mistake and that’s all it was.” Juliette remembered how the craving for human contact, for someone to wrap their arms around her, had so easily won out in the end. “There’s no place for revenge in a relationship, not if it’s a good one.” With all the strength she could muster, she straightened her posture and looked Claire directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry for dragging you all the way over here. I was feeling particularly sorry for myself.”

  “It’s me, Jules, you don’t have to put up a front for me.” The smile on Claire’s face made Juliette feel even more guilty.

  “I have to, for myself.” She rose from the sofa. “What am I going to do? Sit around here all day and mope?” She walked to the window and pulled the curtains open, squinting against the sudden hit of sunlight.

  “You should talk to Nadia. Don’t wait too long.”

  Juliette sighed. “I’ll try.” She leaned against the windowsill. “Come here,” she said. “Please.”

  She watched Claire get up from her seat and head in her direction. Good old Claire. She always looked so composed, so impeccable. Juliette opened her arms wide and waited for her best friend’s embrace. She had hurt Claire badly once as well. Not intentionally—they just weren’t right for each other as lovers—but nonetheless, she’d caused her pain.

  “Next time you need a hug,” Claire whispered in her ear, “call me first.”

  That’s when Juliette broke down, at last. She’d cried the night before, but not with heaving, freeing sobs like this. Not on Claire’s shoulder. Not in the arms of her best friend.

  “I’ll take care of things in the office. Go see Nadia. Make it right.” It sounded simple—almost doable—when Claire said it, but Juliette knew that, now that the tables had turned again, Nadia wouldn’t give her the time of day.

  NADIA

  “You were dead right about Sybille,” Nadia said to Steph. She’d had the entire night to process, a long, sleepless one, tossing and turning in Margot’s guest room. She’d have to do something about her living situation as well, make it more permanent. “She got her way already.”

  Opposite her, Steph narrowed her eyes—it looked more like sharpening her claws. “What do you mean?”

  “I booked an earlier flight back from Barcelona, determined to get Juliette back—or to at least have an adult conversation with her for once—only to find Sybille half-naked in our flat. After the act.” Nadia had tried to wipe the memory of Sybille’s sudden appearance behind Juliette from her brain, but the more she tried, the more images of the young, still perfectly-sculpted girl crowded her mind. “I know I have no claims to make, what with what I did, but… in our bed, Steph? She brought her into our home.”

  Steph shook her head. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.” She hunched over the table they were supposed to have lunch at, neither one of them touching their food. “You can’t let this come between you and Jules. That’s exactly what she wants. Little b—” Steph stopped before pronouncing the word.

  “It’s not even that, anymore.” With every step she’d taken away from their flat, any trace of fighting spirit had
left Nadia. “Look at us. There is no us anymore. It’s all gone too far. We’ve hurt each other too much. It’s ridiculous, really.”

  “Don’t say that, Nadz.” Steph pinned her blue eyes on Nadia. “It must hurt, but—”

  “It’s over.” Nadia shoved her sandwich further away from her, feeling queasy at the sight of it. “I’m done assigning blame. I’m done trying to explain myself and, mostly, I think we’ve hurt each other enough.” Dread rose like bile from her stomach. “Sometimes, it just doesn’t work out.”

  “No, no, no…” Steph’s voice rose, as if the mere intensity of it could make Nadia change her mind—or any of the events that had led her to this conclusion. “Juliette needs you, Nadz. You must know that.”

  “She used to.” Nadia knew that much, but Juliette hadn’t really needed her in years. She’d gone her own way.

  “What if you hadn’t found her with Sybille.” Steph kept pushing, seemingly much more willing to do battle for their relationship than Juliette and Nadia were.

  “But I did, and that’s just it.” She held up her hands. “Cause and consequence… I might as well have deposited Sybille in our bed myself.” Nadia couldn’t be sure, but she suspected that Juliette’s reasons for bedding her assistant were just as escapist as hers had been when she’d ended up between the sheets with Marie Dievart. “Even if we say stop now—start acting like adults at last—we can’t just erase the past.” Nadia was hardly so naive to believe that Juliette sleeping with someone else could undo the fact that she had done the exact same thing. “This is a mess we can’t untangle, a wound so deep we can’t possibly recover from it.” Saying the words like that, stating them, made it seem logical and acceptable, but the despair straining in every cell of Nadia’s body—causing her actual physical pain—was far from acceptable.

  After the conclusion she’d drawn on the flight home, Nadia saw everything that had happened between her and Juliette as her own failure. She should have stood up for them when they still had a chance. Now, it was too late.

  “Ten years, Nadz,” Steph murmured, as if Nadia needed reminding.

  STEPH

  Steph felt the demise of her friends’ relationship in her bones, like a sharp, cold ache she couldn’t shake. She walked back to the office, not even having the energy to be pissed off at Sybille. For a split second, she considered a detour. A quick stop at the Palais Bourbon. She’d welcome a hug from Dominique’s arms, but that was just another impossibility amassed along the way.

  Fuck it. Steph walked past the street where the Barbier & Cyr office was located and proceeded along the Champs-Élysées, all the way to the Place de la Concorde, and crossed the Seine until she stood outside the Palais Bourbon. She worked for Dominique—as plausible a reason as any to drop by.

  “You’re not on the schedule,” Germaine, Dominique’s secretary, said. Steph knew her first name, although Madame Moreau wasn’t aware of that.

  “I know. I’m so sorry.” Steph could be extremely polite, and utterly charming, when she needed to be. “The last thing I want to do is complicate your life, Madame Moreau.” She shot her a flirting smile. “I just need three minutes, that’s it.” Steph canted her head to the left a bit while arching up one eyebrow.

  “What’s it regarding?” Germaine didn’t flinch.

  “I wish I could tell you, but, well, with the divorce and everything… it’s delicate.” Steph tried a conspiratorial tone. “Not really for saying out loud in corridors.” She winked at Germaine, hoping to appeal to the conspirator inside of her.

  “She’s not in.” Germaine glanced at her screen. “Lunch with Monsieur Laroche.” It was as if her features stiffened when she spoke of Dominique’s father. “But you can wait if you want. She should have a few minutes to spare when she gets back.”

  First hurdle taken. Steph mentally high-fived herself. And Germaine was a formidable one.

  She’d only just sat down in one of the two visitors chairs when Steph heard footsteps approach, accompanied by what could only be Dominique’s laugh, although it sounded very forced and much more high-pitched than usual. Germaine shot up from behind her desk, adjusting her skirt and putting a hand to her stiffly hair-sprayed coiffure.

  “Monsieur Laroche,” she said. “Quelle surprise.”

  Steph glanced up and looked straight in the face of the notorious Xavier Laroche.

  “Madame Moreau,” he said, in a rich, deep baritone of a voice. He hugged Germaine as if she was a long lost family member.

  Steph caught Dominique’s eye, but she kept her face expressionless and her limbs stiff, not showing any signs of recognition.

  The entire space seemed filled with Xavier Laroche’s presence. Steph had seen him on TV, but never paid much attention. In real life, though, he simply couldn’t be ignored. That’s where Dominique got her effortless charm.

  “And who have we here?” Laroche Senior turned to Steph, who automatically, as if pulled up by invisible strings, rose from her chair.

  “Stéphanie Mathis. Barbier & Cyr.” She extended her hand and Laroche squeezed it firmly. “Enchantée.”

  “We have a meeting, Papa.” Dominique finally acknowledged Steph’s presence.

  “All right, all right,” he said, broadening his chest, “but you can’t blame your retired dad for wanting to visit his old stomping ground.” He painted a wide, confident smile on his face. “I’ll go browse around.” As if Xavier Laroche ever casually browsed around anywhere. “Pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Madame Mathis.” He turned to Germaine. “Madame Moreau.” He nodded at Dominique’s secretary. “Goodbye, darling.” He pressed a quick kiss on Dominique’s cheek and turned to leave.

  Dominique waited to speak until his footsteps had died down to soft thuds—the three of them standing around like frozen cartoon characters. “What can I do for you, Stéphanie?” The harsh tone with which she addressed her cut right through Steph, adding a chill to her already frozen bones.

  “You could invite me into your office.” Steph tried to keep her voice steady.

  “I told her you had a few minutes, Madame Laroche,” Germaine interjected. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “Two minutes.” Dominique led the way to her office.

  Steph felt like a wrongfully scolded child. She followed Dominique into her office and closed the door behind her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Dominique started. “You can’t just barge in here at your convenience.”

  Any hope of finding comfort in Dominique’s presence quickly escaped Steph. “At my convenience?” It wasn’t so much anger that flared beneath Steph’s skin than the gloomy sensation of her needs being completely ignored.

  “That was my father.” Dominique didn’t pay any attention to what Steph said. “Do you have any idea what would happen if he found out?”

  “What would happen, Dominique? Really? Would the sky come crashing down? Would French politics be doomed forever? Would the citizens of this country suffer irreparable damage after discovering that their favourite right-wing chick likes to eat pussy?”

  Dominique glared at her from behind her desk, a vein throbbing in her neck. “Get out,” she said. “I won’t be spoken to like that. Not even by you.”

  “My fucking pleasure.” Steph tried to compose herself before exiting Dominique’s office, but she was fed up with pretending. She slammed the door behind her and, ignoring Madame Moreau, took a deep breath before finding the gates of the Palais Bourbon.

  “Madame Mathis?” She heard Germaine call behind her. “Ça va, Madame Mathis?”

  She stood outside, on the sidewalk in front of the building, seething with anger. Dominique had taken enough from her and Stéphanie Mathis was nobody’s toy to play with as they saw fit.

  JULIETTE

  Juliette hadn’t seen or spoken to Sybille since she’d asked her to leave after Nadia had slammed the door to their flat. She’d received numerous text messages the day after and let them all go unanswered because what c
ould she possibly have replied?

  As expected, Sybille was already there when she arrived at the office on Wednesday morning, a bright smile glued to her face.

  “Bonjour, Juliette,” she said, and her voice grated on her nerves so much, Juliette wondered if she’d be able to keep on employing her. But, in fairness, the girl had done nothing wrong. She had tried and succeeded—and maybe she shouldn’t have—but Juliette could hardly blame her for that. Juliette was the boss and, ultimately, she was responsible.

  “Could you come in for a second, please?” Juliette tried to keep her face neutral.

  “Bien sûr.” Sybille eagerly rose from her chair. “Coffee?”

  “That’s all right.” Not that Juliette couldn’t use it, after another sleepless night, but she wanted to get this conversation over and done with.

  Sybille followed her into the office, closed the door behind her and sat down.

  Juliette cleared her throat, chastising herself for needing to sit through this talk. “I’m sorry for what happened on Monday and asking you to leave so abruptly, but honestly, it was a mistake. I drank too much and it should never have happened.” Juliette felt like such a mid-life cliché.

  “I’m not sorry,” Sybille was quick to say. “Not one bit.”

  Juliette had feared as much. She proceeded without acknowledging Sybille’s feelings and the pleading look in her eyes. “I can’t guarantee this won’t come out. I had to tell Claire, obviously, but I want you to know this won’t affect your position at Barbier & Cyr.”

  “You know you can trust me, Juliette.” Sybille fiddled with her fingers. “I’ve never told anyone about Stéphanie and Laroche and I won’t tell anyone about us.”

  “I know. I really appreciate that, Sybille.” Trying to keep her voice level, Juliette went in for the kill. “But you must understand that what we did on Monday can never happen again.”