Cosette grabs a sketchpad that’s sitting on her desk. “My mother would probably have a fit if she knew I was doing this.” She clears her throat and looks nervous. “She had another plan for you guys, and it’s beautiful. You guys love it and I’m happy with it too—I helped design it, I should love it. But...” She swallows hard and I want to reach out and take her hand to calm her.
“Say it,” I encourage her. “You know me well enough by now to know that I’ll tell you what I really think.”
“Well, I just know it’s too late to be coming up with something new, but—” She clutches her neck and I get distracted by the way her pale pink nails look against her black silky shirt. And then she lifts them to tug on her necklace and I imagine her tugging my hair the way she’s tugging that chain. Or tugging other things…
Fuck me. I take a deep breath and look at the picture she’s holding out.
“Wow, Cosette. This is … this is next level. That is gorgeous.”
She’s nodding and beaming and looks ecstatic. “It is, isn’t it. Inspiration hit me in the middle of the night, and I wasn’t even going to show you since we are ready to place orders for everything and have even ordered some things already—which will still totally work with this aesthetic … should you choose to go more in this direction.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “Not that you would. Please don’t feel like you have to, just—”
“Cosette.” I reach out and put my hand on her arm and she stills, her lips parting as she stares at me. “This is perfect. I loved the other sketches, but when I look at this, the old one feels too formal. This is alive. It’s fresh and it’s like I can feel the heartbeat of the room. It. Is. Perfect.”
“Ahhhhh. I love you!” she yells. And then looks at me horrified, eyes round and wild. “I did not mean. I mean, I meant it, but not. I mean, you know what I mean.”
I laugh so loud that it startles her at first and then she joins in, relieved. “I know what you mean,” I assure her. “We have to go this direction. My brothers trust me to make the decisions in this area and I’m telling you, I love it. I really do.”
She leans back in her seat, legs stretched out. Her long legs are toned like a dancer and are just the perfect length to—
“My mother will not like this.” She sighs. “But I just had to show you anyway.”
“I’ll insist on using these. They’re better.” I shrug. “Surely she’ll be able to see that.”
She shakes her head, sitting upright again. “I’m not so sure about that, but we’ll try. Oh, hey…” She reaches out and grabs an envelope that has The Taylor Family written on the front. “I’ve meant to give you this the past two times I’ve seen you. I hope I’m not too late. I wanted to invite all of you to the opening of my parents’ new restaurant this Friday night. Well, my parents and my ex, Jeremy…”
I was tracking until she said ex, Jeremy. And now that’s all I got out of that conversation segue. Jeremy, the bastard I met when my brothers, Spence, Gus, and Jesse, and Spence and Jesse’s girlfriends, Emma and Mya, and I went to Vegas before we started the hotel renovation. I remember him practically snapping his fingers at Cosette for her to follow and how sad she looked before I went over to talk to her. Ex. I like the sound of that. A whole damn lot.
The guy was a real dickshart to Cosette.
“You and Jeremy broke up?” I say like the creep that I am. I can’t even inject the slightest bit of sympathy into my voice. I am thrilled she dumped that dickloop.
“I actually broke up with him a couple of months ago, but my parents and Jeremy can’t seem to get it in their heads that I mean it.” She smiles again, but this time it’s forced.
I get the sense that there is so much she’s not saying. Volumes.
“I’ll be there and I’ll share this with the brothers too.”
“Tell them to bring their girlfriends, and you’re welcome to bring a date too, of course.”
“I will be flying solo,” I tell her.
And now I’m distracted by the way her full lips pucker slightly and her icy violet eyes light up.
What a day this has turned out to be.
Chapter Two
Cosette
My head is pounding after a grueling conversation with Jeremy. The man is relentless. For a guy who wasn’t faithful, he sure isn’t taking the breakup well. I’ve encouraged him to go play the field, especially since he’d been doing it the entire time we’d been together. That should have hurt me, right? But it didn’t. All I feel now when I think of Jeremy Toussaint is relief.
Relief that I’m free.
Relief that the relationship finally ran its course.
I can finally breathe.
Even if no one in my family is on board.
Even on the night of the restaurant opening, he’s pressuring me to get back together. I look around the new restaurant, proud of how I helped it take shape to become what it is, yet still not feeling tied to the place. Probably because I’ve been trying to do everything I can to cut ties with Jeremy, not get more sucked in.
“Mon amour, where are you running off to?” my mother asks, as she walks toward me with Louie in her pink Chanel purse.
Don’t let my mom’s faux French accent or handle of the French language fool you. She only spent a year and a half there when she was eighteen, but my dad, on the other hand, was born and raised there. They fell in love and moved here when my mom was twenty, raising my sister and me in the States with occasional visits to France. My dad’s family lives there, and my mom and sister have spent the equivalent of maybe a year there over the course of my life.
It’s all about how she’s perceived. She grew up poor and on the outside looking in. Even now, married to someone extremely wealthy, it’s very important to her that she appears to be a woman of mysterious upbringing and distinguished beyond measure. It just doesn’t always add up, like the accent.
She insists I call her Maman. We all do what we can do to make Maman happy.
And poor Louie. The dog has been traumatized since he ate the French chocolates that my aunt sent and had to have his stomach pumped.
Again.
My mother’s obsession with this dog is fascinating. I’m fairly certain I accidentally ate raw tobacco as a child, and I do not recall having my stomach pumped. Nor do I recall ever vomiting on her, because I knew better. And there’s no way in hell she would’ve ever let me get anywhere near her Chanel purses, much less crawl inside one.
I see my dad and wave at him. He comes over and I hug him.
“I miss you,” I tell him. He’s canceled on our weekly lunch dates for the past three weeks in a row.
He doesn’t say anything and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something to upset him.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, my hand on his arm.
“What, my dear?”
“I asked if you’re okay.”
“Of course,” he says, but he glances over my shoulder and I know he’s too distracted to tell me otherwise.
“I’m just going to greet a few guests,” I say, rubbing the top of Louie’s head. His eyes are closed and his snaggletooth is on full display. He’s wearing a ruffled puff-sleeved white button-up and a tuxedo onesie. Yes, this dog’s clothing is custom-made and he’s always dressed to the nines. My mother thinks he’s the most beautiful creature on the earth even if people gasp at the sight of him. And not in awe and wonder either.