Read Online Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) by Celia Kennedy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Celia Kennedy
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“Just as you requested—nothing too salty, spicy, fatty, or sour.
Or with garlic. That’s virtually impossible, you know,” I teased.
Though Aurélie had set an elegant table, w e crushed
together on the couches, immediately returning to our pattern of lounging and
eating.
While eating dessert, I casually brought up Sébastien.
“Tiziana, it’s so nice that you were able to meet up with Sébastien!”
She looked up, smiling as she chewed.
“He seems like a nice guy,” I continued. I tried asking a
few other basic questions and netted the same results: the bobbing of her head.
It was after she swallowed a few more bites that she relented.
“He is quite lovely. I think he’s captured your attention!”
I felt myself flush, which was all that needed to happen to
confirm her suspicions. Then I had to tell them all how we met. Tiziana praised
us both “Your eyes are remarkable. He has good taste!”
“And fecking hot!” Marian interjected enthusiastically. I grinned
at her and winked, letting her know we shared that assessment.
Hillary asked the salient questions. “What does she need to
know about him? Strange predilections? Attractive but emotionally unavailable?
Gay? You did say you introduced him to several women and he wasn’t interested
in any.”
From Tiziana’s frown, I could tell that Hillary’s line of
questioning was all wrong. “No, he isn’t gay, doesn’t have any strange behaviors…
that I know of. His past is a little tragic, that’s all.”
She had our complete attention at that revelation. We stared
at her, waiting for her to share his story. She topped our glasses off then
stared at the ceiling—a clear sign she was organizing her thoughts. “He has a
daughter named Chantal, who must be about twenty now. I met her a few times
when she was just a little girl. His wife, Gisella, died in a car crash. I
think Chantal was two years old, so about eighteen years ago. By the time I met
him, he was ready to date, so I introduced him to some friends. He never went out
on more than a few dates with anyone. I always felt sad for him and the little
girl.” She wore a sad expression.
My heart seized. I feared it would cease beating. Oh my
god. I spilled my guts to him on Saturday night. No wonder he was so patient. While I wrapped my brain around this, I heard Tiziana release a melancholy
sigh.
Marian got us back on track. “Enough of that. Let’s
celebrate being together and Charlotte’s enormous baby.”
Fuck! What if he thinks Tiziana knows? What if he talks
to her about the similarity of our tragedies?
The group returned to the world of frivolity and ease. I
felt myself teeter between the past and present. A warm hand pulled me
decisively to the present. I looked to see Hillary’s resting on mine. She had
said something.
“Sorry, what?”
“Are you all right?” Her look of concern made me flinch.
After all this time, was tonight the night to pour my secrets out? I looked at
my watch and saw that it was late already. Looking back at her, I answered,
“Just tired.” I’d tell them another time.
“Bella, that is not true.” Tiziana reached over and
collected a tear rolling down my cheek.
I hadn’t felt it. So lost in thought, I hadn’t realized I
was crying. “Oh!” I dabbed at my eyes, quickly excusing myself. In the
bathroom, tears fell fast and hard. I cried for Sébastien, I cried for me and
Mikkel, I cried for the little girl whose mother had died.
Sudden banging on the door made me jump. “Kathleen, get out
here,” Marian pressured me.
“Just a minute.” My voice sounded wobbly. Shit! I
felt panicked. How can I escape this?
When I returned to the living room, they quit talking. All
eyes were on me. I took my seat, and Hillary promptly returned her grip on my
hand. “Talk to us,” she implored.
“I feel sad for Sébastien. It’s hard losing someone you
love.” I bit my lip, hoping they would leave it at that.
“And…?” Marian pushed me for more,
Or with garlic. That’s virtually impossible, you know,” I teased.
Though Aurélie had set an elegant table, w e crushed
together on the couches, immediately returning to our pattern of lounging and
eating.
While eating dessert, I casually brought up Sébastien.
“Tiziana, it’s so nice that you were able to meet up with Sébastien!”
She looked up, smiling as she chewed.
“He seems like a nice guy,” I continued. I tried asking a
few other basic questions and netted the same results: the bobbing of her head.
It was after she swallowed a few more bites that she relented.
“He is quite lovely. I think he’s captured your attention!”
I felt myself flush, which was all that needed to happen to
confirm her suspicions. Then I had to tell them all how we met. Tiziana praised
us both “Your eyes are remarkable. He has good taste!”
“And fecking hot!” Marian interjected enthusiastically. I grinned
at her and winked, letting her know we shared that assessment.
Hillary asked the salient questions. “What does she need to
know about him? Strange predilections? Attractive but emotionally unavailable?
Gay? You did say you introduced him to several women and he wasn’t interested
in any.”
From Tiziana’s frown, I could tell that Hillary’s line of
questioning was all wrong. “No, he isn’t gay, doesn’t have any strange behaviors…
that I know of. His past is a little tragic, that’s all.”
She had our complete attention at that revelation. We stared
at her, waiting for her to share his story. She topped our glasses off then
stared at the ceiling—a clear sign she was organizing her thoughts. “He has a
daughter named Chantal, who must be about twenty now. I met her a few times
when she was just a little girl. His wife, Gisella, died in a car crash. I
think Chantal was two years old, so about eighteen years ago. By the time I met
him, he was ready to date, so I introduced him to some friends. He never went out
on more than a few dates with anyone. I always felt sad for him and the little
girl.” She wore a sad expression.
My heart seized. I feared it would cease beating. Oh my
god. I spilled my guts to him on Saturday night. No wonder he was so patient. While I wrapped my brain around this, I heard Tiziana release a melancholy
sigh.
Marian got us back on track. “Enough of that. Let’s
celebrate being together and Charlotte’s enormous baby.”
Fuck! What if he thinks Tiziana knows? What if he talks
to her about the similarity of our tragedies?
The group returned to the world of frivolity and ease. I
felt myself teeter between the past and present. A warm hand pulled me
decisively to the present. I looked to see Hillary’s resting on mine. She had
said something.
“Sorry, what?”
“Are you all right?” Her look of concern made me flinch.
After all this time, was tonight the night to pour my secrets out? I looked at
my watch and saw that it was late already. Looking back at her, I answered,
“Just tired.” I’d tell them another time.
“Bella, that is not true.” Tiziana reached over and
collected a tear rolling down my cheek.
I hadn’t felt it. So lost in thought, I hadn’t realized I
was crying. “Oh!” I dabbed at my eyes, quickly excusing myself. In the
bathroom, tears fell fast and hard. I cried for Sébastien, I cried for me and
Mikkel, I cried for the little girl whose mother had died.
Sudden banging on the door made me jump. “Kathleen, get out
here,” Marian pressured me.
“Just a minute.” My voice sounded wobbly. Shit! I
felt panicked. How can I escape this?
When I returned to the living room, they quit talking. All
eyes were on me. I took my seat, and Hillary promptly returned her grip on my
hand. “Talk to us,” she implored.
“I feel sad for Sébastien. It’s hard losing someone you
love.” I bit my lip, hoping they would leave it at that.
“And…?” Marian pushed me for more,
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