Chapter 20 #2
“Isn’t it?” Noelle agreed, tucking a strand of her bob behind her ear.
“Laurent’s been dying to leave his whole life.
” She pulled up to a stone house surrounded by a sprawling garden.
Laurent’s parents were waiting for us out front.
As soon as I got out of the car, his mother embraced me and kissed me on each cheek.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Margot,” she said warmly. “I hope the train ride wasn’t too long.”
Laurent got his good looks from his mother: she had the same blond curls, although hers were long, and the same golden eyes and chiseled nose.
She was casually yet elegantly dressed in a bronze-colored dress and cerulean shawl.
She somehow looked both homey and ready for a night at the opera.
Laurent’s father was stockier and had dark hair, but when he smiled, his whole face crinkled in delight, the same way Laurent’s did.
They led me inside, past the foyer and into the kitchen.
Just seeing it made me smile. It was full of shelves, which were themselves full of various crockery and copper pots.
There were red amaryllis in a ceramic vase and several bottles of wine on the table.
The floor was stone, smooth and almost shiny from decades of wear, and the walls were brick.
That should have made the room freezing, but there was a large fireplace with a roaring fire.
I immediately wanted to settle into a chair with a pastry and glass of wine.
“Where’s Grand-mère?” Laurent asked his father.
“Your uncle is still picking her up; she had to finish packing. But they’ll be along for dinner,” Laurent’s father told him. Laurent relaxed a bit.
“It’s better to ease Margot in slowly. Meeting Grand-mère right away might terrify her,” Noelle said.
I smiled, assuming a joke, but everyone looked serious.
“What’s wrong with your grandmother?” I asked Laurent quietly.
“Oh, nothing’s the matter with Grand-mère,” Laurent’s mother said, her tone deliberately light. “She just takes a while to warm up to people.”
I looked at Laurent, wanting more information, but all he did was squeeze my shoulder reassuringly.
Just then, the door banged open and in flooded the rest of the family.
They filled the kitchen to the brim, but in a way that made it seem full, not overwhelming.
I was introduced to Laurent’s cousin Celine, who had the same smile as Laurent.
Her two daughters launched themselves at Laurent, squealing with happiness at seeing their uncle and begging him to bake cookies with them.
“I will,” Laurent promised, trying to keep his balance while holding them both. “But do you know who’s going to help us? The best cookie maker I know.” He pointed in my direction, and both girls turned toward me, their eyes wide.
Immediately, they clambered down and began peppering me with questions about what cookies we were going to make, would they have chocolate, and could we start right now?
Other family members began pouring glasses of wine. Laurent put the bag filled with my baked goods on the table, where it was promptly attacked.
“Oh Margot, these are fabulous,” his mother said, holding a pain au chocolat in one hand and using the other to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “And what a beautiful ring. I’ve always loved emeralds.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning the ring so it caught the light.
“It was my mother’s.” To avoid any awkward questions, Laurent had told his parents about my mother before we’d arrived.
Laurent’s mother clearly remembered, for she pressed her hands to mine.
It was just for a moment, but it was enough for me to feel the warmth in them.
“Laurent said you were a good baker, but he didn’t say you put half of France’s bakeries to shame,” Celine said, a bit of frosting from the éclair she’d just bitten into on the tip of her nose.
“Do you know Père Noel? Are these from him?” Celine’s younger daughter asked imperiously, a macaron in each hand.
Being with Laurent’s family was warm and easy, but still, after so much family togetherness, I was glad when Laurent and I finally escaped for a little time on our own.
“This was my bedroom when I was growing up,” he said, leading me across the garden.
“Your parents made you sleep outside?”
“No, silly. Here.” He stopped in front of a stone shed. “See?” he said, looking at the tiny building proudly. “Ah, they haven’t been weeding properly.” Laurent bent down to pluck a weed that was perhaps two centimeters tall. Then he opened the door and ushered me in.
Any thoughts I might have had about the Roches banishing their son to the shed disappeared as soon as I walked inside.
It was like a treehouse, or a fort. A very, very tidy fort.
There was a double bed spread with a patchwork quilt, a shelf with rows of cookbooks (carefully organized by descending size), a desk in the corner with a bronze lamp, and, in the other corner, a clothes rack with every item perfectly pressed, naturally.
Near the door, an orange tabby raised its head from the basket of blankets it had been sleeping in and blinked at us.
“That’s Beau,” Laurent told me. “He comes and goes as he pleases. Minerva kept trying to murder him whenever I brought her here. That’s why she now stays at home with a sitter.” I bent down to scratch Beau between the ears.
“And look here,” Laurent said, opening another door. I peered inside and saw a toilet, shower, and sink. “It’s a real bathroom. My father set up the plumbing.”
“A flushing toilet? My goodness, we really are in the lap of luxury.”
Laurent quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. Are you making fun of my childhood abode?”
“Not at all,” I replied, equally serious. “And I’m not thinking at all that your parents must have banished you here, like a barnyard animal, because you’re clearly their least favorite child. That thought never crossed my mind.”
“A barnyard animal?” Laurent repeated. “I’ll show you a barnyard animal.
” He tossed me on the bed and straddled me, his mouth hot on mine.
His hands were busy at the buttons of my sweater as he kissed me urgently, his tongue running over my swollen lips.
I pulled his hips close, feeling him hard beneath his jeans.
The final button of my sweater came undone, and cold air wafted over my skin. Laurent quickly remedied the situation by pulling me close as he unhooked my bra. It slid off as I fumbled with his jeans, my anxiety over meeting his family replaced with urgent desire.
Laurent raised himself a few centimeters so I was able to slide his jeans off over his hips.
I peeled Laurent’s shirt off as he pulled my jeans down to my ankles, then off my feet.
Clad only in our underwear, I maneuvered so I was fully beneath Laurent’s shuddery, warm body. He grazed my neck with his teeth.
I had my legs wrapped around Laurent’s waist when his phone buzzed. He groaned.
“Let me just check that. They’ll come knocking at the door if I don’t respond.”
I sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “Well, it’s nice to know we still get cell phone reception in this hinterland.”
Laurent rolled his eyes theatrically as he got up. He crossed the room, which gave me the opportunity to admire his taut muscles and just how nicely tanned he was.
Laurent looked at his phone, then came back over and gave me a kiss on the tip of my nose. “My mother can’t find the braiser since I last reorganized the kitchen. I have to dig it out so we can have dinner.”
I sighed. “I suppose I won’t make your family go hungry just to satisfy my lust. I’ll shower so I’m presentable,” I said, pulling him down to kiss him again.
Laurent trailed a string of kisses from my chest to my belly button before pulling on his clothes.
Before he left, he kissed me a final time, groaning low in his throat before he finally pulled away.
Laurent’s father must have some serious plumbing skills because the water in the shower was hot and strong.
I took my time lathering up and combing conditioner through my hair, wanting to look my best for the family dinner.
As I was rinsing off, I heard Beau knock something off the end table.
A loud crack reverberated across the shed.
Oh no, I thought, quickly stepping out of the shower. Little beast better not knock my phone off next.
“Cut it out, Beau!” I shouted as I ran out of the bathroom.
Beau, from the nest he’d made in the bedcovers, raised his head and looked at me disdainfully. He turned to the other person in the room. It wasn’t Laurent.