Chapter 21 – Remington #2
On my screen, Helix drapes his arm around his wife’s shoulders, toying with one of the dark curls that’s escaped her bun.
Dr. Nicolette Hale is a gorgeous woman. She seems to be kind of a prude, but there’s a certain naughtiness hiding just beneath her glasses, lab coat, and messy updos.
Good for Helix for finding his perfect match.
He clears his throat. “So, Nic and I have something to share.” My brother looks down at her as everyone freezes in anticipation, and the look they share is one of pure, unfiltered love. When he faces the camera again, he’s all smiles. “We’re going to be parents.”
Mass chaos ensues. Everyone is talking at once, Perri is crying, and Jordie is waving her hands in front of her eyes like her dam is about to burst at any second. When everyone finally settles down, Phoenix leans toward his camera with a huge grin on his face.
“Congratulations, you two. When’s the due date?”
Nicolette goes into biology mode. “As you may know, conception is calculated from the date of the LMP, or last menstrual period. Some like to use ovulation tracking, since conception is estimated to occur within three days of ovulation. But as the LMP is used to calculate the EDO, or estimated date of ovulation, we can just use the first date of my last period, which was—”
“Uh, babe,” Helix says gently, squeezing her shoulder. “That’s a little TMI.”
“Oh, right.” She turns back to the screen with a self-deprecating smile. “The estimated due date is March sixth, and we couldn’t be more excited about that since it’s such a significant day.”
I scramble through my brain, trying to remember something important about that date before tapping on my phone screen to bring up my calendar app. Nope. I’ve got nothing.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day, so my brain isn’t fresh,” I say tentatively. “Can you remind me why it’s significant?”
Nicolette looks aghast at my ignorance. “That’s the date Dmitri Mendeleev presented the very first periodic table to the Russian Chemical Society in 1869.”
My lips roll between my teeth to stifle my laugh. “Ah, my assistant forgot to put that on my calendar. I’ll fire her immediately.”
Everyone cracks up, even the happy couple. Perri dabs at her eyes and giggles. “You two are going to have the cutest little nerd baby ever.”
“I’m a little afraid of that baby,” Phoenix announces. “He or she will probably be smarter than me by the time they’re a month old.”
Helix flips him off. “Our fetus is already smarter than you.”
As I listen to my siblings bicker, I rub a spot right over my heart. I’m absolutely thrilled to be an uncle again, and I couldn’t be happier for Nic and Helix, but deep inside my chest, a tiny part of me feels a pang of something else.
A word that starts with J and ends with ealousy.
The clock is nearing midnight when my phone rings. Reaching across my bed, I pick it up and unplug it before smiling at the name on the FaceTime request.
“Cesar fucking Marnotti,” I say when I answer.
“Remington fucking Hale,” he replies, and we share a chuckle at our usual greeting. “How are you, my friend?”
“Not bad. You?”
He rubs the spot between his eyes and spits out an annoyed noise. “My father is pressuring me to get married.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. “Really? I wasn’t even aware you were dating anyone.”
His dark eyes go flat. “I’m not.”
“Ah, I see. So, like, a… business arrangement?” I choose my words carefully. Though Cesar has never specifically told me, I have reason to believe the Marnotti family is connected to organized crime in New Orleans.
“Not so much. He says he wants me to marry before Nonna passes away.”
My forehead furrows. “Cesar, I’m so sorry. I know how much Nonna means to you, but I didn’t know she was ill.”
He waves a dismissive hand around. “She’s not sick. Healthy as a goddamn horse. We know that old woman will outlive us all. Fuck, she’ll probably take over running the world when God retires.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I could totally see her doing that. Everyone would be required to pray to the pasta gods every Sunday.” A sigh escapes my lips. “I miss Nonna’s spaghetti bolognese.”
“Come to N’awlins and she’d be happy to make it for you. We might even be able to scrounge up some crawfish, even though we’re at the tail end of the season.”
“You’re tempting me, man,” I drawl. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited.”
“I have an even bigger temptation,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “Golf.”
“I’m in,” I say instantly, earning me a laugh from Cesar.
“I haven’t even told you about it.” I roll my hand to tell him to get on with it.
“It’s in January in Florida. A pro-am tournament with each team having one professional and three amateurs.
It’s for some charity. We’ll get to play with a pro and save the wetlands.
” His eyebrows dip in thought. “Or is it the whales? Fuck, I don’t know.
Might be the ozone layer. Is that still a thing? ”
My chest rumbles with laughter. “I’m shocked you haven’t been asked to head the EPA by now.” I’m met with Cesar’s middle finger. “Who’s the pro we’re playing with?”
His grin widens before he announces, “Chandler Wharton.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. Chandler is the hottest thing in golf right now. He’s only twenty-three but has already racked up enough wins to have people predicting he’ll be the next Tiger Woods.
“I’m fucking in. Who’s our fourth?”
“I was going to call Bouvier.”
“Auburn or Monty?” I ask.
Cesar huffs out an exaggerated breath and shakes his head like he just can’t deal with me. “Are you fucking with me right now? Monty couldn’t golf his way out of a paper bag.”
I grin. “Okay, so you, me, Auburn, and Chandler. Sounds like a winning team.”
“Hell yes, it is. You sure you’ll be able to get time off to fly here from London? I know you’re all important and shit now.”
“I’ll be there,” I assure him. “Gotta save all the whales down in the wetlands from that hole in the ozone.”
“I fucking hate you,” he says dryly.
“I fucking hate you too. Send me the details, and I’ll see you in January.”
“Sounds good. By the way, is your sister single? Since I have to get married anyway, I—”
I hang up on him, and he promptly sends me an emoji of a diamond ring. I send one back of a bomb and then return my phone to the charger.
Cesar and I have been friends for years.
We met at Stanford when I was in grad school and he was in undergrad, so he was a few years younger than me.
Neither of us cared for recreational drugs, so after both leaving a party that had gotten a little out of control one night, we ended up drinking at a small bar.
I found Cesar to be witty and very relatable.
We both loved women and good booze, and, like me, he put a lot of pressure on himself to succeed in the family business.
His vague descriptions of his family’s dealings were my first indication that perhaps there were some…
unsavory aspects to the Marnotti family.
But it didn’t matter to me. He came home with me for a Spring Break, and then that summer, he invited me to stay for two weeks at his family’s home in New Orleans. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it was the farthest thing from what I found.
His family was friendly and welcoming, much like my own. They were obviously rich as fuck, but there was a warmth in the Marnotti home that I didn’t see often in my other wealthy friends’ homes.
Not to mention the food. Good god, the food.
For lunch we would dine on jambalaya, étouffée, and all other kinds of delectable Cajun dishes.
Then in the evenings, the entire family would gather in the kitchen to cook Italian food.
Everyone had their job to do, though no one else ever touched the sauce.
That was Nonna’s domain, and she’d let loose a string of Italian curse words at anyone who dared to try and help her.
After dinner, Cesar and I would head to Bourbon Street where we'd get drunk and pick up a couple women to take back to Cesar’s fuck pad, which was an apartment a few blocks away.
I was astounded the first time he told me his father bought him that place when he was sixteen so he could, and I quote, “have some privacy to do what boys do.”
We had some damn good times in that apartment. We never had parties there. It was exclusively for after-hours fun.
I roll to my back on the bed and stare at the barely visible ceiling fan rotating around and around. I miss seeing my old friend. Every time I go back to Houston, I’m so busy with my family, I feel like I don’t have time to make a road trip over to Louisiana to see him.
My fingers trace along the edge of the 1800-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Once my dad retires and I move back to the States, I’ll have more time to do whatever I want.
I find it saddens me when I realize that’s still about five years away. I truly love living and working in London, but I feel like I’m missing out on so much by being here.
As my eyes drift closed, my mind goes hazy with the thought… only five more years until the day I can move back home and take over at the helm of Hale Cosmetics.
But as it turns out, that day comes way sooner than expected.