Chapter 39 #2
He held up one hand since he was still cradling Spike in the other, dangling the gift bag in the air. “I cry Uncle. So you guys look better than the last time we saw you…”
Madison was practically glowing like the fountain of youth, even wearing her usual all-black ensemble. Kyle was hovering close by like he never wanted to be away from her ever again.
God, they were totally gone for each other.
He pressed a hand to his heart, feeling mushy, as Madison would say.
“You know, Sawyer’s usually the one who drops quotes, but I’m going to step into center stage this time.
This situation reminds me of the aphorism all’s well that ends well.
I don’t know who said it first, but it seems apt here. Apt. How about that for a big word?”
Phoebe snorted out a laugh before muffling herself.
Sawyer cleared his throat, fighting a smile. “Dean, Shakespeare wrote a play with that name.”
He snapped his fingers, prompting Spike to lurch for his hand. “How about that? I quoted the Bard and didn’t even know it.”
“Madison, Kyle, please put us all out of our misery over Dean using words like apt and quoting the Bard,” Brooke broke in, shooting him one of her you’re being extra, Dean glances.
“Are we sure everything is all right? Because I was gathering case studies of the people I know in fashion who’ve been blackballed and made huge comebacks. I can keep doing research.”
Kyle put his arm around Madison, and Dean goggled at the sight. Sure, she’d held his hand—discreetly—around them before, but this move was pure couple. And she leaned in! He wanted to purse his lips and give his best taxi whistle.
“It’s like I told you in the text,” Kyle began after Madison inclined her chin to him. “Rico received an anonymous note, which clearly was meant for Madison, saying Nanine’s is being considered by Michelin.”
“Oh, thank God!” Thea burst out. “I’ve been so upset I’ve been afraid my breads aren’t up to Michelin standard. And you two! I told Jean Luc I didn’t know how I was going to handle one of us leaving Paris—”
“Thea.” Brooke sounded like she was getting emotional herself. “We all know it’s been hard. Take a breath. We’re celebrating here.”
She blew out a huge breath. “Right. Someone pop the champagne. Nanine would want that.”
Dean glanced over at Brooke, and he knew she was thinking about asking the same thing he was by the way she tapped her mouth. “Hey! I’ll ask. Does this mean Nanine won’t have to give her Dassault exposé to the Le Monde guy?”
“No,” Madison shot out immediately.
“We’re planning on talking to her about that tomorrow since the interview is scheduled for Monday,” Kyle followed up. “She didn’t respond to your text?”
“Not last I looked, but she and Carl have been heading out for a bunch of wine jaunts.” Dean’s insides did another barrel roll when he thought about Nanine sharing that horrible story.
Her pride was part of her identity. Sharing something so tawdry with the world would be difficult for her.
The follow-up questions, unthinkable. Then it hit him…
“Ah…” Dean stroked his jaw. “When did Nanine call Gustave about the exposé?”
Kyle’s mouth thinned. “I placed the call for her right after we broke from our meeting yesterday.”
Brooke let out a barely audible, “Oh…” She hesitated before adding, “Did Nanine refer to what she planned to tell Gustave in their conversation?”
Kyle nodded. “Briefly, but Gustave already knew the story. I mean, everyone seems to know what happened.”
“But it’s never been written about,” Brooke drew out.
“Trust me, as a former fashion editor, everything changes when something is printed in black and white. The French are the souls of discretion, so exposés are very damaging. Giants in the industry don’t like having their reputations shredded in the tabloids. Taints their legendary status.”
“Someone recently mentioned how much bullies value their cred,” Kyle said wryly, nudging a frowning Madison.
“You don’t think Gustave called Dassault up and told him he’d like to get his side of things, do you?” Kyle bandied back.
“I would,” Brooke replied.
“One wonders if Nanine knew Gustave would make such a move,” Sawyer mused, taking off his spectacles and cleaning them.
Silence permeated the room.
Dean started to smile. God, that would be just like Nanine. Could she have known Dassault would back down? Regardless, she was brilliant and would always be the smartest, classiest woman in the world—and he was standing amidst some of the most awesome women around.
“Well, I, for one, don’t really care what happened.” Madison looked around the room with her usually scary flat glare. “We don’t even know if we’re going to win. Being considered is the first step, and I’ll admit it’s a leg up from where we were. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Practical Madison to the end. Just once, he’d love to see her blubber with happiness. “Does that mean we aren’t popping the champagne? Because I have a little brunch gift I want you two lovebirds to open.”
“Dean, no one in Paris does brunch,” Brooke said with one of her beloved dragon breaths.
“You are Americans,” Axel replied sardonically. “I do not see a problem.”
“This from a man who’s from a culture where people only drink coffee for breakfast except on rare occasions,” Brooke said with a laugh.
“We have lunch at eleven in the morning usually,” Axel added. “Now, are we popping the champagne first or having Kyle and Madison open their gifts first?”
“Pop the champagne,” Dean decided. “My gifts will go perfectly with the toast.”
Madison gave an audible groan as Kyle kissed the top of her head. “How bad can it be? You liked the stuffed cleaver he gave you.”
“You did?” Dean clutched his chest. “You never said.”
She flipped him the bird, causing their friends to laugh. After that, a trio of champagne corks popped in the kitchen, making Spike bark and Pierre ruffle his wings. When everyone had their flute, he walked over to the happy couple and extended the gift bag.
“You can open it together since it’s for you both,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Madison’s puckered expression.
Kyle took the bag. Madison waited for him to look inside. When he did, Dean heard his friend’s muffled chuckle. “You might want to make a run for it, Dean, if this is what I think it is.”
Madison gave a full body wince. “It’s something sappy, isn’t it? I told you last night I’ve totally become a big ball of mush,” she told Kyle. “Everyone knows it!”
“What is it?” Thea gestured excitedly.
Kyle unfurled two T-shirts wrapped in a red ribbon.
Dean patted Spike affectionately when he tried to leap out of his arms toward the event.
“Madison’s is the black one,” he told them. “Now, on the count of three, undo the ribbon and hold them up for everyone to see. One, two, three.”
Nudging Madison, Kyle unveiled the word SOUL on his white T-shirt.
Madison groaned like someone with the flu. “Oh, no! You didn’t.”
Kyle took over, and soon Madison’s T-shirt was proudly displayed. The word MATE was smack-dab in the center, and Dean patted himself on the shoulder again at his brilliance because even Brooke was biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“I figured you two could wear them at home like the happy couple you are now.” He set Spike down, watching as the puppy sprinted across the room toward them. “I couldn’t figure out what to do for Spike yet. BABY MAKES THREE seemed a little off to me.”
Madison’s gaze hardened, that scary glint entering her eyes. “Dean, you do that, you’re a dead man.”
His world was complete. The Paris Roommates were back and better than ever. God, that Shakespeare dude really had it right.
All’s well that ends well.