Planning Bliss (Bliss Series Book 1)

The Parents of the Bride

The Parents of the Bride

Dinner was at the Saint-Croix home in Neuilly-sur-Seine, an arrondissement of Paris. What Americans would probably call 'suburbs'. Who freaking knew Paris had suburbs? There was a melange of centuries-old manors, contemporary apartments, pristine parklands, tall trees jutting past high stone walls and iron gates and French architecture at its finest all around. I thought it was fitting that Paris' suburbia would look like this. I had to kick myself for not bringing my camera, or worse yet, forgetting my blasted phone.

The Saint-Croix stone-faced manor was tucked inside one of the towering walls, and through an intimidating iron gate, complete with ornate scrollwork. My mouth went dry to the thought of having a wedding here. Why hadn't Sandrine and Jake considered this?

The heels of my faux-snakeskin mules echoed through the wood-paneled foyer as I followed the elderly butler who greeted me at the door. My eyes wandered and widened at my surroundings, much like they did upon seeing the garden out front.

The intricate veins of the marble floor's surface were paralleled by the curves and glint of the grand chandelier hanging high above me. Through one of the opened arched doors, I spotted what was-- I could only assume from afar --an original Doré, or an extremely well-done copy. At another door, the butler stopped and waited for me, then announced my arrival to the party awaiting inside.

What should have attracted my eyes first were the large carved stone wood fireplace and the centuries-old tapestries on the wall, or the glittering chandelier lighting the room. Instead, I noticed-- no, felt --the palpable tension hanging thickly in the room and the invisible line that separated the people in it.

On one side were an elegantly dressed couple, and a hotter than hot man, decked out in a three-piece suit. On the other side of the fireplace were Isobel and her cousins. All three waved at me, without any smiles on their faces. Right smack in the middle, facing the fireplace, and in the heat of it all, were Sandrine and Jake.

I sauntered to the quiet couple, with my work smile on my face. A smile that I wore during 'shitstorms', as Chase would have said. Sandrine smiled back at me, but the smile failed to appear in her eyes. She was distressed. She greeted me customarily and muttered a 'welcome'. Jake, holding a tumbler half-filled with amber liquid on ice, pulled me to him and hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek, lingering a little too long. I could feel the tremble in his body, and hear the grinding of his teeth.

I switched immediately to 'solver-mode'. There was trouble in paradise. I could see it in the lack of glint in Sandrine's eyes. I could smell it emanating through Jake's pores. I felt it through the slump of his hard shoulders.

"This is a beautiful home, Sandrine. I'm just in complete awe." I tested my words carefully with her.

She smiled warmly at me as Jake snorted at my compliments. "Merci. Thank you. My parents are very proud of it." She visibly gulped down the nervousness. Was she uncomfortable in her own home? "Let me introduce you to them."

Jake scoffed. "Like that's what Nica needs right now."

"Jacob, please," Sandrine chastised him, her voice almost a whisper. She took my hand in hers, and turned away from her sulking fiancé. He had been doing a lot of sulking lately.

I gave Jake a questioning look before walking away. Sandrine led me to the three elegant people on the right side of the room. The woman was seated on a Louis XIV chair, her décolletage covered with diamonds glittering with the light of the chandelier. The closer I got, the more familiar she looked. Sandrine resembled the woman. And she should thank her lucky stars that she might inherit the slow-aging process her mother seemed to have.