Dear Agony Page 7

  “Do you think she wants to rekindle what she had with Bastien?”

  “Oh, one hundred percent.”

  He’s a single man. I doubt he’d say no if she offered to give him a little.

  I’m not going to be in a sexual relationship with Bastien but living with him as his companion will be uncomfortable if he’s having this woman over for sex. “I wish I had known this before we made our agreement.”

  “Why? It changes nothing between you and Bastien.”

  “I disagree since my room is across the hall from his. I don’t want to listen to him having sex. That’s just weird.”

  “Wendy and her husband have been separated for months. If he were interested in pursuing anything with her, he’d have already done it.”

  How is Vale so sure he hasn’t?

  “Why do you think Bastien wants a companion?”

  “He says he wants someone to come home to after work and share conversations with over dinner with and accompany him when he travels.”

  “That’s what he says. But you’re his best friend. What do you think?”

  “Bastien was so different when his parents and Bernard were alive. They were really close knit. After they died, he sort of checked out of life and detached himself from people. Except me. We’re closer than we’ve ever been but it isn’t enough for him. He craves a true connection. He’s lonely and believes this is the only way to have a companion without the hassle of a girlfriend or wife.”

  I understand detaching yourself from life and people. And I also understand being lonely. I was once in that place. Before Vale. Before college. Before forming close relationships with some of the other Duet girls.

  A true connection is what Bastien wants. I can give that to him.

  And perhaps I want to give that to him.

  Because maybe, despite my relationship with Vale, college friends, and Duet girls, a true connection is what I’m really craving too.

  Chapter Eight

  __________________________________

  Bastien Pascal

  –

  I’m off work for four days. And Rose is finally moving in. Funny how I’ve felt like a kid waiting for Christmas these last few days while her room was being prepared.

  But I’ll never tell her that.

  I haven’t taken off this much time from work . . . ever. Even when I lost my parents and Bernard, I was back in the office the day after their funerals. But my thought process is different today than it was even a year ago. I need this time away from work to be with Rose. I think it’s crucial for setting this relationship on the right path.

  Rose claps like an excited toddler. “I’m dying to see my bedroom. What do you think of it?”

  Her suite is beautiful. Very plush and posh. Feminine and froufrou. All the girly things I think a woman’s bedroom should be. “Who cares what I think? I want to know what you think. Get up there and take a look.”

  Rose jogs up the stairs ahead of me and I call out for her to wait before she enters her new bedroom. I want to see her face and how she reacts.

  “You’re being sooo slow. Hurry up.”

  I decrease my climb of the stairs to snail speed. “You mean hurry like this?”

  “Oh, my God. You’ve gotta come on. I’m dying here.”

  I sprint the rest of the way up the stairs to join her on the landing. “Close your eyes first.”

  She groans like an impatient child as I step closer and cup my hands over her face. I feel her lashes batting against my palms. “No peeking.”

  “Doesn’t matter if I try. I can’t see through your hands.”

  “Turn left. Walk forward.”

  I take simultaneous steps with her until we’re standing in the center of the room. “Okay. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m enjoying taunting her. “Sure?”

  “What part of yes do you not understand?”

  I guess I’ve tortured her long enough. “Surprise.”

  I love the gasp from her chest. Her hanging mouth. Wide eyes. “Oh, Bastien. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

  She can’t form the words for what she thinks but I understand exactly what she isn’t saying. Her reaction tells me everything I need to know. “Yes. I totally agree.”

  Rose goes to the bed and runs her hand along the comforter before kicking off her shoes and falling across the top. “Oh, wow.” She closes her eyes and gestures for me to join her. “Come here. You have to lie on this.”

  Lying on her bed with her feels . . . I don’t know. Wrong? “I’m good.”

  “No. You’re not until you lie on this cloud from heaven. And then you’ll be good. Very good, in fact.”

  I sit on the edge, kick off my shoes and lie beside her. “Yes. It’s a very nice bed.”

  Rose points upward. “If I ever lie in here staring at the ceiling because I can’t sleep, I’ll have something beautiful to look at.”

  She isn’t wrong. The vintage tin tiles overhead are lovely. Michelle did a wonderful job of restoring some of the original character to the house. “Very nineteenth century New Orleans.”

  “I love it.” We turn to look at one another while we lie on our backs, and she smiles like an angel. “I love everything about this room. It’s so much more than I expected.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  She leans over and kisses the side of my face. Nothing romantic. It’s more like the way a sister would kiss her brother. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I want to see the bathroom.” She darts across the room and squeals when she’s inside the en-suite. “Ooh, Bastien. Come here.”

  Rose is sitting inside the tub looking like she’s been swallowed whole. She’s such a tiny little thing. “I can’t believe how huge this tub is. I’m going to soak in it every night.” She touches her collarbone and giggles like a little girl. Which makes me chuckle. “With bubbles up to here until I turn into a prune. It’s going to be great.”

  Rose makes me smile. And laugh. I used to do both all the time but it feels like I haven’t had a reason to lately. Or for a long time if I’m being honest.

  Contagious smiles. Infectious laughter. Happiness in this house again. Before it’s too late and I’m no longer able to experience any kind of joy.

  And there it is. This. This is what I want this companion process to be about.

  I think Rose is going to be perfect.

  ***

  I thought hiring movers would make Rose’s relocation from Vale’s house to mine fast and easy. Wrong. The girl has a lot of stuff. And putting it all into its place is taking forever.

  We worked at it all day yesterday and into the night. I had planned to cook dinner for her—sort of a celebration of our first night together. Instead, we ate pizza while we stood at the kitchen bar. Not what I had in mind.

  She went into her room at ten last night and hasn’t been seen since. She worked hard yesterday. I’m certain she was exhausted when she went to bed but it’s almost noon. Half the day is already gone.

  I don’t think she understands what a rare event these four days are for me. I never take off from work. Not even the weekend. Today’s an opportunity to spend a full day together, and I want to take advantage of that.

  Would it be selfish to wake her because I want to spend time together? Yes. Definitely but I’m doing it anyway.

  I tap my knuckles against her bedroom door. “Rose?”

  No answer. I tap a little harder. “Rose? Are you up yet?”

  “Coming.”

  She cracks the door and peeks out as she combs her fingers through her hair. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry I slept this late. I promise this isn’t the norm for me.”

  “I hated to wake you but I wanted to be sure everything is okay.” That’s not exactly truthful.

  “Everything is fine. I stayed up too late working on my closet. I’m a little OCD about things being organized.” I can appreciate someone who likes order.
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  “It’s okay. Are you hungry?” I was planning to cook waffles this morning but it’s a little late for that. “I could make some lunch.”

  “Lunch would be great. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come down to help you.”

  I’m looking at the contents of the fridge when Rose comes into the kitchen. “What do you feel like? Burger? Sandwich? Salad?”

  “I could do any of that.”

  I’m going to have heavy food this evening. “I should probably go with a salad.”

  Rose giggles. “You think you should go with a salad?”

  “I have a Christmas party this evening. Alcohol and heavy hors d'oeuvres. The food at those parties is always rich and greasy.”

  “Will you be needing me to attend with you?” She sounds ready and eager in spite of the short notice.

  “Not necessary. It’s just my company Christmas party. I throw one every year. It’s when I pass out the annual bonuses to my employees.”

  “Oh.” Rose’s voice is flat. Is she disappointed I’m not asking her to go to the party with me? I think so. But I need her to understand why.

  “I haven’t yet figured out what I’m going to tell the people in my life about who and what you are to me.” I’m a thirty-six-year-old man with a twenty-three-year-old woman living in my house. I know what people are going to assume. And say. I don’t like being the topic of gossip, especially among my employees.

  “You don’t have to tell them anything about who and what I am to you. You can keep me on the down-low. They never have to know about me or even that I live with you. If that’s what you want.”

  There’s no way to keep Rose a secret. It’s inevitable that someone will find out she is living here. And that’s when the rumors will start. “I’m not hiding you. I just need to figure out how I’m going to handle things.” And put out the fires this is going to spark.

  Rose isn’t going to fit into Wendy’s scheme to get me back into her life. And bed.

  Rose is going to elicit a pure shit fit out of Wendy but hopefully her perception about us will put a stop to her uninvited advances. I would welcome that.

  Rose smiles and shrugs but her expression says something different. “It’s cool, Bastien. Whatever terms you want about this are fine. If that includes keeping my living arrangements on the down-low then I can do that. It’s really not a big deal.”

  She moves to the sink with the plastic container of baby spinach. “I want to wash this; I’m not a fan of the way preservatives taste. Where’s your colander?”

  She’s changing the subject. I don’t know her well enough to determine if it’s because she’s bothered by not being invited to the party or she’s actually cool with staying home. Home. My home is her home now. That’s going to take a little getting used to. But I embrace it.

  “Lower cabinet to the left of the sink.”

  My experience has been that women don’t do great jobs of hiding their hurt feelings. If I’ve upset her, it will come out in the way she interacts with me. That’s how Dad always knew when he had messed up with Mom.

  “I assume your cloud from heaven slept well.”

  “Oh my God, did it ever. It was fabulous. And probably one of the reasons I slept ’til noon.”

  Maybe she isn’t mad at me. “What time do you usually wake up?”

  “Five thirty-ish. Maybe six thirty if I studied late.”

  Late-night studying. I remember those days well. And they sucked. I also remember skipping early morning classes because I was too hungover to get out of bed.

  “What time is your first class?”

  “I have an eight o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and a nine thirty on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “I get up between five and six. Maybe we can talk business over coffee in the mornings.”

  Rose stops washing the spinach and turns to look at me. “I would love that. But I have to warn you. My coffee ends up being like a dessert.”

  “I take mine strong and black. But no worries. My maker brews single cups.”

  She returns to her task of spinach washing. “Have you considered how much we have to learn about one another?”

  “A little but the true realization didn’t hit me until this morning.” When I was pacing the floor because I didn’t know why Rose wouldn’t get out of bed.

  “Let’s work on that. What is a peeve that gets on your nerves?”

  “People who sleep until noon when I want them to get up and hang out with me.” I chuckle so she knows I’m kidding. Sort of.

  She giggles. And I realize how much I like that I’m able to make her smile and laugh so easily. “Okay. Second biggest peeve.”

  “Are we talking annoying ticks or bad habits in general?”

  “Start with annoying ticks so I can avoid pissing you off.”

  She’s probably going to think I’m irrational but she might as well know now. “I nearly lose my mind when people click the top of an ink pen over and over. I once fired someone for that. But in my defense, I did warn him multiple times.” And I didn’t feel bad; he was a terrible agent anyway.

  “Oh, God. That sound is awful. It makes my top-ten peeves. I hate gum smacking but I really hate those multiple little bubbles that pop while people chew. I want to claw someone’s eyeballs out when I hear that annoying sound.”

  I’d probably fire someone over that one too. “I hate when people make that mucus-sucking sound in their sinuses.”

  Rose makes a gagging face. “That is one of the most disgusting sounds ever. Why do they make that noise in front of people? Go to the bathroom and take care of that. I don’t want to hear you suck and swallow your snot.”

  Surprising how much you can find out about someone by discussing peeves. This is going to be fun. Rose and I are neurotic about a lot of the same things.

  “We didn’t decide what kind of salad we were having.”

  I only have one way I make spinach salad. “I usually do strawberries, apples, pecans, and feta on mine.”

  “That sounds good. With vinaigrette dressing?”

  “Yes. I have a nice raspberry one.”

  “Raspberry vinaigrette is my favorite.”

  “Mine too.”

  Rose and I are going to be eating most meals together. I really need to learn her food preferences. “I have to make a grocery store run tomorrow. Would you like to go with me?”

  “You do your own grocery shopping?”

  “Who would do it for me?”

  “I don’t know. You seem so busy with PPI. I guess I thought you’d have hired help to run errands like that.”

  I guess most single men with my financial standing would. But they probably don’t cook either. “I prefer to buy my own ingredients.”

  “Do you cook a lot?”

  “Yeah. Dining out has never really been my thing.”

  “Vale sent me to a few cooking classes but with college and Duet training, there wasn’t a lot of time to learn very much. Only the bare basics. She didn’t see a lot of value in me learning since her intention was to connect me with a man who was wealthy enough to have a personal chef on staff.”

  I hope Rose doesn’t think Vale has placed her with a nickel shooter. “You do realize I’m wealthy enough to have a personal chef if I want one?”

  She shrugs. “I assume you’re wealthy because of the loan you gave Vale, but honestly, I’ve not really given your bank account a lot of thought.” Unusual. The women I’m accustomed to interacting with give my bank account entirely too much thought. Exhibit A: Wendy. Looking back now, I believe she wanted to become Mrs. Pascal. And half owner of PPI. I’m pretty sure the whole marriage and babies thing was a bluff to get me to marry her. All she gained from that little stunt was a husband she never really wanted.

  Rose acts as though she’s unconcerned with money but she’s a business major. She has to like money to some degree. “Are you satisfied with the monthly allowance I’m giving you?”

  “It’s very generous
. Too generous, considering you’ve taken over my tuition and school expenses. Not to mention you’re housing, feeding, and clothing me.”

  Five thousand dollars a month is nothing when you consider the time she’s giving me. If you break down the money divided by the number of hours in a month, she isn’t even earning minimum wage. Vale assured me the allowance was enough in combination with her expenses at Tulane but maybe it’s not. Perhaps I should raise it.

  “I have an idea. When Vale throws her masquerade parties to introduce Duets to potential clients, she has us do a two-minute speed dating session to learn the basics about the men. To see if we’re interested. Want to do it with me?”

  A quick way to learn some basics about Rose? I’m in. “Sounds like a good idea. Who goes first?”

  “I should since I have the suggested list memorized. Favorite color?”

  “Wait. Are we timing it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hold on.” I set the timer on my phone for two minutes and leave it on display for both of us to see. “Go.”

  “Favorite color?”

  “Toss-up between black and gold for the saints or purple and gold for the Tigers.”

  “I should have known that. Favorite food?”

  “Shrimp and grits. My mom’s recipe with mascarpone.”

  “I knew it would be something Cajun. Favorite alcoholic drink?”

  “Jack and Coke.”

  Rose nods as though she approves. “Nice, masculine drink. Favorite place to visit.”

  “Ireland. And stop saying favorite every time.”

  “Okay.” She giggles. “Song?”

  “‘Live Like You Were Dying’ by Tim McGraw.”

  She makes a gagging face again. “I hate country music.”

  I’m not much of a fan but that song does hit home for me these days.

  “Movie?”

  “The Hangover.”

  “Oh, that is a great one. We have to talk about favorite scenes later. How long since your last serious relationship?”

  Depends on what she considers serious so I’m not certain how to answer that question.

  “Come on, Pascal. Time’s ticking away.”

  “Uh . . . ten years, I guess.” Or never if it requires being in love.