He put them on anyway, and walked out barefoot to the stairs, from where he could look down into the foyer, the same one in which he’d been standing a few hours before, looking up at Chantelle as she walked down the stairs. When he’d seen her knees for the first time. Since then, he’d seen a lot more than that, and would have been enjoying a second look right now if whoever the hell it was hadn’t had the worst timing.
Chantelle was talking earnestly with two sandy-haired men, who looked to be in their forties, and a woman, an ash-blonde with a placid expression.
Instinctively, he knew who they were. After the discussions he and Chantelle had about her family, he was certain he was looking at her two stepbrothers and the wife of one of them. The elder, if he remembered correctly.
One of the men glanced up and spotted him and leaped back in surprise. Immediately, everyone turned towards him, including Chantelle.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded one man, planting his feet apart and putting his hands on his hips as if staking his claim on the land.
A huge display of bravado, and Dustin wanted to laugh. Instead, he walked with dignity down the steps and came to stand next to Chantelle before announcing, “My name is Dustin Spencer, and I am Chantelle’s husband.”
The bombshell had the desired effect. The two men gasped, and the woman clapped both hands over her mouth as if she’d uttered a naughty word. Chantelle gave him an approving half smile.
“You’re her what?” The more aggressive man turned his head from Chantelle to Dustin and back, as if seeking confirmation or denial.
“You heard me,” he said pleasantly, feeling mildly insulted by the look of horror on everyone’s face.
Chantelle stepped in. “Dustin and I were married a month ago.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“My private life isn’t any of your concern,” she said shortly, and then seemed to make the effort to manage her responses. She lay her hand upon Dustin’s arm in a way that made him warm all over, even though he knew it was all part of the charade. “Well, it all happened so fast, we just thought we’d take some time for ourselves.”
The woman seemed anxious to smooth things over. “Well, I suppose we should say congratulations.” She offered her hand. “Welcome to the family, Dustin.”
They all shook hands, and Dustin learned that the elder one was Dennis, and the younger, Tom.
Then an awkward silence fell again, as they all stood in the foyer in the dead of night, wondering what to say next.
“How long will you guys be in France?” Chantelle asked, filling the chasm.
“Just a few days,” Dennis said.
“We know it’s unexpected,” Samantha piped up, “but I was thinking— we were thinking— about how uncomfortable things have been between us since the reading of the will.”
Dustin watched as Chantelle’s back stiffened. He knew that the tension between the siblings over her appointment within the company still hung there in the air between them. He wasn’t sure the solution would be as easy as Samantha seemed to think.
“We wanted to let you know that we think it’s time we put all this behind us. In the past, where it belongs.”
Chantelle was quiet for a long time, and Dustin watched, suspicious, as his wife’s siblings and in-law stood there with forced smiles on their faces.
To Dustin’s mild surprise, she nodded almost imperceptibly and said brightly, “Well, I hope you haven’t made hotel reservations in Aix, because it’s very late, and you know you’re always welcome in my home.”
There were grateful smiles all around, and then, while Dennis went back to the car to retrieve their bags, Chantelle took the others upstairs to show them their rooms. As she left, she whispered to him to return to her room to wait for her.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned, closed the door, and let her shoulders slump. He could tell that the encounter had taken a lot out of her.
“Family, huh,” he said sympathetically.
She didn’t answer, but instead rolled her eyes and gave him a half smile.
He felt a mountain of regret at the way their evening had ended; he’d much prefer to have spent it in her arms.
And then he wondered; what next? He voiced his concern. “Since we’re supposed to be married and all and with your sibs sleeping in the guest wing, where my room is, what do we do? It probably wouldn’t be a good look for them to find me creeping to the guestroom.”
“True,” she said.
“I could curl up at the foot of your bed like Minerva does,” he joked weakly. “Or on the carpet.”