CHAPTER 21

“Votre mère est avec nous.”

(TRANSLATION: Your mother is staying with us.)

Saint-Luc sat up straighter in his seat. “Où est-elle maintenant? ”

(TRANSLATION: Where is she now?)

“Dans la chambre. Endormi.”

(TRANSLATION: In the guest room. Sleeping. )

There was silence on both ends of the phone. It was unlike his mother to be asleep at half one in the afternoon.

Saint-Luc listened as Amirah told him how Saint-Yann and her had spent the previous week in Turkey with the kids. Upon first sight of Ayda they'd noticed the subtle but evident changes in the aging woman. How she walked a little slower than usual. How she ate less than usual. How a thin patch of sweat was pasted on her face at all times. Despite the observations, Ayda claimed she was fine.

The same changes that Amirah described were what Saint-Luc had noticed when he and his brother had videocalled her during that unfortunate lunch. He'd talked to her several times after that day but with everything that had been happening with his marriage up until then it was only the thought of working to forget the heartache that occupied his mind. But now he couldn't help but feel guilt at not closing in on to his mother's health.

Amirah revealed how when Saint-Yann had tried to make their mother go to the doctor, she had outright refused denying that there was anything wrong with her.

Obviously neither of them had been convinced but Saint-Yann had decided to let the matter go much to Saint-Luc's annoyance.

In a tactic to keep her eye on the Roux matriarch, Amirah suggested that Ayda return to Belgium with them so she could spend more time with the grandkids. Saint-Yann hadn't been pleased but Amirah paid him no mind. She knew with her mother-in-law's presence he would be on his best behaviour.

Not that he hadn't been recently – Amirah had said quickly coming in defence for her husband when Saint-Luc's suspicions rose.

“Amirah, vous devez trouver un moyen d'obtenir un médecin dans la maison pour diagnostiquer ma mère. S'il vous plaît.”

(TRANSLATION:Amirah you need to find a way to get a doctor in the house to diagnose my mother. Please.)

“Je sais. Notre médecin de famille vient à la maison demain matin, alors je vais vous dire comment ça se passe.”

(TRANSLATION: I know. Our family doctor is coming to the house tomorrow morning so I'll let you know how it goes.)

“Encore mieux, merci. Et Amirah? ”

(TRANSLATION:Even better, thank you. And Amirah?)

“Oui?”

“S'il vous plaît, ne dites pas à ma mère de mon mariage. ”

(TRANSLATION:Please don't tell my mother about my marriage.)

“Je ne vais pas.”

(TRANSLATION:I won't.)

“No, je veux dire. Vous avez dit que vous ne le feriez pas la première fois et vous avez fini par dire à mon frère.”

(TRANSLATION:No, I mean it. You said you wouldn't the first time and you ended up telling my brother.)

“J'étais énervé avec lui et il a glissé pendant que nous discutions. Je l'ai blâmé pour ce qui s'est passé entre votre femme et vous - parce qu'elle n'a pas cru d'abord que je n'étais que votre belle-soeur. Mais je suis désolé pour ça.”

(TRANSLATION: I was pissed off at him and it slipped out whilst we were arguing. I blamed him for what happened between your wife and you – because she didn't believe at first that I was just your sister-in-law. But I'm so sorry for that.)

Saint-Luc accepted her apology with some detachment knowing he couldn't completely trust Amirah as she had the habit of blurting compromising information when she was in her fits of intense emotions.

He knew that if his mother should come to the knowledge that her first son, no less, had gotten married in secrecy she'd be devastated. And Saint-Luc wasn't ready to deal with the consequences.

He heard his baby nephew crying in the background, Amirah's cue to disengage from the conversation and attend to the whimpering baby.

When Saint-Luc ended the call he closed his eyes and drew circles at the bridge of his nose with his finger.

He flicked his wrist to check the time on the black leather strapped watch, it was nearing two and he still had not had lunch. Saint decided to eat and take his insulin shot before commencing work.

Half an hour later he was about to look through financial reports on his plants in Europe when his phone, that only a handful of people knew the number to, started ringing. Naomi.

“Mind telling me why I'm finding out through a third party about this documentary featuring your company talking about the shitty way you treat the people who work for you?”

Once again Saint-Luc's posture straightened in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“I did an interview today for a fashion magazine and the interviewer asked me how I would make sure that the way my fashion house is run is going to be ethical unlike my husband who's company was recently featured in a “highly-publicised” documentary as having exploited the plight of the unfortunate in India. Working in those brick plants with no proper footwear, many of them barefoot. Like really Saint?”

“Nao-”

“Earning less that 2 euros a day. What the fuck Saint-Luc?”

“Naomi are you going to allow me to speak?”

“Yes,” she said but she might as well have said no because the tone in her voice was full of grudges.

“Remember three weeks ago when I had to come back to Paris, shortly after your fashion show?”

“I do.”

“That was the shit I was dealing with. It's just this socialist groups with the agenda of trying to push corporations to pay higher taxes. Long story short, the charity group is being investigated for defamation and corruption within their organisation. Last week they made a public apology.”

“I read that but are you telling me there's no truth to be found in the documentary I saw?”

Saint-Luc sighed. He could feel a headache thrumming in the forecentre of his brain.

“Naomi over eight thousand people work for me, in about fifteen different locations around the world. Mistakes happen. But with the brick plant in India it was down to mismanagement from the previous owners who I had acquired it from. And it was a lot of headache at the start but now everything is sorted. My company offers a competitve employee package. Free uniform, pension scheme, maternity-paternity pay, apprenticeships, career progression, I don't know what else they could want. ”

“Okay it's just I feel when it comes to your work or things that stress you out you leave me in the dark and you don't like when I do that with you. D'you know how embarassing it was to know what the woman interviewing me was talking about?”

“After we got married you never really seemed interested about my job, what I do-”

At this Naomi stalled a bit. “Regardless. Now we are. I want to know. I want you to stop doing this old man antic of protecting the little girl. I'm a woman. Your woman monsieur. Open up to me. That's a command.”

Saint-Luc couldn't help the smile stretched on his face. She was his woman damn right. It was nice to hear it from the source herself, he mused. Because for a long time, he sternly believed she wanted nothing to do with him except his money.

“Oui madmoiselle,” he said unable to stop the chuckle falling from his lips.

“It's not funny Saint-Luc. Communication is key.”

“Absolument. So what did you end up telling the interviewer?”

“I basically told him that his allegations were untrue and when he tried to prove shit to me, I asked him if he still wanted to discuss my fashion brand or was the interview done?”

“That is sexy madmoiselle.”

It made Saint-Luc proud that even when evidence was stacked against him, his wife had his back.

“Saint-Luc I'm serious from now on I want you to tell me what's on your mind just like you want me to tell you what's on my mind.”

“Okay madmoiselle,” he said, “I'm not happy with our living arrangements.”

“Saint-Luc we've discussed this.”

“I only agreed because I know it's what's going to make you happy. But right now when I'm hearing your voice and I don't have the eager expectation of seeing you when I come home – I'm not happy.”

“But we discussed this at length Saint-Luc,” said Naomi getting exasperated.

“Look you're the one who just said communication is key and you want me to be able to tell you what's on my mind.”

Naomi stayed silent at the acknowledgement that her husband had used her words to bite her in the ass.

At this Saint-Luc's voice softened. The last thing he wanted was to upset his wife. “I know how important your fashion line is to you. I know all your arguments for staying in Italy and I agree with you. You're young and you need to know yourself outside the borders of our marriage but - I want you home with me. Preferably everyday. In Paris.”

“You've done a great job of making me feel guilty.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel guilty madmoiselle,” he said just as he checked his watch realising his meeting to be in half an hour, “I'm just telling you how I feel.”

“I know.”

Saint-Luc changed the topic of conversation wanting to keep the tone light and after a few further minutes talking about each other's day, they ended the call.

Their living situation was highly unideal but the fact that she wanted him to be an open book was a step in the forward direction he thought.

Being overtly emotional as a man was perceived as a character flaw and growing up he had to curb that trait in him. Saying what he felt he naturally had no problem with but with Naomi he wanted to be more careful because he realised he could be too intense at times.

Saint-Luc couldn't help but to think of when he and his brother were still children and Saint-Yann would make fun of how easy it was to make him cry. His mother too was always quick to disprove of his sensitivity making comparisons to his father.

Someone who, at the age of fifteen though he loved dearly but realised, he didn't want to be anything like. The apple really did not fall too far from the tree.

With a heavy sigh, Saint-Luc rose up to pour himself a drink from his minibar.