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.

"Maman, I would like to introduce you to Veronique. She is my planner for the wedding. Veronique, this is my mother, Vivienne Antoinette Saint-Croix." I didn't know whether I should curtsy, or wait for her hand to extend so I could kiss the tip of her ring.

Vivienne Saint-Croix lifted her chin up, appraised me with calculating eyes, and most likely found me lacking. She said nothing to me and turned to Sandrine, speaking in rapid French. Sandrine, in return, retorted in the same language. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I knew an argument when I heard it.

The older man in the trio spoke up, instantly quieting down the mother-daughter squabble. The he turned to me, his eyes crinkling a bit at the sides. He walked around the chair Vivienne was seated on and stretched out his hand.

"I am François Luc André Saint-Croix, Sandrine's papa. Welcome to our home, Mademoiselle Veronique." I lifted my hand so that I might shake his but he turned it, palm down, and placed a kiss atop my fingers.

"Oh! Well, it's such a pleasure to meet you." I glanced at Vivienne as François released my hand. "Both of you. I was just telling Sandrine how lovely this whole place is."

"Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle." François piped up. "You must forgive my wife. She does not understand the American way of putting together a very important event such as a wedding." Oh, so that was what the argument was about.

Vivienne tilted her head up higher, and spat out words in French at her husband. Sandrine joined in, and the three of them argued amongst themselves. All I could understand were the names I knew-- Jake, Sandrine, even my name (or the French version of it) and Olivier.

Speaking of whom, I briefly looked around, almost expecting to see Levi seated at a corner, with a drink in hand, laughing merrily at the cacophony in front of me. But he wasn't present at all. A clearing of the throat alerted me. I turned to the source and stared right at the gorgeous man with a gorgeous suit, adding a gorgeous smile to the whole ensemble.

Oh, wow! He had a charming smile, teeth as white as the smooth limestone busts out in the hallway, a masculine and smooth jaw, eyes as blue as the ocean and thick dark hair combed back. He was Jake and Levi put together.

"I suppose I should introduce myself." Beaming smile. "My name is Gaspard des Rochers. I am... a friend of the family."

I weakly lifted my hand and just let him do what he wanted with it. When his soft lips pressed against my fingers, goose pimples covered my entire body. He glanced up through thick lashes, a smile hovering on my limp hand.

He straightened up when a hand clapped over his shoulder.

"I see you've met the enchanting Veronica."

Levi.

"Indeed, I have." Gaspard was still holding my hand but when I glanced towards Levi beside him, I quickly pulled it away, and kept it behind me.

"Levi!" I squeaked out.

Levi stepped forward and kissed my cheek. "Hello, darling. Glad you made it."

Due to the trance under Gaspard's spell, I didn't notice that Sandrine's argument with her parents had stopped. Sandrine stood aside, pouting, almost in tears, and her parents were quietly murmuring.

Gaspard whispered something to Levi. Levi responded by smirking and shaking his head. I sensed an evil plan in the making as they both trained their eyes at me then smiled. My cheeks burned.

"That's it. Nica, can I talk to you for a second?" Jake, coming from his sulking spot, grabbed my arm and started to pull me aside.

For whatever reason, it ignited something vile from Sandrine's mother. In return, Sandrine started yelling at her mother, her voice echoing in the grand room. "Just leave him alone, Maman! He is my fiancé and I am marrying him."

Vivienne returned fire. This time, she spoke in accented English. How I wished she had stuck to French instead. "He is not good for you! He is a peasant! He is an Americain. Mon Dieu! Why couldn't you return to Gaspard and marry him as you were born to do?"

Uhm, what?

All was lost after that. The shitstorm of all shitstorms began.

Sandrine shouted back, pointing at Jake and Gaspard, and her parents. Her eyes filled with tears as her voice increased in volume. Vivienne pointed her dainty fingers at Jake, while also yelling at Sandrine, her husband and anyone nearby, including me.

Gaspard blurted a few comments at both women. When he reached out for Sandrine, Jake, who had been just an observer like me at that point, shoved Gaspard, making the latter step back and knock off an antique vase resting on a side table.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Jake yelled at Gaspard. When it wasn't enough, he lifted a fist, and it met with the other man's beautiful face.

Shock and fear rolled in the room. My voice was thick in my throat. I sucked in a hiss.

Trent and Landon came rushing to support their cousin. Levi and François helped Gaspard back on his feet. Isobel stood back, hand clasped over her mouth. Vivienne gasped. Sandrine visibly shook, then shouted when Gaspard retaliated.

The two men, in all their suited glories, returned punch after punch, crashing against chairs and pushing off more vases and trinkets onto the floor, and spraying spits of blood on the floor and the tapestries. Trent and Landon tried to hold back Jake, and Levi stood between the him and Gaspard, who was lying on the floor, wiping blood off the side of his mouth.

"This is the man you want to marry? Look at what he has done!" Vivienne shouted at her sobbing daughter.

Sandrine, trying to swipe any and all of the tears off her face, took a step forward. She knelt down to check on Gaspard's bloodied, split lip.

"Sandrine?" Jake's quiet voice echoed loudly as he witnessed what his fiancée was doing. "You're choosing him?"

Sandrine hiccuped and sobbed. "Non, mon amour. He is hurt." She looked up at Jake, eyes pleading.

Jake took in what was before him-- Sandrine's hand on Gaspard's arm, and one on his lip. "And I'm what?"

"Jacob, please," Sandrine begged him to understand.

"Screw this." Jake pulled away from his cousins' holds and stepped towards Sandrine and Gaspard on the floor. Then he stared at Vivienne. Everyone was ready to pounce at him if he tried anything else, but he set his shoulders straight. "You've got your wish. Marry your daughter off to her childhood sweetheart."

"Jacob," Sandrine gasped. She stood up, reached out to Jake with her hand, smeared with Gaspard's blood.

Jake narrowed his eyes at her, then widened them as he stared at her hand. "Wedding's off."

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A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. It was a bit rushed but I wanted to update it before the weekend starts.

Thank you for the votes and comments. They keep me going!

Next chapter has two parts, so I will be updating twice next week. While you're waiting, check out books by @iRunOnDunkin.