Page 112 of Tender Offer
Summertime in Paris is my favorite. The weather is warm, and the city comes alive with festivals and outdoor movie screenings.
My phone chimes in my purse.
Dominique
Someone is sleepy again.
“Aww.” I melt at the photo of Alessandro knocked out in my sister’s arms, mashed red beans and rice in his tiny fist.
He’s the perfect mix of me and Preston, with my heart-shaped lips and perky nose and Preston’s long lashes and dimples. His mess of thick curls has the same auburn streaks mine did growing up in the Louisiana sun.
My baby is tired.
Good morning over there. I see y’all got him eating good. Thanks for the pic. Love you.
Dominique
Love you too.
My relationship with my sister wasn’t easy to navigate, but we made it to our place of healing. Both of us had to let go of yearsof assumptions and guilt to get to where we are now. Preston and I visit Breaux Bridge every summer. It’s the only time of year Jewel can get back and we can all be together.
We’ve settled into new family traditions while honoring the former practices that made us who we are.
Life with my in-laws is a different story.
Briar cleaned house—literally. She took most of Victor’s money from his personal trust and what little was left from the Donnelley Brand once Preston cut him off. News of Victor Donnelley fathering a child outside of his marriage—with his former friend’s daughter, no less—eclipsed the royal family coverage in the tabloids. Part of me felt bad for Bellamy, who left London to flee the paparazzi and have her baby in peace. She moved up north, to York, where she raises a now three-year-old Daisy alone.
Preston and William have seen their sister a handful of times. We all tried to visit once, after Alessandro was born, but Bellamy isn’t ready. The father of her child only sends checks, and there’s still hurt she’s working through.
I had to let go of mine to move on. I didn’t want to carry it, and I chose to fill my life with things that bring me joy.
William is still William. He’s come into his own as CEO, and he’s spearheading changes that force the hospitality industry to take notice. Preston is an ambassador for the Donnelley Brand. Their profits now funnel into communities most impacted by environmental racism and climate change.
Through direct support and legislative victories, the community-based collective is doing amazing work. Jewel still taps in as a thought partner, and she’ll support as legal counsel once she passes the bar. As for the Donnelley family’s billions, Preston and Will are on track to deplete the chest, outside of ongoing revenue for the collective to use at its discretion. The brothers created a foundation to give away all the money in theirindividual trusts over the course of their lifetime. They’ll still live comfortably and have a modest inheritance for their children, but they’re resetting the scales for better equity.
We see Will at least twice a month. If we’re not hopping over to London, he’s in our refrigerator and the guest bedroom he claimed as his own. Ravenous is still very much alive and thriving. The Donnelley Brand’s Paris hotel now has pop-ups, and we indulge from time to time.
If Kojo only knew how wild this mom gets.
A breeze catches in an alley, fluttering leaves creating a canopy from the sun. My oxfords crunch on the aged pathway that leads up to a familiar property, a cream building with sage shutters. They’re the same color as ours at home, as a symbol of the place where we met.
I haven’t been back to this museum since I was twenty-something and scrambling for an affordable place to eat. Little did that Madison know the wonders that were written in the stars for her. There was heartbreak and drama—lots of it—but so much love.
“Like what you see?” I smile at the voice speaking French behind me. It still makes my pulse race.
My eyes shift away from the old building to a sharp jawline with a trimmed goatee, thick brows, and teasing dimples. Warm honey skin peeks out of a white polo tucked into navy chinos.
“Maybe.” I force my cheeks down to feign indifference.
Preston lifts a brow, and I snort.
“Do you like what you see?” The question I volley back is in French, and it earns me a nod.
“Very much so,” he says, his rich timbre licking my ear. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”
I smirk and turn away. “I’m a happily married woman.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind.”
