Page 13 of Never Have We Ever
Chapter 4
From the moment Valeska Dubois stepped through the door to her Parisian townhouse, she was in full-blown Queen Marie Antoinette mode. Or at least liable to get her head chopped off if any of the French servants decided to revolt against her.
Yet she had an amicable relationship with them, especially the ones who could speak English. Because nothing sent Valeska overthe edge faster than returning from her thrice-weekly French tutoring only to be lost when her servants spoke to her in their native language.
Three years of intensive French tutoring and I still don’t know shit.Valeska stared blankly at the head maid Celeste, a thirty-something woman with enough proper training to work in the main Dubois manor. But Valeska’s mother-in-law had “gifted” the servantas a first anniversary present, citing Valeska’s need to have more ladylike friends her age.
Did she send a German-speaking servant? Nooooo. Of course not.
“This arrangement is all wrong,” Valeska announced as she swept through the dining room. “You know André hates irises. Get rid of it. Everything must be perfect before he gets home.”
Celeste relayed the orders in French to the rest of thestaff. A young man darted out of the townhouse to get a new floral arrangement from the neighborhood florist.I hate being such a queen bitch, but today is such a big day…André was coming home from his business trip to Melbourne. The other side of the fucking world! It wasn’t bad enough the man often traveled all around Europe. He often stopped in Asia, Oceania, and the damned Americas. That’swhat Valeska signed up for when she married the only son of one of France’s biggest investment families. The Dubois clan would never make international news for their antics, but they were hotshots in the banking and insurance worlds. When André wasn’t in Hong Kong overseeing a CEO’s assets, he was in New York City inspecting the vaults at Tiffany’s. His trips were often slammed back to back. Itwasn’t unusual for two weeks to go by before Valeska saw her husband again.
He sent her letters, though. Oh, and he called her, of course, but the letters were from another universe.
The latest one awaited her on her desk in the master suite. Celeste had kindly placed it in a conspicuous spot and placed one of Valeska’s favorite Swiss chocolates next to it. Such a ritual of eating chocolateand perusing her husband’s French letters would have to wait today, however. Not only could Valeska barely make out a damned thing her husband wrote on the stationary, but she had to get ready for their intimate dinner that night.
It was their second anniversary. André had originally planned to be home from Melbourne the day before so they could go to the opera and dinner for their anniversary,but a storm had kept them grounded in Australia. Only now was the private Dubois plane landing at the airport outside of Paris.
André would be too tired to do anything but have a nice dinner at home, but Valeska would make sure it was the nicest dinner he ever fucking had, complete with the best champagne reserves and a live violinist playing in the other room. She didn’t want anyone else inthe dining room while they ate and caught up. Because there was much to discuss.
The grace period was over.
For two years Valeska had acclimated to the title of Madame Dubois. She had moved to Paris full-time, although she took monthly trips to her family’s Austrian estates. She managed André’s home and attempted to cultivate a social life worthy of a Parisian lady. Except Valeska had nevermanaged to fit in with the local gossip queens and their snobbery. Every stereotype about the French – especially the wealthy Parisians – was true, as far as her humble Austrian viewpoint was concerned. They often chastised her rough, Germanic accent and her inability to latch onto any Romance language. Those who deigned to be seen with her only did so because of the Dubois name. The closest thingValeska had to a friend was Celeste and country-based madams who liked to make fun of the Parisian mentality.
Nothing lambasted her anxiety more than knowing her husband continued to fancy other women, however.
André was a terrible romantic, and while that extended to his wife, it did not bring her comfort when he openly flirted with other women in front of her. Parisians told her that wasthe French way, but could a young wife who was infatuated with her handsome husband truly feel comfortable with him kissing prettier women on the cheek and whispering whatever the fuck he always said into their ears?
The grace period is over tonight. He’ll want to open our marriage. I know it.
He probably was already having covetous affairs around the globe. The man spent so much time abroad,that he could have ten girlfriends and Valeska would never be the wiser. They could be escorts for all she knew.Guess I’ll find out if I ever get a STD.She slammed her makeup down on her vanity and tried to not give herself a stroke with these anxious thoughts.
“Madame!” Celeste cried from the hallway. “Monsieur Dubois has arrived!”
Valeska hurried to finish her makeup and readjust the dressshe bought for their anniversary dinner – a midnight lavender wrap-dress with enough cosmic sparkles to remind any man of the night they married.Maybe, if I look my best every time he comes home, I will remind him that I am the best woman for him.She kept an impeccable home and had never embarrassed his family – accented gaffes aside. To her credit, André’s mother always played them off as partof her Germanic charm. A novelty, as opposed to a liability.
“Tres délicieux!” Valeska steeled herself on the staircase the moment she heard her husband’s voice in the dining room. The aroma of venison and rosemary potatoes filled the air. Their personal chef had outdone himself yet again. “Merci beucoup,Celeste.”
Valeska couldn’t understand what else her husband said to the maid. Celestesmiled at her mistress before leaving the married pair in the dining room. When Valeska reached her husband, it was with the usual level of unrestrained desire she usually felt around him.
For all the passion he showed other people, André gave her double. That much Valeska could admit.
“Ah!” She was dipped over a dining chair and kissed with the last of a travel-haggard man’s strength. Valeskapopped up again only to brace herself against the chair. Her hair had become mussed in the process. “Welcome home?”
“I must be home, because my beautiful wife is here.”
His English was better than usual. Not strange, considering he had spent a week in Melbourne. Before that?I think it was Tokyo.André didn’t speak a word of Japanese, so they must’ve conversed in English. The man spoke so muchEnglish for his work that it wasn’t difficult for him to switch to it around his wife. Which, unfortunately, did not help her French practice. Thus far, the only sizable amount of French Valeska fluently learned were basic commands to the servants and how to announce how hard she was about to come during sex.
“Why are you blushing? Is it hot in Paris recently?”
Valeska couldn’t bear to lookher husband in the face after that. She insisted they sit down and have dinner, which gave André plenty of time to regale her with tales of his trip and present her with the souvenir he procured in Melbourne.
“It’s kangaroo jerky,” he announced, placing the small bag in his wife’s hand. The venison had barely begun to cool when another stack of meat came into her life. “I sampled it. Delicious.You’ll love it.”
“Danke.” Valeska handed it to Celeste the next time she entered the room with more drinks. “I hope you enjoy the dinner. I planned it for our anniversary.”
André lifted his glass of champagne for a toast. “Oui, oui,to two happy years.”
