Free A Wedding in Provence by Ellen Sussman Page A

Emily shook her head. “Not for a second.”
    “I’ll tell you the truth,” a voice said behind them.
    They both spun around. Sébastien stood in the doorway, looking as if he had just woken up. His hair was tousled; his jeans hung low on his hips. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Olivia noticed that he was thicker than he used to be. Even handsome Sébastien showed signs of aging, she thought. Is that what sent him into another woman’s arms? Fear of losing what he’s got?
    “Go away,” Emily said without much conviction.
    “I want to talk to you. Before the day begins and you won’t come near me again.”
    “I’ll leave,” Olivia said.
    “No,” Emily said, and her hand shot out to grab Olivia’s elbow. “Stay.”
    Olivia dropped back onto the stool.
    Sébastien walked around to the other side of the center island and sat on one of the stools facing them.
    “Get dressed,” Emily commanded.
    He looked around the room, grabbed an apron and tied it on over his bare chest. He looked like a hillbilly chef.
    “I won’t believe you, no matter what you say,” Emily said. She pulled the notebook open and stared at it.
    “I lost your trust,
chérie
,” Sébastien said, his voice low andquiet. “I will win it back. I will do whatever I have to do to win you back.”
    Emily looked up and faced Sébastien. “You fucked that woman,” she said.
    Olivia flinched—the second time Emily had cursed in a day and a half. Olivia had always teased her about being so prudish about language but Emily had argued that she couldn’t take a chance in her business—her clients would be horrified if she dropped an F bomb. In Olivia’s theater world, “fuck” had become a meaningless hiccup.
    Sébastien held Emily’s gaze.
    “Once,” he said.
    “Liar.”
    “It is true.
Une fois
.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “I know. I will make you believe me. I will not lose you,
chérie
. I did a terrible thing. Once.”
    “I don’t care how many times you fucked her.”
    “Once.”
    “Why does that matter? Do I get one free fuck now?”
    “Can I tell you what happened?” Sébastien asked.
    “I don’t want to know,” Emily said. Then she threw the notebook across the room. “Tell me what happened.”
    “We should talk about this alone,” Sébastien said weakly.
    “I don’t want to be alone with you,” Emily told him.
    Olivia held her breath. She didn’t want to be here, yet she wouldn’t abandon her friend.
    Sébastien placed his hands on the table in front of him and stared at them. They were paws really, the hands of a man whoworked around the inn, painting, gardening, building. When he and Emily took over the inn, he gave away his New York suits and polished shoes. He was an even better-looking man in a work shirt and jeans.
    “It was only once because I was sick about it.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Em, let him tell the story.”
    “Shut up,” Emily snapped.
    They all sat quietly for a moment. The refrigerator hummed.
    “It was about two months ago,” Sébastien said, his voice low. “I met Luc at Le Fumoir.”
    “Luc,” Emily said with disgust. Olivia had heard about Sébastien’s old childhood friend. He was a version of Jake, Brody’s friend. Luc didn’t treat women with much respect.
    “When I got there Luc already had a woman at the table. She was drunk and very affectionate with him—I thought maybe they knew each other. No—a few minutes later she was behaving the same way with me. And Luc got mad. I tried to leave but Luc beat me to it. I told the woman I would have one drink but then I was going home.”
    Olivia strained to follow his story. His English was good but his accent was so strong that the words were often unfamiliar. Om. Home.
    “I walked her home when I was done,” Sébastien said. “And when I got to her place I walked her in. I do not know what happened. I ended up having sex with her. And the minute it happened I hated every part of it.”
    “Bullshit,” Emily