how special he was, because he only told me his first name—Julien. We talked about everything and nothing. I don’t even remember what we talked about except that he made me laugh and asked me questions like he wanted to know everything about me. Before I knew it, there we were, standing under the mistletoe.”
“Best kiss ever?” Merrick asked.
“Best kiss ever,” she agreed, remembering how Julien’s lips had shivered lightly at the first gentle contact. The gentleness quickly turned to passion, and before she knew it, her arms were around his back and his mouth was on her neck, at her ear, at her throat. Every Christmas since then she’d thought of Julien. The lights, the tree, the scent of pine and candles brought the memories back. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t imagine spending Christmas with Brian Roseland. Christmas was already claimed by Julien and that one perfect night he’d been everything she’d wanted but never thought to ask for.
“I’m guessing the inevitable happened,” Merrick said.
“We found an empty guest room. I thought I remembered locking the door behind us.”
Merrick cringed. “I see where this is going...”
Remi nodded, her face flushing at the memory.
“We kissed for a long time. Julien seemed a little nervous, and I didn’t want to rush things since we’d just met. But then he unzipped the back of my dress and I unbuttoned his shirt...and his pants...and then.”
“And then?”
“And then while things were happening, he said something weird and I stopped.”
“Weird? What? Did he deny the Holocaust or something?”
“He said...‘This feels better than I ever dreamt it would.’”
Merrick cocked his head to the side.
“Ever dreamt it would? You mean he’d never had a girl do the thing on him before? I assume you were doing the thing.”
“Oh, yeah. I was doing the thing. With gusto. And when he intimated that no woman had ever done the thing on him before, I sobered up and asked him how old he was.”
“Oh fuck,” Merrick said.
“Merrick, I was half naked on a bed with the virginal barely-seventeen-year-old son of one of the most powerful families in Thoroughbred racing.”
“Oops.”
“Two seconds after I told him we had to stop, the door opened. My dress was down, his jacket was off, his shirt was open, his pants were unzipped...and his mother saw it all.”
Merrick’s eyes went comically wide. Remi would have laughed but for the pain the memory still caused her.
“How bad was it?” Merrick asked. She appreciated that he seemed to understand the gravity of the situation instead of making Mrs. Robinson jokes.
“Bad. Julien’s mom had had a little too much Christmas punch. It turned into a screaming match that everyone at the party heard.”
“Oh, that’s bad.”
“Very bad. My parents showed up and started defending me. His parents called me every ugly name in the book. My father told Julien’s father, ‘Sir, control your wife.’ And five minutes later, my father and his father were fighting. Like physically fighting. Dad gave Mr. Brite a black eye and Mr. Brite gave Dad a bloody nose. It’s a miracle no one called the cops.”
“Damn.”
“The moms pulled the dads off each other, but that almost turned into a catfight until Mr. and Mrs. Railey showed up and calmed everyone down. Poor Julien was begging everyone to just shut up and leave us alone so he and I could talk. Instead his parents dragged him—literally dragged him away from me—and he’s apologizing to me the entire time. ‘I’m so sorry, Remi. I should have told you. I’m so sorry...’”
She could still hear his humiliated words ringing in her ears.
“And that started the feud?” Merrick asked.
“That was the beginning. My parents were furious at the Brites for making a scene and accusing me of seducing their baby boy. The Brites were furious at my parents because my parents blamed Julien for lying to me about his age. He didn’t lie, for the record. I didn’t ask him his age. Never occurred to me to ask until it was almost too late. And I just stood there in shock, saying nothing and feeling like I was going to puke and trying to get my dad not to kill his dad. I didn’t get to talk to him, tell him I was sorry, tell him goodbye, even. It was awful.”
“You didn’t do anything illegal,” Merrick said. “You were only twenty-two. And legal age in Kentucky is sixteen.”
“Do I want to know why you have that legal factoid memorized?”
“Nope,” he said. “So you never saw Julien again?”
“My parents forbade me from contacting Julien. I haven’t seen him since that night. Not even at any of the races.”
“Where did he go?”
She shrugged and tried to pretend that she had never looked for him and wondered that same question. Every race she’d looked for him.
“He disappeared. And that was that. Except his family still hasn’t forgiven me for almost seducing their son, and my family still hasn’t forgiven them for publicly humiliating me—us, really—at the party.”
“Have you forgiven him?” Merrick asked.
Remi smiled. “Julien didn’t do anything wrong. And while his mom was going batshit crazy on me, calling me every possible variation of slut, whore and harlot, he stood up to his parents and defended me.”
“‘Harlot’?”
“I believe the words ‘blonde Jezebel’ were also employed. Julien told her off. He told everyone off.”
“Like a man. I approve.”
“He’s twenty-one now. I keep thinking I should...but it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”
Merrick looked at her with searching serious eyes.
“You miss him,” he said.
Remi didn’t bother to deny it. “I had a perfect moment with him. You don’t get many of those in your life.”
“This was four years ago? You’d think your families would be over it after four fucking years.”
“Judging by all the smack talk in the news, they aren’t. In that SI interview, Mrs. Brite called us the ‘white trash’ farm.”
“Classy.”
“Dad called the Brites ‘stuck-up snobs.’ I’m really hoping Julien hasn’t read that article.”
“So what are you going to do when you see Julien again? Jump him?”
Remi laughed at the ludicrousness of the suggestion. She hadn’t seen him in four years, and the only reason she was seeing him now was to tell him their parents might be fixing races? Hardly cause for an erotic reunion.
“I’ll do what I should have done years ago. I’ll tell him I’m sorry.”
After what felt like a year in the air, the plane landed. They checked into their hotel and Remi gave Merrick the night off. It was Saturday, after all. And all she wanted to do was sleep and recover from the flight. Merrick, however, had other plans.
“Vive la France, remember?” Merrick grabbed her by the upper arms and forced a kiss on each of her cheeks. “When in Paris, do as the Parisians do.”
“What do the Parisians do?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m hoping it involves getting Parisian drunk and getting Parisian laid. Not necessarily in that Parisian order.”