Elle
It was your idea to come here, Elle reminded herself as she stared up at the Grant Hyatt Hotel. You’re the one who wanted to work things out.
Two days had passed since she and Jackson had gotten engaged at a sex party. They’d spent most of that time in their apartment; screwing, cuddling, discussing the future, making up for lost time. As they settled back into themselves again, or rather the new engaged versions of themselves, Elle decided she didn’t want to leave her relationship with Valeraine the way it was. Jackson said he was happy to never talk to his mother again, but Elle knew the toll separation put on a family. Jackson was too warm-hearted to ever be comfortable living a life estranged from his mother and her other children, and Elle wasn’t willing to be the thing that severed ties between them. She called Valeraine, who she knew from Instagram was yet to leave the country, and asked if she could see her. They didn’t have to be best friends, but if there was a chance they could be civil to one another, it would mean a world of difference for Jackson.
She’d been proud of herself for her decision but that was before she was standing in the lobby of one of Melbourne’s swankiest hotels in her all-purpose Christmas/conference/funeral clothes.
“God, I hope this is a good idea.”
Jackson kissed her cheek. “I don’t know my love, it sounded like a good idea when you suggested it to me. Do you want me to come to her room with you?”
Elle shook her head. “I should go up by myself. If things get weird, I promise I’ll come right back out. She does know I’m coming, yeah?”
“She texted me to that effect, yes.” Jackson studied her, his expression grim. “You don’t have to go through with this, my love. I won’t think any less of you.”
Elle forced herself to smile. “Don’t be so dramatic, pretty boy. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
Jackson’s dark brows rose, but thankfully he said nothing.
Valeraine was staying in one of the grand king suites, which meant riding the elevator for twenty-two stories. Elle’s fear of elevators wasn’t nearly as bad as her fear of flying, but she was still a sticky ball of nerves when she staggered out of the metal box. Breathing through her nose, she strode over to Valeraine’s door, and after a full two minutes, in which she considered running far, far away, she knocked. It opened almost at once.
“Hello, Eloise.” Valeraine looked even more glamorous than usual, her long hair loose around her shoulders, the emerald green of her tunic bringing out the gold tones in her skin and eyes. Elle was sure Jackson’s mother had dressed as deliberately as she had, in clothes designed to impress and intimidate. Valeraine was much better at it than she was.
If only I could have worn the bodysuit, she thought miserably. Then I’d feel sexy and impressive.
She forced herself to smile. “Hi. Can I come in?”
“But of course.”
The suite was even nicer than Elle had imagined, all warm gold-coloured walls and arty decorations, more akin to a museum than a place where people had affairs and slept off cocaine binges.
Valeraine gestured to her liquor cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”
“No thanks,” Elle said. “I won’t stay long.”
That seemed to relax the room some. Valeraine picked up her highball, sat in a blue and white striped armchair, and gestured for Elle to sit in the one opposite her. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Elle inhaled deeply. One conversation and then it’s over. “I would like to ask your permission to marry Jackson.”
Valeraine had not been expecting that. She wrinkled her forehead. “What?”
“I would like to ask for your blessing so that Jackson and I can get married.”
Valeraine continued studying her with suspicion, as though she thought this might be a hoax. “You are a very strange girl.”
“Yes,” Elle agreed. “Will you give me your blessing?”
Valeraine flicked a lint ball off the arm of her chair. “You are not pretty enough for him.”
It was a fact so oft thought by Elle herself that it barely stung. “Maybe not, but beauty fades. Jackson’s not always going to look the way he does now, either.”
Valeraine seemed put out by her lack of anger. She pointed a green lacquered nail at her. “You think you are a man, you act like a man.”
Elle shook her head. “No. I’m just a woman who’s strong and confident, and Jackson is secure enough in himself that he likes that about me.”
Valeraine huffed. “You think that now, but your harshness, your disrespect, will drive my son into the arms of another woman. Just you wait and see.”
Elle looked at the human being in front of her, the beauty, the slyness, the conviction that everyone would eventually fuck everyone else over if their needs were not being exactly met. She was surprised to find that she actually felt sorry for Mrs. Valeraine Chevalier. Her neuroses were such a clear product of her own bad decisions.
“I disagree,” Elle said. “Will you give us your blessing?”
Colour was rising in Valeraine’s cheeks now, dark pink blotches. “You are rude, classless, you have a bad temper, and a weak disposition.”
“Yes,” Elle said, her anger rising. “And your son can be vain, self-absorbed, and snobby. He wipes fingerprints off the wall and checks out his hair in every window he passes, but I love him, and he loves me, and he’s mine. So will you give us your blessing or not?”
Valeraine took a huge swallow of her drink. “Non.”
“I see.” Elle leaned forward, her hands clasped between her knees. “I thought you would say that. So I have one last thing to say…”
Valeraine gave her a smug smile. “Say whatever you like, darling.”
Elle grinned. “I know you think the sun shines out of his arse, but your firstborn is not a flawless specimen of humanity. In fact, before we got together he was a huge knob, and as far as I can tell, you had a lot to do with that. Ditching him and trying to guilt him for wanting to stay in Australia with his dad. You gave him a lot of fucked-up ideas about love and women.”
Valeraine sneered at her. “Is that what you think?”
“Yes, and so did Jackson’s shrink,” Elle said. “The one he decided to see on his own because he couldn’t stop drinking and doing coke and hurting the women he slept with.”
Valeraine’s smile vanished.
“He did the work to get better, and on the other side of all that shit, he found he was a good kind man who was capable of loving me. Now we’re together,” Elle continued. “And he’s the most important person in the world to me, and whether you like it or not, we are engaged. We’re going to get married.”
Valeraine clenched her crystal tumbler. “If that is so, then why would you come here and ask for my permission?”
“It’s a formality. A sign of respect. You don’t actually get to veto our love, it’s not the fucking eighteenth century. Now here are some facts for you; I’m Australian, and I fucking hate flying. Consequently, Jackson’s little months-long jaunts to Lyon are a thing of the past. Not because I’m ‘making him’ stay in Melbourne, but because he wants to be with me. Because he likes me more than he likes France.”
“But—”
Elle held up a hand. “We will get married here, live here, and when we have children, I will decide what your relationship to those children will be. And I’ve gotta tell you, considering the absolute shit-show you’ve been hosting for the last four weeks, you’re looking at getting a Facebook photo every twelve months.”
Valeraine’s upper lip curled. “You couldn’t keep me from—”
“Those kids come out of my cunt, they’re my business,” Elle snarled. “You won’t visit them, you won’t talk to them, and you won’t fill their heads with lies about how their father could have done better than me. Until you learn to treat me with respect, it’s a no-go zone. Understood?”
Valeraine sipped her drink. She seemed to be absorbing what she’d heard, digesting how it made her feel. In any case she wasn’t shouting anymore.
Elle decided to throw all her weight behind her declaration. “Jackson doesn’t need you anymore. None of your children do. Being a good parent means making yourself redundant. I know that must suck, to feel like you don’t matter to them as much as you used to, but trying to guilt adults into depending on you the way they did when they were kids is pointless. Jackson’s a grown man with his own tastes and attitude. The only real relationship you can have with him has to be about friendship and respect. Otherwise, he won’t want to be near you anymore. That’s the only way it can be.”
Valeraine stared at her, saying nothing, doing nothing.
“Okay,” Elle said. “That’s all I wanted to talk about. I’m gonna go.”
She was halfway to the front door when Valeraine spoke. “My son hates me, doesn’t he?”
Elle turned to see Valeraine’s eyes were sparkling with tears. She sighed. “He could never hate you. But he loves me, and he wants you to respect me.”
“But I don’t like you,” Valeraine said with a sob. “I think you’re awful.”
Elle fought the irrational urge to grin. “I know, but if you just keep that to yourself even a little bit, everything will be different. You can come to our wedding, visit with us, we’ll talk to you all the time. Hell, maybe we can come see you in Lyon sometime.”
Valeraine looked up, a perfect glistening tear tracking down her cheek. “Really?”
“Really,” Elle promised. If I can get my hands on a massive Percocet scrip. “So, what do you say, can we try and be civil?”
She walked back over to the couches and held out her hand.
Valeraine stared at it, noting, Elle was sure, the calluses and short, unvarnished nails. For a moment Elle was sure she was going to refuse. Then she placed her hand in Elle’s chapped one. “I give you my permission to marry my son.”
Relief saturated through her every pore. “Thank you. This will mean a lot to Jackson. He really cares about you.”
Valeraine beamed at her, actually beamed. “Not as much as he cares about you. And you know, Eloise, when you smile, you really are quite lovely.”
For the first time, Elle could appreciate that this was a woman famed for her charm. She dropped Valeraine’s hand, feeling a little dizzy. “I…thank you.”
A trace of slyness returned to her future mother-in-law’s face. “Would you consider being wed in Lyon?”
“No,” Elle said cheerfully. “Besides, it’s too soon to think about the wedding. Jackson promised me a long engagement.”
“Hmm,” Valeraine said, but she added nothing else. It was progress, Elle realized, a tiny blossoming flower of achievement. “I know you’re flying out tomorrow, but would you like to have lunch with us? Jackson and I would really appreciate it.”
Valeraine flashed her rare smile again. “I would like that very much.”
“Great,” Elle said with relief. “Jackson’s waiting for us downstairs.”
“Allow me to just collect my purse, and we will go.”
And that was how she and Valeraine found themselves side by side in the elevator, chatting about the weather and the upcoming Australian Open.
When they got out at the lobby Elle saw Jackson standing tall and handsome by the front desk, and when he smiled at her, his grin turned her insides to yogurt the way it always did. ‘You did it, Ellie,’ that smile said. ‘You are so wonderful.’
I am wonderful, Elle thought as they walked outside into the crisp Melbourne air. She and Jackson were engaged, his mother was happy and later, once they were alone, Elle was going to ride her son’s face to orgasm while she stared at the tattoo he’d gotten to document his love for her.
Who could ever ask for more than that?
The End