Chapter 75

Yvette had gone all out for dinner, preparing blanquette de veau, a slow-cooked veal stew in a creamy white sauce with mushrooms and carrots, served over rice. The rich aroma filled the house, making my stomach rumble.

As we sat at the table, Monique took a deep breath and turned to her father. “Papa, I have some news.”

He looked at her curiously. “Oh?”

She glanced at me, then back at him. “I’m not going back to Boston for three months.”

He blinked in surprise. “You’re not?”

I took over. “We’ve arranged for her to do her work placement here, at my firm. Everything has been approved by M.I.T., and she’ll be working under one of my senior architects.”

There was a beat of silence before François’ face broke into a wide smile. “Monique, that’s wonderful!”

Yvette clapped her hands. “We get to keep you here!”

Monique beamed. “Yes! I’ll still graduate on time, but I get to stay in France.”

Her father reached for her hand. “I am so proud of you, ma chérie.”

Yvette turned to me with a knowing smile. “And this was all your doing, wasn’t it?”

I shook my head. “She earned this opportunity. I just made sure she had the option.”

Monique squeezed my hand under the table.

As we ate, we told them about Geneva and how Monique would be acting as my PA for the business trip. I also explained how I had intended to tell Monique about the work placement in Geneva, only for Marc to accidentally spill the news.

The entire table erupted into laughter.

“Oh, poor Marc,” François chuckled. “I imagine he was mortified.”

Monique grinned. “He was. But it’s okay—I’m happy it’s all out in the open now.”

As dinner wound down and we finished our wine, Yvette leaned back in her chair and said casually, “So, when can I turn Monique’s room into my sewing den?”

François burst into laughter, while Monique gasped. “Maman!”

Yvette shrugged innocently. “What? You’re living with John now, and you’re not moving back in.”

Monique groaned. “Let me graduate first before you start redecorating my childhood.”

François wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “I’ll help you paint, Yvette.”

I grinned, watching as Monique pouted, even as she laughed along with the rest of us.

This—this—was what family was supposed to feel like. Something I’d been missing since my wife passed away.