A night to remember turned out to be a gross understatement. The look on Maryse’s face when Helena walked into Beau Chené and took a seat at their table was probably one Christopher would never forget. In any event, it was bad enough to cause him to jump up from his chair and rush to her side, as she grabbed her glass of ridiculously expensive champagne and tossed the entire contents back in one gulp.
“You’re white as a sheet,” Christopher said and placed one hand on her forehead. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Helena hooted, and Maryse choked on the last bit of champagne, spraying it across the table. She was afraid Christopher was about to start the Heimlich maneuver so she waved one hand to ward him off. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down, but with Helena laughing like a hyena, it was damn near impossible. Finally, she gained control of her breathing, although her blood pressure was questionable, and apologized profusely to Christopher for alarming him.
“I don’t know what came over me,” she said, trying to come up with a believable excuse fast. “I’ve had a pretty stressful week, and I guess it just all caught up to me in one moment.”
Christopher nodded and took his seat again, gently caressing her hand. “Probably an anxiety attack. I heard a little around town about your mother-in-law and the situation with your ex, or sorta ex. That along with your wreck would be enough to send anyone in a spiral, but this sort of problem rarely continues once the issues causing them are settled. In a week or so, you ought to be back to normal.”
“Gee,” Helena said, “I could have made that diagnosis.”
Before she could stop herself, Maryse frowned. Christopher noticed her expression and squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. “I promise it will go away,” he said. “There’s nothing really wrong. At least nothing a great dinner won’t help. If you’re still up to it, that is.” He removed his hand from hers and began to pour more champagne in her glass.
“Please,” Helena said, and smirked. “This guy couldn’t cure a cold sore. What the hell does he know about anxiety? Besides, hooking up with an asshole like this is enough to cause high blood pressure.”
“That’s enough,” Maryse said, and shot Helena a dirty look.
Christopher stared at her, a confused expression on his face, but stopped pouring the champagne at half a glass. Great. Not only had Helena ruined a great dinner, Maryse wasn’t even going to be able to drink enough to forget her misery.
“Would you like to order an appetizer?” Christopher asked and placed the half-empty champagne glass in front of her. “I hear the rum-soaked shrimp are delicious.”
Before she could answer, Helena jumped in. “Ha! He’s just trying to get you into bed and thinks now is a great time because you’re vulnerable. Look how desperate he is to get alcohol into you—first the champagne, now the shrimp. What a louse.”
Maryse finally reached the boiling point and she knew she was about to lose it. Helena’s return from the dead, her wreck, that awful will reading, breaking and entering, Sabine’s warning about Helena, and her unwanted and unprecedented attraction to Luc LeJeune swam violently in her mind like angry piranha. “Did you ever stop to think that someone might like me for some other reason than sex?”
The diners at the tables surrounding them grew silent, and it occurred to Maryse that not only had she not whispered as she’d originally intended, but speaking out loud to a ghost that no one else could see did not bode well for her date that everyone could see. Christopher stared at her in shock, his face beginning to flush.
“For the record,” he said, keeping his voice low and controlled, “I wasn’t thinking of sleeping with you at all. I mean, I thought about it, but that’s not what this dinner is about.” He shook his head and looked closely at her. “Maybe we ought to head home. You’re obviously not feeling up to this yet.”
Maryse clenched her hands and held in tears of embarrassment and anger, afraid to even look at Helena lest she do something even more foolish, like try to stab her to death with the butter knife or choke her with the two hundred-dollar champagne she’d barely gotten a taste of. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” Maryse agreed, since the only other alternative was dinner with Helena—something she obviously couldn’t manage with any decorum or taste.
Feeling guilty, Maryse reached across the table to place one hand on Christopher’s arm. “I’m really sorry about this, and I swear, I didn’t think your intentions were anything but honorable. I just don’t know what’s come over me.”
“That’s all right,” he said, giving her a curt nod, and Maryse knew he was miffed. “We’ll call this one a night and try again some other time when you’re feeling more up to it.”
Meekly agreeing, Maryse plucked her purse off the chair, rose from her seat, and attempted to follow Christopher out of the restaurant without making eye contact with any of the curious patrons. Aside from marrying Hank, this had to be the single most mortifying moment of her life.
As she jumped into the car, hoping to erase the night from her memory and start all over, Helena walked through the car door and sat in the back seat. “Cool, huh?” the ghost said. “I figured out that walking-through-walls thing when I got to the restaurant.”
Great. Just fucking great.
Maryse looked out the car window and watched Christopher tip the valet. “You had to follow me to the car, too?” she hissed. “Haven’t you caused me enough trouble already?”
“Oh, please,” Helena said, and gave Christopher a disgusted look. “I was only trying to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“The biggest mistake of my life was marrying your son.”
Helena stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, then the second biggest mistake of your life.”
Maryse turned around in her seat and glared at Helena. “And why in the world would taking up with a good-looking, successful doctor be a mistake? Can you tell me that? I’ve known Christopher since we were kids, and all I ever wanted was a healthy relationship with a man. I got cheated the first time around.”
Helena snorted. “Healthy relationship? You’re barking up the wrong tree, honey. You might have known him as a kid, but one of you has changed. And it’s not you. First of all, that doctor does not have ‘relationships.’ He has conquests. How do you think I knew where you were eating? I used to eat here several times a week, and your perfect doctor was always here with a different woman.”
“I don’t believe you,” Maryse said. “Besides, what’s wrong with dating other women? He didn’t come back to Mudbug until a week or so ago. I could hardly ask for anything exclusive before we even reconnected.”
Helena rolled her eyes. “You weren’t interested in anything exclusive. You just wanted to get laid. You’re not even wearing underwear.”
Maryse felt her blood boil. “I never wear underwear!” she shouted, at the exact same moment Christopher opened the car door.
Maryse whipped around in her seat, trying not to groan. She could feel Christopher staring at her, but he didn’t move. Finally, he sank into the driver’s seat and started the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he leaned over and whispered, “Good to know.”
Maryse just nodded and tried to smile, although she was certain it came out more like a grimace. She turned slightly and glanced at the backseat, hoping at least for the opportunity to give Helena the finger behind the headrest, but the backseat was empty.
What should have been the perfect date with the perfect man was ruined. Even worse, instead of fantasizing about her night with Christopher, the only thing she could think of was Luc LeJeune’s kiss. It was all his fault she’d gotten into this mess to begin with. Maryse sank back in her seat with a sigh, feeling sexually frustrated for the first time in, well, forever.
And there wasn’t a single battery-operated device in her nightstand to handle the job.