Page 44 of Blown

Rafe blinked, the gears of his mind grinding hard as he shifted from the pivotal moment with Jake to Hélène’s interruption. He had too many questions about what the fuck was going on to latch on to just one of them.

“Madam Rénard,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool. “We didn’t expect you here so soon.”

Hélène blinked at him. “You invited me to tour your beautiful estate and to see your studio and your work,non?”

“I did, of course,” Rafe said, rushing to be as hospitable as possible to the woman he admired so much. “You are more than welcome, Madame Rénard.”

“I thought I told you to call me Hélène,” she said, gesturing as if to brush his formality away, then adjusting her bag when it slipped again.

“Hélène,” Rafe repeated. “I assumed you would call today so that we could arrange a time for you to visit. We don’t hold classes on the weekends during the summer.”

“I do not mind,” Hélène said, smiling and sunny. She glanced around Hawthorne House’s front hall. “Perhaps it is more exciting to tour this old house when it is silent and waiting.”

“Yes, of course,” Rafe said, scrambling to pull himself together. “I could give you the full tour, if that’s what you want.”

Conducting a tour of Hawthorne House wasn’t at all what Rafe thought he’d be doing that morning. He’d planned to bury himself in work so he could forget about his fight with Jake. He’d grabbed a box of new frit that had just come in the day before with the intention of playing around with it that morning. He knew the script of the house tour like the back of his hand, everyone in his family did, but his headspace wasn’t there.

“Er, this version of Hawthorne House was built in sixteen-forty-five,” he said by rote as he started across the hall toward the corridor leading to the classrooms, Hélène and Jake following. “It was partially destroyed in a fire in the sixteen-seventies, but the first Earl of Felcourt rebuilt and made it twice as big. The second earl added the west wing during the reign of George I.”

“Oh, I see,” Hélène said, looking around.

“The third earl built even more after marrying a daughter of the Duke of Marlborough, but by the end of the eighteenth century?—”

Rafe stopped as he spotted his parents coming down the grand staircase. They were holding hands and chatting with each other and looked like they were dressed for a walk. As soon as they saw Hélène, they stopped their conversation, let go of each other’s hands, and hurried the rest of the way down the stairs to meet them.

“Mum, Dad, this is Hélène Rénard,” Rafe quickly made the introductions. “Hélène, this is my mother and father, Janice and Robert Hawthorne.”

“What a delight to meet you, Madam Rénard,” Rafe’s mum said, sweeping forward while sending his dad an animated look over her shoulder. She then took Hélène’s hand in both of hers and shook it, all while her eyes sparkled. “I’ve followed your meteoric career, of course. Your exhibition of broken glass in Monaco three years ago was groundbreaking.”

“Merciand thank you,” Hélène replied, laughing and touching a hand to her chest.

Rafe wanted to roll his eyes. The last thing any of them needed right now was his mum flirting with the celebrity artist who could not only make or break his career, but who was such a bone of contention between him and Jake.

“We were just about to do the tour of the house,” Rafe said, his voice flat.

“Oh, wonderful,” his mum said, still holding Hélène’s hands. “Let me guide you on the special family tour.” She sent Hélène a significant look, then glanced excitedly at Dad.

Rafe had no choice but to step back and let his mother take charge of the tour as, once again, he was shunted into a back seat. At least this time he hadn’t been eclipsed by Jake.

“Hawthorne House was built in sixteen-forty-five,” his mum said. “It was partially destroyed in a fire in the sixteen-seventies, but the first Earl of Felcourt rebuilt and made it twice as big. The second earl added the west wing?—”

“We already did that part, Mum,” Rafe said as they headed for the classrooms.

“Oh, I see,” his mum said. “Where did you leave off?”

“With the end of the eighteenth century.”

“Ah. Right. By the end of the eighteenth century, the house as it is now was finished,” his mum picked up the script where he’d left off.

Rafe fell into step behind Hélène and his parents, which, unfortunately, was the perfect view to watch his mum more orless throwing herself at the sophisticated Frenchwoman as they wandered the halls of Hawthorne House. His dad was doing his share of flirting as well.

“They’re such an embarrassment,” Rafe muttered as they left the classroom corridor and headed to the ballroom-turned-dining room and event space.

Jake snorted in what sounded like an attempt to swallow his laughter as he walked by Rafe’s side. When Rafe frowned at him, Jake gave him an apologetic look and said, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

“It’s funny to watch my aging parents flirt with my artistic idol?” Rafe asked, his insides feeling paradoxically light.

“Yes,” Jake said, bursting into a smile. “You’re parents aren’t that old, and clearly, they’ve still got it.”

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