Amelie d’Argelonne wanted to get married, but refused every woman presented. Sérisse and Athénaïs even said she could choose her own match. None would do.
Now they were in the matchmaker’s parlor again. For the eighteenth fking time.
“You do not have to get married,” Sérisse said abruptly. “It is not a requirement.”
“Maman, I want to get married.”
“Then please pick a bride for fks sake. Or don’t. Pick a rock. A piece of paper. I don’t give a fk. This sht is driving me insane, Amelie-Franchesce.”
“Bebe, please make choice,” Athénaïs sighed. “Your Maman wings losing too many feathers over this.”
“The fk?” Serisse barked. “Do I have a bald spot on my wings? I’ve got one of those little pink patches, don’t I? Like Eiravel. Great.”
“Is fine, Sérisse,” Athénaïs sighed. “Wings fine. No bald spot. Not even tiny oval shaped one. Promise.”
“Oval shaped? That’s very specific, Mon Cœur. Too specific. Christ. There IS a spot isn’t there? Athenais, please tell me there isn’t-“
“MAMAN!” Amélie shrieked, “YES. There IS a tiny bald spot there. It’s been there since Christmas. Can we focus on ME for once?”
Sérisse folded her arms across her chest and pouted. Since Christmas. A bald spot since Christmas. And no one told her That was bullsht.
“Amelie,” the matchmaker said, “why have you said no to every woman we’ve introduced you to?”
“They’re all very beautiful. Very feminine. However, I’m more beautiful and delightful than any of them. That’s obvious,” Amelie answered.
“Jesus, don’t be so modest,” Sérisse said. Athénaïs elbowed her in the ribs.
“ANYWAY. I said I wanted someone like MAMAN!”
“And we got you those matches. We found ones similar to the one I made with your mother. Who I chose, by the way,” Sérisse interjected, “It wasn’t arranged, and I’ve told you that if you want a marriage like ours, matchmaking doesn’t always-“
“No, Maman. Not like your marriage. Like YOU.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m trying to help you find what I have with your Mère, but—”
“No, Sérisse,” Athénaïs said gently. “She mean she want wife like YOU.”
“Well, that and one with your nature,” Amelie added. “Loving, faithful, strong but gentle. You know, how you are with Mere. I want someone who loves me like THAT.”
Sérisse had never considered herself a template in that way. She’d always assumed her children would want some version of Athénaïs, not her. It was actually very touching. Amelie wasn’t being superficial, she was more like her Mère than Sérisse realized. So now…she felt like a jackass.
“Besides,” Amelie continued, “None of my wardrobe would even begin to coordinate with another femme. How would that even work? I mean, it’s fine for Absynthe and Delphine, mind you, but Absynthe just…doesn’t have my sparkle and charisma, you know? I mean…WHO would get the better dress? Who gets the bespoke shoes? Which one of us gets the royal hairdresser appointment first? Who gets the first fittings of the day? Who gets the better dresser? Which one of us gets to wear Cousin Elizabeth’s diamonds to Easter Mass or Cousin Catherine’s Ruby necklace and crown for Samhain? ME. That’s who. ME. Always ME. The. END.”
Nevermind.
There it was.