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chapter sixteen, unexpected visitor
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DAPHNE THINKS THAT A PUNCH TO the gut would be less surprising than seeing Margaux Charpentier on her doorstep.
She stands there in distaste, surveying the house as if it's the single most hideous thing she's ever seen. Her chestnut hair is neatly curled to frame her face, a great fur coat layered over her designer clothes. Lips of rouge, a complexion almost completely free of imperfections. Yes, it's definitely her grandmother. Even though Daphne had brought her up earlier, she hadn't expected her to flippin' materialise in front of their house! She's not exactly Bloody Mary!
In an attempt to cover up her shock, she tries to think of something to say.
"Je suis heureuse de te voir!" Daphne blurts nervously.
Margaux scoffs. "Et mon cul c'est du poulet."
She falters. "Entrez, entrez. Joyeux noël."
Her grandmother makes a cryptic remark under her breath, shaking the slush off of her stilettos and straight onto the door mat. Margaux clears her throat pointedly and Daphne rushes forward to take her snow-flecked coat and gloves.
"Je vous en prie," Daphne mutters wryly.
Her grandmother's glare pierces straight through her and she swallows thickly, shifting from side to side.
"C'était quoi ça?"
"Rien, grandmére."
"Who is it?" Stevie calls curiously. She comes around the corner and instantly freezes in her tracks, stood like a statue. "Oh— Bonsoir, grandmére."
"Bonsoir, Stephanie," Margaux says sharply. "Où est ton père?"
"Dans la cuisine," she stammers.
"Ici?" she gestures at the door to the kitchen.
Daphne and Stevie nod rapidly.
Her heels click against the tile, face fixed in a cutting glare and spine as straight as a pin. The two of them hover at the door nervously, Daphne clutching onto Stevie's shoulder with enough force to turn her knuckles ivory.
