Mr. Americana and The Heartbreak Princess

2

Juliette stood at the arrivals gate of the airport, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she scanned the steady stream of passengers. The air was thick with the smell of jet fuel and the distant hum of conversations, but all she could focus on was the familiar figure of her father, Francoise Durand, walking toward her with his effortless Parisian elegance.

Dressed in a tailored navy blazer and a scarf that somehow didn't look ridiculous, he strode through the crowd as if he were stepping onto a runway. His dark hair, streaked with hints of gray, was impeccably styled, and his sharp jawline gave him the appearance of a man who rarely took "no" for an answer.

"Mon étoile!" he called out, his voice warm and rich, his French accent thicker than Juliette remembered. (My star!)

Juliette rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at her lips. "Papa," she said simply as he pulled her into a hug. His cologne-earthy, with a hint of spice-wrapped around her like a comforting memory.

"You're taller," he said as he pulled back, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "Or is it the heels?"

Juliette smirked, gesturing at her scuffed combat boots. "It's all me, old man."

Francoise chuckled, shaking his head. "Still impossible, I see."

"Runs in the family," she shot back, grabbing the handle of his suitcase.

As they walked toward the car, Francoise glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "And how is your mother? Still filling her time with charity work and committee meetings?"

Juliette snorted. "Oh, you know her. She's busy trying to turn me into the perfect little Kook. It's going great."

Francoise smiled faintly, but his jaw tightened. "I'm sure she means well."

"Yeah," Juliette said, her voice dry. "That's what they all say."

The drive back to the house was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence Juliette only ever experienced with her father. He always gave her space, never pushing her to talk unless she wanted to.

As they pulled into the driveway of the Durand-Miller estate, Francoise leaned back in his seat, his eyes sweeping over the pristine lines of the modern mansion.

"Still looks like a museum," he remarked, his tone laced with disapproval.

"Feels like one, too," Juliette replied as she got out of the car.

Caroline was waiting for them at the door, her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek bun and her outfit crisp and perfectly tailored. She looked every inch the polished Kook matriarch, and Juliette couldn't help but notice the subtle tension in her posture as Francoise approached.

"Caroline," Francoise said, his smile polite but distant.

"Francoise," she replied, her tone cool but civil. "You're early."

"I wanted to make sure I had enough time with Juliette before heading back," he said, his voice steady. "I assume you don't mind."

Caroline's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. "Of course not. She's your daughter, after all."

Juliette rolled her eyes, stepping between them. "Okay, let's not turn this into one of your silent standoffs. Can we just get through this weekend without making it weird?"

Francoise chuckled, and even Caroline's expression softened slightly.

Later that evening, Juliette found herself sitting on the back patio with her father, the two of them watching the sun sink into the horizon. A bottle of wine sat on the table between them-her father's idea, of course, though Juliette only had one glass.