Risk Management

"You are perfect for me as you are or as you want to be. As long as you are my Céline." I kissed her and she gave a sexy little chuckle.

"Mmm. I did not complete my make up in case you wanted to kiss me. I shall finish at Celeste's." we kissed again for a little while longer before we broke for breath. At last I offered her my arm and walked her to my car, opening the door for her.

When we returned, Sue and Celeste still weren't quite ready and Céline went off to join them, leaving me in the lounge to wait for our taxi. I was planning on a glass or two and anyway, was not expecting my three gorgeous ladies to cram into my reliable but tiny Clio.

I heard a horn sound in the street outside and I called to tell them that our carriage awaited. Céline was first to join me. She was splendid when we arrived, now she was even more lovely, with just a hint of make up. "Will I do, my love?" She asked, posing for me.

"You look even more stunning mon amour," I told her honestly. Her smile told me that she believed me.

Celeste was next, and I realised that the girls were timing their appearances to give me time to appreciate them individually. She was wearing a white high necked dress, though it was obvious that the small but firm breasts beneath the bodice were not employing the services of a bra. The hem of Celeste's dress was just above the knee with a long slit at the side. Her hair was down and coiffed in a way I'd never seen her wear it before. This tough, capable B&B owner suddenly looked like a film star.

"Celeste, you are always beautiful but tonight..." She acknowledged my unfinished thought. She could see my honest appreciation in my eyes.

Last came Suzanne. I know; that's usually her 'you're in trouble name', but not tonight. Sue is what I call my little girl: the woman who appeared from the bedroom deserved a grown up name. I knew then what she and Celeste had been up to in the bedroom on Friday afternoon and why they seemed to be so gleeful when they returned.

The stilettoes we had bought in the boutique accentuated her long, slender legs that were exposed to mid-thigh. The blue skirt clung to her hips and, God! I'm her father I shouldn't be commenting like this, her shapely backside. But the top! Part of me was proud that my daughter looked as good as she did and part of me wanted to tell her to go back to her room and put on a bra. The top of this shimmering blue dress was cut to just above her navel and, as she turned to model it for me, both sides of her small pert breasts were exposed.

I suspected that the two older women had helped her with her make up too. It was more subtle, more mature than she usually wore. Suddenly my little girl was gone. In the place of the slim, rosy cheeked tomboy was a 5'6" vision of loveliness. Silky brown hair, artfully styled to look carefully tousled, lips shimmering with gloss, and her once rosy cheeks were now finely chiselled features. I was going to need a baseball bat to keep men away from her dressed like that.

The room was silent. "Too much?" She asked in a small voice. Fearing, I supposed, that I wouldn't let her be seen with me in public looking like that.

"You mean too much Suzanne and not enough dress?" I replied.

"Yes," she said sadly. "I'll go and change."

"Why?" I asked. "You've never looked more grown up or more beautiful." I held out my arm for her. "Mesdames. Shall we go?"

All three women looked at me approvingly. "What?" I challenged them. "I already knew she was lovely. It's difficult for a father the first time he sees his little girl all grown up. But, I trust your judgement and I trust her, so I'll just have to learn to be proud of who she is now."

The taxi dropped us off outside the bistro. Simone met us at the door, excited. "Celeste said to take some photographs of you arriving," she told us. "You all look so elegant, may we use the photos on our social media?"

I deferred to Suzanne in matters like this and so she backed us up and restaged our arrival: Suzanne with the vibrancy of her youth leading the way, striding like a catwalk model, followed by me, looking sharper than I had in decades, with a stunning woman on each arm. Phones were brandished, pictures selected and comments agreed.

Before the first course had even appeared Suzanne was showing me her Instagram feed (or whatever) where we were pictured arriving like celebs. The caption read, in English and French; 'The owners of Le Chat Noir were delighted to welcome our new English friend and his companions to celebrate his daughter's upcoming twenty first birthday'.

Suzanne, of course, made sure that she tagged the link on her account to make all her student mates jealous. It didn't occur to either of us at the time that her Aunty June followed her too.

We sat and chatted quietly. Several other patrons came over to say hello to Celeste and Céline and seemed to warm to Suzanne and even me thanks to her effortless switch between English and French and my more hesitant but sincere attempts not to butcher their language.

The meal itself was faultless. I don't remember everyone's order but I won't easily forget mine: Langoustines on lime infused avocado with a wasabi dressing; Veal steak with caramelised shallots and thyme flower jus and a deconstructed lemon tart with a lemon sorbet. Because we had a mixture of meat and fish dishes between us Simone recommended a bottle of white Gerard Bertrand Clairette du Languedoc and a red Terrasses du Larzac. Both were delicious and paired beautifully with our meals. They were fine sipping wines when we'd finished eating too.

We stayed there for a couple of hours chatting over coffee. Veronique even brought out a small tray of delicate desserts that she'd made especially for us and she and Simone sat and shared them with us along with a small glass of Absinthe each.

I argued with Simone about the bill but she refused to let me pay the full price. She claimed that she had applied a discretionary discount and regardless, the pictures of Suzanne on their social media was worth much more in promoting the bistro than she'd taken off.

When we finally got back to Celeste's, replete and content, we sat for a while planning our Sunday morning. It looked as though it would be a fine, sunny day so we decided to hit the beach. I didn't want to go too far because I wanted to get Sue back to Barcelona on the direct train, and not arriving too late at night. I know I worry. I'm her Dad, that's my job.

Eventually Celeste stood and wished us goodnight, looking meaningfully at her friend. Céline smiled in acknowledgement and stood too. "Don't stay up too long," she warned me, and went off to join Celeste.

"They're making another point, aren't they?" Sue asked.

"Yes and no," I replied. "I would not have liked to have sent Céline home alone after an evening together like we've just enjoyed and, as she's staying anyway, sharing our bed was always going to happen. That's the 'no'. The 'yes' is being so blatant about it. In the same way that they encouraged you to 'come out' to me to make me come to terms with my daughter being a sexually attractive young woman, they are making the point to you that your dad shares his bed with two women. We both have to learn to deal with those realities."

She thought for a while. "So, although they are pushing our boundaries, it's for our benefit, not theirs. You don't feel that they are, what? Exploiting you? Like mum?"

"Exactly," I agreed. "You didn't have to wear that dress; you chose to, and I can choose to sleep in another room."

She grinned. We'd done a lot of that this weekend. "But I did wear the dress, and I loved it!"

"And," I said, cheerfully. "I'm going along with their plan too. Because there's no way that I'm sleeping on my own tonight."

"Goodnight, Dad. Sleep tight."

"Goodnight, Sue. You too."

Celeste and Céline and I had a very satisfactory end to our evening. To be clear, both of them are quite contentedly straight so there was no girl on girl action; it was just me making love in turn to two lovely women. When I bent to kiss the bounty between Celeste's thighs, Céline held her hand and told her how beautiful she looked when she was in ecstasy.

When I slid inside Céline, Celeste stroked her brow and described how sexy it was to watch me slipping in and out of her. We tried to be subtle. Sue knew quite well what we were doing but there was no need to rub her nose in it. I doubt we succeeded entirely though.

We were all up reasonably early next morning. While Céline and I made love one more time, Celeste began making breakfast: well, keeping the croissants and pains chocolat warm once she'd collected them from the shop. Suzanne was helping by making coffee when we made it to the kitchen. "I expect you to be as open-minded as I've been when I bring a boyfriend to stay with you," she warned me.

It was a fair comment, and I'm not naïve enough to believe that she had spent two years living in Spain and remained a virgin. "If it's someone you have feelings for; then yes. A meaningless fuck-buddy; then no. I'll trust you to make that judgement yourself."

She acknowledged my point and we all sat down to eat. After we'd finished and cleared the table we took twenty minutes to get ready and then wandered down to the beach. The sun was shining with not a cloud in sight when we got there. It was perfect; warm without being blisteringly hot. There is a nudist beach resort close by but my companions confined themselves to going topless. Yup. Celeste was first to strip off her tee shirt exposing her small but still very feminine breasts. Céline followed, slightly reluctantly because she still thought of herself as plump rather than voluptuous. I thought she looked great. When it was Sue's turn, she'd been wearing a bikini under her sundress. "You might want to look away now, Dad," she suggested, reaching behind her back.

I sighed. "I think saw eighty percent of your tit-flesh last night over dinner. Your new pals have made it clear that you are as much of a grown woman as they are, so me looking away would, I don't know, deny your right to be who you are. And you really are a lovely young woman. I'm sure that I can learn to accept your bare boobs just like I accept those young women's over there and these two trouble-makers' over here."

The three of them just grinned unrepentantly as her top came off and we settled down to coating each other in sun-cream. By the time we left the beach at two o'clock, beyond acknowledging that my daughter had really nice boobs, I barely noticed them.

After a leisurely stroll back to the B&B and light meal of bread, cheese and olives, we all saw Sue off at the station. There were tears from her new friends, possibly because, if I moved on, they might never see each other again. Sue gave me a very intense stare as she boarded her train. I nodded in understanding. The three of us 'needed to talk' but despite the usual subtext of the phrase, you know, 'I'm going to tell you how things are going to be and you'll just have to deal with it', I actually intended to listen.

Over a bottle of wine back in Celeste's garden, I explained my concerns to them both: that I realised I couldn't interfere with Celeste's business and that I had issues to resolve in the UK, but I really didn't want to lose what I had only recently found in Agde with them, and that my head said that it was time to move on but my heart knew that was wrong. I asked them how they felt and if we could find an answer together.

Celeste answered for both this time. "We want you to stay. We know there are things that you must do; so do them; but we do not understand why you feel that this means you must leave us.

Céline summed it up well. "You have left your wife, given her your house and you fear losing your job. Tell us, how will being in another place, without us, make these things not so?"

She had me there. It was my situation not my location that was the problem. Was running away becoming my default reaction to dealing with things? "Okay," I replied, this time trying to actually deal with the issue that bothered me. "First of all, I have no role here. I can't work without a visa and my French isn't good enough anyway to do my old job, even if there were openings in the area.

Celeste made an unladylike noise. "You could find work. Perhaps managing holiday homes for English people. Maybe they would be happier with one of their own looking after their properties."

Again, I pointed out that I had no work visa. "Then marry Céline." Celeste shrugged. "We all know you love each other; why will you not admit it?" The lady in question glared at her friend.

Celeste continued. "I care for you, it is true. I will miss you if you leave. But what do you gain by leaving her behind when you know it will hurt her and when you love her? This makes no sense."

I considered. I had applied for a divorce barely two months ago. The law required a minimum of six months living apart before it would be granted. It would be October at the earliest before I could remarry and Céline hadn't had the chance to accept yet, largely because I hadn't asked her. In fact, we hadn't even been on a date. But I did have very strong feelings for her. She had been badly hurt when her husband left. I think she felt that he'd found someone else because she was unattractive or overweight. But she wasn't, she was lovely; as well as being intelligent, witty and compassionate. Oh, and not to forget, an absolute goddess in bed.

Celeste was bold, adventurous and hardworking. I liked and respected her and I would miss her too. Perhaps between us we could find a solution. Céline made her own suggestion. "Move to my house this week. You will share my bed each night and Celeste is welcome to visit any time. You can fly home to England from Beziers and return here when you have done what is needed.

"But what about money?" I insisted.

They both shared a look. "It is true that Céline works at the reception desk at the clinic," Celeste admitted, trying not to laugh at my confused look. "But only because she chooses to. She is a partner. She needs nothing from you and, once you are married, either you will find work to amuse you, or she will leave and you can spend time together." To be honest, that came as a surprise.

"And you and me?" I asked, dreading the answer.

Céline answered this time. "We can decide whatever we want. We are happy to share now; why should we stop? I know that we push you sometimes, but it is only to help you see that you are allowed to be happy."

I thought for a moment. "Then I have a suggestion." They sat back and sipped their drinks as I decided how to phrase my idea. I continued. "In a few days, Celeste's first guests will begin to arrive and she will be busy. What if I stay to be sure there are no problems and then return to England for a week or so?" They agreed that seemed sensible.

I hadn't finished. "And perhaps before I leave, Céline will go on a date with me?" She gave me a gorgeous smile. "And perhaps also she might agree to travel to England with me to meet my family."

Celeste realised my implication first. "So you will marry Céline?"

"I can't marry anyone for at least four more months, probably longer. But you are right. I do love Céline and there's no point in leaving Agde when there's nowhere I'd rather be. So I'll stay and I'll deal with whatever problems that brings. I know that I've got you both to guide me, so where else should I go?"

Céline came and planted herself on my lap. She kissed me long and hard then rested her head on my shoulder. "Thank you for agreeing to stay. It will be nice to share my home with you. Then, when you are free, you will know if you still want to be with me. And, as your prospective wife, I can invite my best friend to visit," She gave a very seductive smile, "often."

We settled into our new arrangement almost seamlessly and, by the middle of June, Céline and I had booked our flights from the small airport at nearby Beziers to the UK. My Dad, my brother Alan and his family took to Céline at the outset. We spent two weeks just as a couple playing tourist, taking in Stonehenge, Stratford upon Avon and other sights as well as a long weekend in London itself. By the time that our trip was nearly over I had no doubt that I wanted to marry Céline.

One afternoon, just a couple of days before we flew home, we were back in my old hometown chatting to Alan and his wife, when Céline asked a simple enough question. "Dennis, could you show me where you lived with Tracey?"

"Of course, ma chérie," I replied. "But why?"

"Just to understand you better," she explained. "To see the house that made you so unhappy."

Gracie, Alan's wife, nodded in agreement while Alan looked as puzzled as me. It must be a gender thing. We had invited them out for a meal at the local gastropub at seven that evening, so there was plenty of time to drive the thirty minutes to my old home and back. As I drove along the street where I used to live, I pointed out the house. "That's it, there on the left. With the green door. Oh! and the 'For Sale' sign in the garden."

As we got closer, I noticed Tracey's car, a small Fiat 500, pulled in front of the garage, it had been hidden by some bushes as we approached. "Is that your wife's car?" She asked.

"Yes. That's odd really," I answered. "I wouldn't have expected her to be home for another hour yet."

"We should stop and see if she is well," Céline announced.

"What?" I exclaimed

"She has lost her husband. Her life has changed in many ways. Yes, her actions made these things happen, but they will still hurt her." She looked earnestly at me. "You know I will not tell you what to do, but if you speak to her; introduce me to her; then she will know that her marriage is truly over and she can start to live her own life." She seemed to think for a moment. "And Suzanne will have no reason to feel guilty for not speaking about us."

I'm still not entirely sure how or why I ended knocking on what was, for many years, my own front door but that's where I found myself two minutes later. It's fair to say that Tracey was even more surprised than me.

She did not look great. She had obviously made an effort when she had tried to win me back in Barcelona, but this afternoon, at home alone and not expecting visitors, she looked beaten and weary. "Dennis! What are you and...?"

Céline took over. "Hello, you must be Tracey. My name is Céline. I am Dennis's partner. This is my fault," she carried on in her most engaging voice. "I asked him to show me where he used to live and, when we saw your car, I suggested that we should call on you."

Tracey rallied in the face of my girlfriend's charm. "Of course. Do come in." Coffee was offered and accepted.

Céline took the initiative. "You must wonder why we are here. The truth is that we live not too far from Barcelona and we want Suzanne to be able to visit us without having to keep it secret from her mother. So I asked Dennis if I could meet with you."

"Yes." Tracey smiled sadly. "I'll admit that it hurt when June, my sister," she explained to Céline, "showed me Sue's photos of her visit to you on Instagram."

"Oh! That wasn't deliberate." I tried to reassure her. "The Bistro owners are friends and they thought that Suzanne's photos would look great on their social media. Then Sue linked them to show off to her friends at university. We never thought about June seeing them too."

This time Tracey's smile was more genuine. "I'll admit she looked gorgeous. Where did she get that dress?". Céline looked to me to answer. It wasn't a test as such; she just wanted me to decide how honest I wanted to be.

"After I left, I just wanted to travel," I began. "Eventually I decided to stop and take stock. I found a room at a B&B and somehow started a relationship with the owner." Tracey looked enquiringly at Céline.