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Just before he had a chance to push inside me, we heard a loud, “Beauregard! Geneviève! It’s time to get up. We have a big day today!”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Beau muttered, his lips moving against my chest. “Pretend you’re sleeping,” he suggested in a gravely whisper.
Seconds later, Monique yelled again, “Beauregard! You had Geneviève all to yourself yesterday. Today is my day. Now, get up, you two. Préparez-vous pour la journée!”
“I can’t believe I’m getting cock-blocked by my own mother,” Beau said, lightly kissing around my collar bone. Everything he did to me felt wonderful, but I was a little apprehensive about what Monique was talking about.
“What does she mean, ‘Get ready for the day’? The party is tonight, right? Does she need help with preparations?”
Beau stopped kissing me and flopped over, onto his back. “She’s taking you shopping today, remember?” he said, almost guiltily as he peered at me under his arm that was over his face.
“Okay, right. But this early?” I asked, rolling to my side. His finger traced my cleavage while his gaze followed. “Moreau, concentrate.”
“I am,” he said, continuing what he was doing.
“Beau.”
His eyes found mine. “She’s taking you shopping.”
“We’ve established that. But why at—” I looked at the beer logo, hockey clock on the wall, “seven in the morning?”
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Monique cut in, “Geneviève, you need to get ready. Traffic may be bad. We have to get to the shops early!”
“She’s a dedicated shopper, G. You’re leaving early so she can take you to breakfast before you hit the stores. And—she’s probably going to buy you stuff,” he said hesitantly.
“That’s kind of her, but I don’t need stuff.”
“You don’t understand. If Mom wants to buy you—say, pants or an outfit, or ten, you need to let her.”
I sat up in his bed and turned toward him. “Not going to happen.”
He pushed up on his arm. “You have to let her. She’ll get—offended if you don’t. She has the money, Geneviève. This is how she shows that she cares,” he said, sitting up. His fingers pushed the hair away from my face, then he leaned down to kiss me lightly on the lips. “Just let her do it. Please? I know you hate taking anything from people. But this is just—her way.”
“Does she always yell from the top of the stairs?” I asked, realizing there was no way out of my already pre-planned day.
“Well, there was this one time she didn’t and—” his voice trailed off and I laughed despite myself. I could only imagine the sights Monique has had to endure with a son like Beau.
Beau hugged me with his big arms that seemed even larger today. “Mom’s great. You’ll have fun.” His lips found mine, then he said, “And tonight, you’re mine.”
“Oh,that looks simply darling on you, my dear,” Monique said to me in French as I modeled the ninety-third outfit—give or take—that she’d picked out. “Let’s get it in the yellow, too, Coraline,” she said to the store clerk.
I tried my best not to let out a muffled cry. “That’s very kind of you, Monique, but—”
“Nonsense, you need these for your morning yoga with Jillian. The sweatshirts you wear hide your beautiful figure,” she said, motioning curves in the air with her hands.
Beau had been right, his mom had taken me out to the cutest little café for breakfast. She ordered for me, and I let her. I wasn’t picky. Besides, Monique probably knew what the best thing to eat was anyway.
When the waiter brought out the pain au chocolat, I nearly died. It was like the flakiest croissant wrapped around rich, delicious, chocolate.
So far, the conversation had been light. I really loved the bags of clothes she’d bought me. Giving up and allowing her to be her generous self was one of the most difficult things I’d ever had to do. Beau told me I’d offend her if I didn’t accept the gifts.
That was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially now, not knowing exactly where Beau and I stood. Last night was seriously amazing. This morning showed even more promise—until Monique interrupted us.
Still, regardless of the physical aspects—thoughts of what all of this meant for ‘our’ future spun around in my mind. Was I merely dealing with a horny hockey player who’d been cooped up too long without female companionship?
Was I the closest thing on hand to fool around with?
Images of what Beau did whenever he went out with the guys, troubled me as well. Girls regularly threw themselves at him.
