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31
Beau
“And of course, I’m grateful for Geneviève, for helping me cook so early this morning,” Mom said in French, toasting Gigi. I wasn’t feeling much gratitude toward the fact that G had left my bed so early. I’d had certain ideas and plans for us—me, Gigi and her magic pussy—that would have taken us until at least noon to accomplish.
Instead, she got out of bed, showered, gave me a quick peck on the lips, and said, “I’m just going to see if your mom needs any help.”
I figured she’d be right back.
I was wrong.
There was music and laughing along with the banging of pots and pans when I’d gone up to check on them an hour later. I mean, how long could it possibly take to shove a turkey in the oven, right?
The kitchen was a bloody nightmare of bowls and flour. I gave Mom a hug, then gave G a fairly inappropriate kiss where I may have grabbed a nice handful of her ass when Mom’s back was turned.
I went up to check on them again an hour after that and found them in the back atrium, drinking coffee and laughing. Something warm wrapped around me as I watched the two of them interacting and having a good time.
The kitchen was back to its spotless, pristine state. I figured G had a lot to do with that. I poured myself a coffee and went back downstairs, not wanting to interfere on their girl time.
However, when Gigi jumped in the shower to get ready for our late lunch/early supper, all bets were off.
So, her shower took a lot longer than she’d originally anticipated.
Now we were finally sitting at the table, ready to eat. The round of, “What are you thankful for this year?”, had run through everyone at the table. Mom sat down, and we started to dig in.
“You guys left awfully early last night, Beau. I wanted to introduce Gigi to my friends,” Élise said, a half smirk on her face. Anything to get me in trouble.
“That’s probably why they left. To save her from them,” Lucien came to my aid, shooting me a quick, knowing wink across the table. I shook my head, refraining from adding my two cents to this conversation.
After all, there were children present. But even if there weren’t, I didn’t think they wanted to hear about how Gigi and I had finally slept together and how mind-blowing it had been.
I heard a phone buzz. Checking mine quickly, I soon saw that it was G’s. She sighed after taking a quick peek at the screen and stashing it back in her pocket.
“Something wrong?” I asked in a low voice so only she would hear it.
She shrugged and said, “It was the grocery store. I told them they haven’t been charging my credit card for my orders. They keep insisting I’m paying when I know I am not. It’s so frustrating. Some poor idiot is getting charged and not reporting it,” she said, passing the bowl of stuffing to me.
“Uh, I’m the idiot, G. They’ve been charging my card,” I said, dumping a healthy portion onto my plate.
She frowned at me. “That’s not possible. My card is in their website.”
“I plugged mine in that first day you asked me to add to the order,” I said, passing the bowl down the table.
“Why would you do that?”
I glanced at her. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re not paying for my groceries, G.”
“You’re not paying for mine,” she hissed, plopping a small spoonful of mashed potatoes on her plate.
She grudgingly handed the bowl to me. “I eat way more than you do. I should pay,” I said, showing her my logic. “And you do all the cooking.”
“And laundry,” she snarked back at me.
“I told you I’d do my own.”
“When? At Christmas?”
We suddenly realized we had an audience when snorts of laughter sounded from around us. “This makes a mother’s heart happy,” Mom said, hand over her heart in typical dramatic fashion. “But, Beauregard, I taught you to do your own laundry. Don’t make poor Geneviève do it for you.”
